Food Wars: Decolonizing My Body, and a Food Journey Back to Korea — One Adopted Korean’s Story
The first time I returned to Korea at 19, I had not eaten any Korean food for 17 years of my life. I remember little of what was served on that trip; a Holt Motherland tour. I do recall the big Sushi banquets presented in the company of dignitaries and people looking for an honorable come-back story; Korean Adoptees return home to their Motherland; successful, American-educated, happy, and grateful.
I did not like sushi, so managed to eat a lot of rice and kimchi. Thereafter, rice and kimchi passed in and out of my diet, with very rare visits to Korean Restaurants happening with my adopted sister on a birthday or two. The American Korean bar-b-que is easy on the American palette and fits the Korean American profile; grilled American beef, and American pork.
Later, I spent a couple of years waitressing in a Sushi restaurant and there I learned to love Japanese flavors. America despite its convenient use of domestic internment camps, and military annihilation tactics in Asia, has in the arena of cultural colonization followed after Europe’s trend of Orientalism and put much of Japanese Art on a pedestal.
After all, what would imperialism be if there were no wonderful spoils to gather? Thus, Geisha’s of the floating world, the art of the sword, and sushi rank high on the American cultural appropriation scale. After all, the Allies had conquered them and neutered their army. That I, as an imported Korean would be sexually accosted with the word, “Geisha” in the US or that I would know the word Kimono before I knew the word Hanbok was quite ordinary and expected.
As a child, my family played lots of board games; Monopoly, Risk, Battleship, Life, Sorry. In a family of six kids, there are always enough players. I never liked playing Risk. Widgets, territories, and bland symbols, what are you winning in these war games? Manifest destiny; play the game and we will learn. In the 70s America was all in.
Food was another uncomfortable game for me growing up in the US. Many of my meals were fed to the dog under the table. I always thought it was just my adoptive German mother’s bad cooking. It was that, in part, but it was also just American food. Canned vegetables, starches, beef, and chicken, and not a drop of spice.
And when my parents converted as it were, to their messianic cult the food changed, as we were suddenly devoutly Kosher. This meant a separation of meat and dairy; they were never eaten together, nor did their dishes or cutlery ever touch. There was an exclusion of all shellfish and pork, and we could only eat beef that was killed by a Kosher Rabbi.
As an adolescent, I lived on Pepto-Bismol, whether because of anxiety or food. My four food groups were: pasta, cheese, peanut butter, and bread. Like most good Americans I drank milk, and since my father and mother both indulged in ice cream and chocolate, I had those too. My life was not without sweetness.
During my visit to Korea and on my walk through the Yeoju market, (at the place I was left as an infant in 1968) I realized the majority of foods for sale were foods that I never had access to as a child or were forbidden to me because of my adopted parent’s religion.
The stalls were filled with fresh fish, shellfish, a variety of kimchi, dried seaweed, and an assortment of dried anchovies. The staples found in most of the Korean restaurants I visited also included lots of pork and beef.
What does that mean, that most of the food I would have likely eaten had I lived in Korea were forbidden to me? Not only were these foods forbidden, but they were considered trafe; unkosher, and therefore unclean. In truth had I maintained that diet today, there would be very little food I could have eaten in Korea unless it were strictly vegan.
In the past ten years, I have struggled with Hashimoto’s; an autoimmune disease that attacks the Thyroid and is triggered by certain foods, stress, and overexertion. I have ironically had to eliminate the foods I was raised on, bread, milk, pasta, chocolate, ice cream, and beef. I have curated my diet to include kimchi, mussels, clams, dried anchovies, green leaves, chicken, Korean dumplings, and rice. In addition, I have acquired some food allergies from my sons, who carry Polish and French genes on their father’s side, so I cannot eat nuts, dairy, and eggs.
Food was a challenge in Korea for me until I either embraced a vegan menu or simply ate seafood, which I did. My best meals were spicy crab ramen, mapo tofu, clam seaweed soup, and grilled fish. My favorite taste was a green-colored, steamed black rice and red bean cake, sold at the Yeoju market. It is the one food memory I crave.
I still feel uncomfortable eating pork and did not want the indigestion that comes with digesting beef. Fried chicken is big in Korea, but it is made with dairy and eggs, so it was also off the menu. The fact that my diet, through time, necessity, and choice has in some ways matched what my ancestors were more likely to have eaten or what I should have been raised on makes sense.
There is much talk about food at Korean Adoptee Gatherings. For many food is a gateway to reunion with culture and tradition. And many adoptees returning to Korea love the food.
For me eating in Korea was a stressful endeavor, understanding menus, and finding not only what I could eat, but also what might be tasty was a task. Often, I put off finding food until I was starving. And honestly, eating Middle Eastern food one day at the mall was a relief and pure pleasure. How it tasted I don’t recall. I did break down at one event and ate a cheeseless pepperoni pizza and suffered an inflamed thyroid for the next couple of days.
I also picked up a cheap Kimbap (seaweed roll with rice and pickled vegetables) from the local 7 11 for dinner. On my visit to the Namdaemun Market, I picked up fresh kimbap from a woman selling them sprinkled with sesame seeds and sesame oil. These ranked high in my meals category. It is not surprising that the Futomaki, leftovers that my sushi chefs would often give me, are the Japanese version of Kimbap, and they were one of my favorite Japanese foods.
Eating food that is safe, and that will not make my body attack itself, is one of the reasons I refer to my body as a colonized body. Intercountry adoptees not only leave their birth culture they are required to digest the culture, food, ideologies, and religions of their adopters. Just as the Japanese forced Koreans to speak their language and assimilate their culture; the pattern of colonization is rote and universal.
As an imported Korean the task of decolonizing my body is daunting. My DNA has changed over time. On this trip back to Korea I have tasted a little of my way back. I have found the map to a food profile. It is not only Korean, or Korean American, but one that is both and wholly my own.
I have learned that comfort foods and safe foods are currently not the same for my body and very likely never were. But I believe that when they are when I find the balance of foods that nourish and nurture me; my body will be closer to home and to Korea than it has ever been.
