Key Lime Parfaits

Long evenings. Light until ten PM. 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.

Naengmyeon for the heat. Cold buckwheat noodles. The summer dish.

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

The kimchi crock was bubbling. The fermentation was the fermentation.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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

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.

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

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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

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.

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

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

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.

I had naengmyeon on the brain all week — the cold buckwheat noodles, the icy broth, the whole ritual of eating something that fights the heat on purpose — but Saturday at the farmers market I came home with kabocha and shishito and too many impulses, and the week had already asked a lot of me. What I actually made, for Hana and James and myself after David left Sunday evening, was this: layered, cold, sharp with lime, requiring almost nothing of anyone. The Key Lime Parfaits were not naengmyeon, but they were cold and careful and right-sized for a Sunday when the work had already been done.

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 20 minutes (plus 1 hour chilling) | Servings: 4

Ingredients

1 cup heavy whipping cream
3 tablespoons powdered sugar, divided
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
8 ounces cream cheese, softened
1/2 cup fresh key lime juice (from about 12 key limes, or bottled)
1 tablespoon key lime zest
1 can (14 ounces) sweetened condensed milk
1 1/2 cups graham cracker crumbs (about 10 full crackers)
3 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
Thin lime slices or zest, for garnish

Instructions

Make the crumble layer. In a small bowl, stir together the graham cracker crumbs and melted butter until the crumbs are evenly moistened. Set aside.
Whip the cream. In a chilled mixing bowl, beat the heavy cream with 1 tablespoon of the powdered sugar and the vanilla extract on medium-high speed until soft peaks form. Transfer to a separate bowl and refrigerate while you prepare the filling.
Mix the lime filling. In the same mixing bowl, beat the softened cream cheese and remaining 2 tablespoons powdered sugar until smooth and fluffy, about 2 minutes. Add the sweetened condensed milk, key lime juice, and zest, and beat until fully combined and creamy.
Fold in the whipped cream. Gently fold two-thirds of the whipped cream into the lime filling using a rubber spatula, keeping the mixture light. Reserve the remaining whipped cream for topping.
Layer the parfaits. In four individual glasses or jars, add a layer of graham cracker crumble (about 2 tablespoons), followed by a generous layer of the lime filling. Repeat with a second crumble layer and another layer of filling. Top each parfait with a dollop of the reserved whipped cream.
Chill and serve. Cover the parfaits and refrigerate for at least 1 hour before serving. Garnish with a thin lime slice or a pinch of lime zest just before serving.

Nutrition (per serving)

Key Lime Parfaits — The Cold Thing You Make When the Heat Won’t Break