Banana Split Smoothies -- The Saturday We Packed the Kimbap and Carried Something Sweet

Salmonberry in the alley. The shiso head-high. Amazon this week. Sprint planning Tuesday. Two hours of meetings I could have been a Slack message.

Hana, 2, on a step stool stirring miso into broth. She knows the order. She is bilingual already in food vocabulary. Jisoo FaceTimed Tuesday. We made doenjang jjigae together — me in Wallingford, her in Haeundae. Eleven thousand miles. The same soup.

Kimbap Saturday for the picnic. The seaweed-rice rolls. Hana helped.

Drove to Bellevue Saturday. Karen was tired. I brought soft food. She ate.

I sat at the kitchen counter Sunday with a notebook open. The writing came slow. The writing came.

The kimchi crock was bubbling Saturday morning when I checked. The bubbling is the right bubbling. The fermentation knew what it was doing.

I texted Jisoo a photo of the kimchi in the new onggi pot. She replied with the thumb-up emoji and a Korean-language critique. The duality is the gift.

Reading at night. A novel by a Korean-American writer about a family in 1990s LA. I underlined four sentences. The underlining is the marking-of-the-territory of the soul.

The Capitol Hill apartment kitchen is small. We make it work.

A blog reader wrote about her own adoptee experience. We exchanged three emails this week.

Yoga Tuesday morning at the studio. The forward fold released something I had been carrying in the shoulder. The mat is the mat.

My Korean is improving. Slowly. Painfully. Conversationally adequate now. I can argue about kimchi proportions in two languages, which is a milestone in any marriage between mother and daughter.

I sat at the kitchen counter at six AM with a notebook and a cup of green tea. Writing time before the house wakes. The pre-light hour is the only writing hour I trust.

Hana left a Lego on the kitchen floor. I stepped on it at two AM. Standard.

I read a thread on the Korean Adoptee subreddit Saturday. Some posts brought up old anger. Most are people figuring it out in real time. We are not unique. We are a community.

James and I had date night Friday. Indian restaurant on 45th. We ate too much. We sat in the car after talking about nothing for an hour. The marriage is the marriage.

David came over for Sunday dinner. He brought some tomatoes from the Bellevue garden.

I made coffee at seven. Hana ate cereal at seven-fifteen. Min wandered down at seven-twenty-five. James left for work at eight. The morning was the morning. The standard.

Rain on the porch all afternoon Saturday. The Wallingford rain is its own weather. I sat with a book and a tea and did not move for two hours.

Jisoo sent a photo of the dol the kids did for our visit last summer. The photo went on the fridge.

The shiso on the south fence is fragrant and unruly. I brushed past it taking the compost out and the smell stopped me. The smell is the country. The smell is Jisoo's apartment.

Sprint review at Amazon Friday. Two hours. I could have been on a podcast.

Sunday farmers market on Wallingford Avenue. The kabocha at the Asian vendor's stall. The shishito peppers. The brokered conversation. We bought too much. We always do.

Therapy Tuesday with Dr. Kim. We talked about the parents — the two sets, the one living, the one gone, the one who became real after thirty years and the one who was real my whole life and is now gone. The work is the layered work.

The newsletter went out Sunday morning. The opening sentence took an hour. The piece took five. The piece was what it needed to be.

The kimbap was already wrapped and in the cooler when I thought about what Hana would actually drink at the park — she’s two, and two-year-olds have opinions. These banana split smoothies have become our Saturday picnic ritual precisely because she can help press the blender button, which she treats as a matter of great personal responsibility. After a week of eleven-thousand-mile FaceTimes, bubbling kimchi crocks, and meetings that could have been Slack messages, standing at the counter blending something cold and uncomplicated with my kid felt exactly like the exhale I needed.

Banana Split Smoothies

Prep Time: 5 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 5 minutes | Servings: 2

Ingredients

• 2 ripe bananas, peeled and frozen
• 1 cup fresh or frozen strawberries
• 1/2 cup crushed pineapple (canned in juice, drained)
• 1 cup vanilla ice cream
• 3/4 cup whole milk (or milk of choice)
• 2 tablespoons chocolate syrup, plus more for drizzling
• Whipped cream, for serving
• 2 maraschino cherries, for garnish (optional)

Instructions

1. Layer the blender. Add the frozen bananas, strawberries, and pineapple to a blender. Pour in the milk and add the vanilla ice cream on top.
2. Blend until smooth. Blend on high for 30—45 seconds until fully combined and creamy. If the smoothie is too thick, add milk one tablespoon at a time until you reach your desired consistency.
3. Add the chocolate. Drizzle the chocolate syrup into the blender and pulse two or three times just to swirl it in — you want ribbons, not full incorporation.
4. Pour and garnish. Divide between two tall glasses. Top with whipped cream, an extra drizzle of chocolate syrup, and a maraschino cherry if you’re feeling festive. Serve immediately.
5. For picnic transport. Skip the whipped cream and pour into insulated travel cups with lids. Pack the whipped cream separately in a small container and add at the park.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 310 | Protein: 6g | Fat: 8g | Carbs: 56g | Fiber: 4g | Sodium: 85mg