Summer Salad with Goat Cheese-Filled Potato Cakes

August. The last golden weeks of Seattle summer, the light beginning its autumn tilt, the days shortening by two minutes each evening. I can feel the year turning, the way you feel a current change underwater — subtle, directional, pulling toward fall and the new rhythm it brings. September is close, and September means the one-year anniversary of the Korea trip, and the anniversary means reflection, and reflection means: how far have I come? How far do I still have to go?

I went to Portland this week — finally — to teach Kevin to make galbi. I drove down on Saturday morning, three hours on I-5, and spent the afternoon in Kevin's kitchen (which is also Lisa's kitchen, because they live together, because they are "just business partners" in the way that the earth is "just" orbiting the sun). Kevin's kitchen is small and equipped for coffee, not Korean cooking: excellent grinder, three pour-over devices, a single cast iron pan, no rice cooker. I brought: a bag of short ribs, a bottle of soy sauce, sesame oil, garlic, ginger, a Korean pear, sugar, and my Korean knife (the one Karen gave me). I taught Kevin to make the marinade — the proportions, the technique, the pear juice that tenderizes. He watched with the focus of a man who builds his own coffee roasts from scratch and understands that craft requires precision and repetition.

Kevin made the galbi himself. I supervised — hands off, mouth open (giving instructions, not eating). He marinated the ribs, heated the pan until it smoked, seared the meat, and the kitchen filled with the smell of caramelizing soy sauce and sesame and garlic, and Kevin stood at the stove with my Korean knife in his hand and a look on his face that I recognized because I wore it three years ago: the look of a person who is making Korean food for the first time and feeling something shift. He served the galbi on a plate with rice (I taught him to make rice on the stovetop — no Zojirushi in Portland) and lettuce and ssamjang. Lisa tried a wrap and said, "Kevin. This is amazing." Kevin looked at me. I looked at Kevin. He said, "I made Korean food." I said, "You did." He said, "It's good." I said, "It's really good."

We ate galbi wraps on Kevin's living room floor, three people, two adoptees and one school counselor, the summer light coming through the windows, and Kevin ate four wraps and smiled the Kevin smile and I thought: this is what I've been trying to do for three years. Not just feed myself Korean food. But spread it. Share it. Give it to the people I love so they can have what I have — the taste of home, the taste of belonging, the taste of Korea, made in Portland, taught by a sister, eaten on a floor, better late than never, better imperfect than absent, better here than not.

I drove home to Seattle Sunday evening. Made kimchi jjigae at 9 PM. Called Karen. Said, "I taught Kevin to make galbi." She said, "He'll burn the house down." I said, "He was actually really good." She paused. Then: "Of course he was. He's a Park." He's a Park. Korean-born, American-raised, Bellevue-grown, Portland-living, coffee-roasting, galbi-making Park. We're all Parks. The surname our adoptive parents gave us, the identity we're building inside it. Parks. Korean Parks. Both of us. Finally, both.

I drove home from Portland with the smell of sesame oil still in my hair and this quiet, full feeling I didn’t quite have a name for — the feeling of having given something away and ended up with more than you started with. The galbi was Kevin’s, the lesson was done, and what I wanted for myself that week was something bright and unhurried, something that felt like late August light through a window — which is exactly why I kept coming back to this summer salad. The goat cheese potato cakes have that same quality as a good teaching recipe: simple components, a little technique, and a result that surprises you with how good it actually is when you sit down on the floor and eat it with the people you love.

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 25 min | Total Time: 45 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

1 lb Yukon Gold potatoes, peeled and cut into 1-inch chunks
4 oz soft goat cheese, chilled
2 tablespoons fresh chives, finely chopped
1/4 teaspoon garlic powder
Salt and black pepper, to taste
1/4 cup all-purpose flour, for dredging
2 tablespoons olive oil, for pan-frying
5 oz mixed salad greens (arugula, baby spinach, or spring mix)
1 cup cherry tomatoes, halved
1/2 English cucumber, thinly sliced
1/4 small red onion, very thinly sliced
1/4 cup fresh basil leaves, torn
For the dressing:
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 1/2 tablespoons white wine vinegar
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
1 teaspoon honey
Salt and black pepper, to taste

Instructions

Boil the potatoes. Place potato chunks in a medium saucepan, cover with cold salted water, and bring to a boil over high heat. Reduce to a steady simmer and cook 12–15 minutes, until completely tender when pierced with a fork. Drain well and let steam-dry for 5 minutes.
Make the potato mixture. Mash the drained potatoes until smooth with no large lumps. Season generously with salt, pepper, and garlic powder. Stir in the chives. Let cool for 5 minutes until comfortable to handle — the mixture should hold its shape when pressed.
Fill and form the potato cakes. Divide the mashed potato into 8 equal portions. Flatten each portion in your palm, place a small cube (about 1/2 oz) of cold goat cheese in the center, and fold the potato up and around it, sealing the edges and pressing into a round cake about 3/4 inch thick. Repeat with remaining portions.
Dredge the cakes. Spread flour on a shallow plate. Gently dredge each potato cake in flour, patting off any excess. This gives them a light, golden crust.
Pan-fry until golden. Heat 2 tablespoons olive oil in a large non-stick or cast iron skillet over medium-high heat until shimmering. Working in batches, cook the potato cakes 3–4 minutes per side, until deep golden brown and crisp. Transfer to a paper towel-lined plate and season with a pinch of salt while hot.
Make the dressing. Whisk together the extra-virgin olive oil, white wine vinegar, Dijon mustard, and honey in a small bowl until emulsified. Season with salt and pepper.
Assemble the salad. In a large bowl, toss the salad greens, cherry tomatoes, cucumber, red onion, and basil with just enough dressing to lightly coat. Taste and adjust seasoning.
Serve. Divide the dressed salad among four plates or bowls. Top each serving with two warm goat cheese-filled potato cakes. Drizzle any remaining dressing over the cakes and serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Summer Salad with Goat Cheese-Filled Potato Cakes — The Taste of Sharing Something New