Asian Barbecue Pork Ribs — The Bones That Taught Me Patience

I received a performance review at work this week — mid-year check-in, the Amazon ritual of quantified self-evaluation. The review was strong: "exceeds expectations" in technical execution, "meets expectations" in leadership, with a note from Derek that I should be "more vocal in cross-team meetings." More vocal. The forever feedback for women in tech, especially Asian women in tech, especially quiet Asian women in tech who were raised to be grateful and compliant and never make a fuss. Dr. Yoon would have something to say about this. I didn't bring it up in session this week because we had other things to talk about, but the irony is not lost on me: at work, I'm told to speak up; in my personal life, I'm learning that speaking up — about adoption, about anger, about the things that were missing — is the hardest and most necessary thing I've ever done.

In session, we talked about Kevin. Specifically, about the difference between his response to adoption and mine. Kevin got angry early — at fourteen, fifteen, sixteen — and the anger destroyed him. Pills, running away, rehab, the bridge in Tacoma. His anger was visible, dramatic, destructive. Mine was invisible, compressed, turned inward, transformed into performance. We're two case studies in adoptee response: the one who burned and the one who froze. Both of us were hurt by the same thing — the displacement, the not-knowing, the racial isolation — but we processed it through different survival strategies, and Dr. Yoon says both strategies were adaptive at the time and both need updating now. Kevin is updating through sobriety. I'm updating through therapy and kimchi. We're both in recovery from the same wound, but our rehabs look nothing alike.

Cooking this week was experimental. I made hobakjeon — pan-fried zucchini, sliced thin, dipped in egg, and fried until golden and crispy on the outside, tender inside. It's banchan, a side dish, the kind of thing a Korean mother makes without thinking about it, and the simplicity is part of its beauty: zucchini, egg, oil, salt. Four ingredients. Three minutes of cooking per piece. And the result is warm and golden and the kind of food that makes you wonder why all vegetables aren't served this way.

I also made gamjatang — pork bone soup, a hearty dish from the Jeolla province that I found in my cookbook and was drawn to because it seemed challenging: pork spine bones, simmered for hours until the meat falls off, in a spicy broth with potatoes and perilla leaves. The challenge was finding pork spine at a regular grocery store (impossible) — I had to go to H Mart, where it was in the freezer section, labeled in Korean with a small English sticker. The cooking took four hours. Four hours of simmering, skimming, adjusting. The result was worth every minute: a rich, porky broth, the bones tender enough that the marrow slides out, the potatoes soft, the perilla leaves adding that minty-basil note I've come to love. I ate it with rice and kimchi and the hobakjeon, a full Korean table from a kitchen that six months ago couldn't make rice without burning it.

Saturday in Bellevue: Karen made her famous potato soup (cream-based, with bacon and cheddar — American comfort in a bowl). I brought gamjatang. Two soups on the same table: Karen's white, creamy, mild; mine red, spicy, bony. David looked at the pork spine in the gamjatang and said, "That's... assertive." Karen tried it and said, "The broth is incredible." They're both right. The gamjatang is assertive. The broth is incredible. And I made it, in my kitchen, with bones and spice and four hours of patience, and the woman who made it is not the same woman who moved into a Capitol Hill condo a year ago with a drawer full of takeout menus and a heart full of silence.

Something is changing. Not just the cooking — though the cooking is the visible evidence — but something underneath. The therapy is excavating, and the cooking is rebuilding, and together they're creating a version of me that is more honest, more Korean, more angry, more alive. I'm becoming someone. Not the someone I was expected to be — the grateful, quiet, high-performing Korean-American adoptee — but someone else. Someone who makes gamjatang and calls it self-expression. Someone who cries in therapy and goes home and makes soup from pork bones and perilla leaves. Someone who is not fine, and is not pretending to be, and is better for it.

But gamjatang isn’t the only pork dish that’s been pulling me back into the kitchen lately — because once you start cooking as self-expression, you can’t stop. These Asian barbecue ribs came next, a few days after that first pot of bones and broth, when I still had spice under my fingernails and something to prove. If gamjatang was the excavation, this was the celebration — sticky and loud and unapologetically good, the kind of thing you make when you’re starting to like the person you’re becoming. Here’s how I made them.

Asian Barbecue Pork Ribs

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 2 hours 30 minutes | Total Time: 2 hours 50 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

• 2 racks baby back pork ribs (about 4 lbs total), membrane removed
• 1 tbsp kosher salt
• 1 tsp black pepper
• 1 tsp garlic powder
• 1 tsp ground ginger
• For the glaze:
• 1/3 cup soy sauce (low sodium)
• 3 tbsp gochujang (Korean red pepper paste)
• 3 tbsp honey
• 2 tbsp brown sugar, packed
• 2 tbsp rice vinegar
• 1 tbsp toasted sesame oil
• 4 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 tsp fresh ginger, grated
• To finish:
• 1 tbsp toasted sesame seeds
• 2 scallions, thinly sliced

Instructions

1. Prep the ribs. Preheat oven to 300°F. Pat ribs dry with paper towels. Combine salt, pepper, garlic powder, and ground ginger, then rub evenly over both sides of each rack.
2. Slow-roast. Wrap each rack tightly in two layers of aluminum foil and place on a rimmed baking sheet. Roast for 2 hours, until the meat is tender and beginning to pull away from the bones.
3. Make the glaze. While the ribs roast, whisk together soy sauce, gochujang, honey, brown sugar, rice vinegar, sesame oil, garlic, and ginger in a small saucepan over medium heat. Simmer 5–7 minutes, stirring frequently, until slightly thickened. Remove from heat.
4. Glaze and finish. Remove ribs from foil and place back on the baking sheet. Increase oven to 425°F. Brush a generous layer of glaze over the top of each rack. Roast uncovered for 15 minutes. Brush with a second coat of glaze and roast another 10–12 minutes, until the glaze is caramelized and sticky.
5. Rest and serve. Let ribs rest 5 minutes before slicing between the bones. Arrange on a platter and drizzle with any remaining glaze. Scatter sesame seeds and scallions over the top. Serve with steamed rice and kimchi.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 680 | Protein: 48g | Fat: 42g | Carbs: 24g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 980mg