Grilled Short Ribs

Fourth of July weekend. Seattle celebrates the Fourth the way Seattle celebrates most things — with restraint, local beer, and a vague sense of irony about nationalism. James and I went to Gasworks Park on Tuesday night for the fireworks over Lake Union. We brought a blanket, a cooler of kimbap I had made that afternoon, and two bottles of sparkling water. The park was packed. We found a spot on the hill. The kimbap was — I am going to say this — restaurant-quality. The rice was seasoned correctly. The vegetables were cut uniformly. The roll was tight. I have been practicing kimbap for two years and this was the first time I felt genuinely proud of the result. I told James. He said, "You should be proud. These are better than the kimbap at the place in the ID." I said, "James." He said, "I'm not being nice. I'm being accurate." The fireworks started. The kimbap disappeared. We lay on the blanket and watched the sky explode and I thought about being Korean-American on the Fourth of July, which is a thought I have had every year since college and which has evolved from resentful to complicated to something that is now, finally, peaceful. I am American. I am Korean. I am both of these things on the Fourth of July, eating kimbap on a hill in Seattle with a Taiwanese-American husband, and the fireworks are for me too. They are for all of us.

My birthday is in ten days. July 14. I will be thirty. I have feelings about thirty. They are mostly feelings of disbelief that I am old enough to be thirty, combined with the realization that thirty is not old at all and that twenty-two (the age I was when this blog started) was very young and I did not know it was young when I was in it. Thirty feels like a good number. It feels like an age where I am allowed to know things — to know that doenjang jjigae needs more soybean paste than you think, to know that therapy is not optional, to know that the gratitude trap is real and you can escape it, to know that having two mothers is not a problem to solve but a fact to live inside. Thirty feels like the age where the knowing starts to outweigh the not-knowing. I am ready for thirty. I think.

Karen and David came to our condo on Sunday for an early birthday lunch. Karen brought a strawberry cake from a bakery in Bellevue. David brought a card with $100 in it, because David has been giving me $100 in a card for every birthday since I was eighteen and will never change this practice and I will never ask him to. Karen's hands shook when she lit the candles. I blew them out. I made a wish. I will not tell you the wish. You can probably guess.

Kevin sent a box of Bridge City Roasters coffee with a label he had custom-printed: "Stephanie's 30th — Single Origin Ethiopia, washed process, notes of blueberry and dark chocolate." He had literally roasted a custom batch for my birthday. I called him. I said, "Kevin. You roasted me a birthday coffee." He said, "You made me a birthday kimchi last year. We are the kind of siblings who give each other fermented things." I laughed until I cried. He is the funniest person in my family and nobody outside my family knows this.

The recipe this week is my kimbap — the one I made for the Fourth, the one that was finally, truly, good. Sushi rice seasoned with rice vinegar, sesame oil, salt. Fillings: danmuji (pickled radish), seasoned spinach, seasoned carrots, egg strip, cucumber, and for this batch, canned tuna mixed with mayo and sesame oil. Spread rice on a sheet of gim (roasted seaweed). Lay fillings in a line. Roll tightly, using a bamboo mat. Slice with a wet knife. Brush the outside with sesame oil. Each piece is a cross-section of color — yellow, green, orange, white, pink. Kimbap is the most beautiful food I know how to make. It is also the most Korean. Every roll is a small flag.

The kimbap was the centerpiece of our Fourth of July blanket, but it was the short ribs I made the following Sunday — for Karen and David’s early birthday lunch — that felt like the full expression of that same feeling: the one I described lying on the hill at Gasworks, watching the fireworks, knowing finally that I am allowed to take up space at both tables. These ribs are Korean in their bones — soy, sesame, garlic, Asian pear, a long marinade — and they are summer cookout food, which is about as American as food gets, and I have stopped treating that combination as a tension to resolve. I make them the Korean way. I grill them in the American way. They are both of those things, completely, at the same time.

Prep Time: 20 min + 4 hr marinating | Cook Time: 12 min | Total Time: 4 hr 32 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

3 lbs flanken-cut beef short ribs (cross-cut, about 1/4-inch thick)
1/2 cup soy sauce
3 tablespoons sesame oil
3 tablespoons brown sugar, packed
1/2 Asian pear, grated (or 1/4 cup pineapple juice)
6 cloves garlic, minced
1 tablespoon fresh ginger, grated
3 tablespoons mirin or dry sherry
4 green onions, thinly sliced, divided
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1 tablespoon toasted sesame seeds, for serving
Neutral oil for the grill grates

Instructions

Make the marinade. In a medium bowl, whisk together the soy sauce, sesame oil, brown sugar, grated Asian pear, garlic, ginger, mirin, half the green onions, and black pepper until the sugar is dissolved.
Marinate the ribs. Place the short ribs in a large zip-top bag or shallow baking dish. Pour the marinade over the ribs and turn to coat evenly. Seal and refrigerate for at least 4 hours, or overnight for best results. The pear enzymes will tenderize the meat as it sits.
Prepare the grill. Remove the ribs from the refrigerator 30 minutes before cooking. Heat a gas or charcoal grill to high heat (450—500°F). Lightly oil the grates with a paper towel dipped in neutral oil.
Grill the ribs. Shake excess marinade off each rib. Grill in a single layer, without crowding, for 3—4 minutes per side, until charred at the edges and cooked through. Because flanken-cut ribs are thin, they cook quickly — watch for flare-ups and move as needed.
Rest and serve. Transfer the ribs to a cutting board and let rest for 3 minutes. If serving with the bone in, cut between bones into individual pieces. Arrange on a platter, scatter the remaining green onions and sesame seeds over the top, and serve immediately alongside steamed rice and banchan.

Nutrition (per serving)

Grilled Short Ribs — The Korean-American Table I Always Wanted