Refried Bean Dip — The Taco Tuesday Table Karen Built

May. The month I was adopted, thirty years ago. I don't think about it every May — the anniversary doesn't hit me the way birthdays or holidays do — but this year it surfaced, probably because I am trying to create a family while still understanding the one I came from. In May 1993, David and Karen Park flew to Seoul, picked up a five-month-old baby from the Eastern Social Welfare Society, and flew home to Bellevue with me in Karen's arms. I have seen the photos. I was small and serious and holding David's finger. Karen was wearing a blue dress. David was wearing a tie because David wore ties everywhere until approximately 2015.

I called Karen on Monday and told her I was thinking about the adoption anniversary. She was quiet for a moment and then she said, "May 15th. You were wearing a yellow onesie. You had the most serious face I had ever seen on a baby. You looked at me like you were evaluating my qualifications." I laughed. She said, "You were evaluating my qualifications. You have been evaluating my qualifications your entire life." I said, "Mom. You were qualified." She said, "I did my best." I said, "Your best was good." She said, "Your best will be better. You know things I didn't know. You'll give your baby things I couldn't give you." It was the most generous thing Karen has ever said to me about the gaps in my upbringing. She was not apologizing. She was not excusing. She was acknowledging and also letting go. I could hear the Parkinson's in her voice — a slight tremor in the words — and I thought: she is saying this now because she knows she might not always be able to say it. She is saying it while her mouth still works. I sat on the kitchen floor after the call and held the phone against my chest.

James found me on the kitchen floor and did not ask questions. He sat down beside me. We sat on the floor for five minutes. Then he said, "Taco Tuesday?" I said, "Taco Tuesday." We made tacos. Ground beef, cumin, chili powder, the simple American tacos that Karen used to make on Tuesday nights in Bellevue when I was twelve. Some food is not about heritage or identity or cultural reclamation. Some food is just what your mom made on Tuesdays, and you make it now because the taste brings her into the room.

Banchan Labs: revenue numbers for Q1 are in. James presented them to me over dinner on Thursday with the same gravity he used to bring to Microsoft quarterly reviews. We are profitable. Not dramatically — we made $47,000 in revenue against $39,000 in costs — but the trajectory is upward and the subscriber retention rate is 89%, which James says is "exceptional for a food subscription in year one." I asked Grace what she thought. She said, "I think you should pay yourself more." She is right. I have not taken a salary yet. I am paying everyone else first. James says this is unsustainable. He is also right. Everyone is right except me, and I am the CEO.

Dr. Yoon this week: we talked about the adoption anniversary. She said, "You are creating a family while processing the creation of your own family. This is layered work." I said, "Everything about my life is layered." She said, "Yes. And you are getting better at holding the layers without collapsing under them." I said, "Thank you." She said, "Don't thank me. Thank the doenjang jjigae." She was making a joke. Dr. Yoon rarely makes jokes. It was a good one.

The recipe this week is Karen's Tuesday night tacos. Ground beef, browned with onion. Cumin, chili powder, garlic powder, paprika, salt, pepper. A splash of water to make a sauce. Corn tortillas, warmed on a dry skillet. Shredded lettuce, diced tomato, sour cream, shredded cheddar. Nothing fancy. Nothing Korean. Nothing Taiwanese. Just tacos, the way a white woman from Bellevue made them for her Korean daughter in 1998, and the way that Korean daughter makes them now, in her own kitchen, with her own hands, which look exactly like her birth mother's and do exactly what her adoptive mother taught them to do.

After I got up off that kitchen floor, after James said “Taco Tuesday” and I said “Taco Tuesday,” we built the whole spread the way Karen always did — simple, fast, nothing precious about it. This refried bean dip is exactly that spirit: the kind of thing you set out without ceremony, that disappears before you’ve finished pouring the drinks, that tastes like someone’s kitchen on a Tuesday in 1998. I’m not reclaiming anything with this recipe. I’m just keeping it warm.

Refried Bean Dip

Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 15 min | Total Time: 25 min | Servings: 8

Ingredients

• 1 can (16 oz) refried beans
• 4 oz cream cheese, softened
• 1/2 cup sour cream
• 1 packet (1 oz) taco seasoning
• 1 cup shredded cheddar cheese, divided
• 1/4 cup diced green onions
• 1/4 cup diced tomato
• 1/4 cup sliced black olives (optional)
• Tortilla chips, for serving

Instructions

1. Preheat oven. Heat oven to 350°F. Lightly grease a 9-inch baking dish or pie plate.
2. Mix the base. In a medium bowl, combine the refried beans, softened cream cheese, sour cream, and taco seasoning. Stir until smooth and well blended.
3. Layer and top. Spread the bean mixture evenly into the prepared baking dish. Sprinkle 3/4 cup of the shredded cheddar over the top.
4. Bake. Bake for 12–15 minutes, until the cheese is melted and the edges are just beginning to bubble.
5. Garnish and serve. Remove from the oven and top with the remaining 1/4 cup cheddar, diced tomato, green onions, and black olives if using. Serve warm with tortilla chips.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 185 | Protein: 7g | Fat: 12g | Carbs: 13g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 480mg