By September. One year since Korea. The anniversary passes quietly — not because it doesn't matter but because its significance has been absorbed into everything else. Korea was transformative, but the transformation is complete (or ongoing, or always-incomplete — Dr. Yoon would say all three). The cooking that Korea sharpened is now just my cooking. The confidence Korea built is now just my confidence. The tears I cried in Gwangjang Market are dried and the memories are integrated and the market still exists and I will go back and when I go back it won't be the first time and the not-first-time-ness is its own form of belonging.
This week I made something new and ambitious: bossam with mul-kimchi — bossam (boiled pork belly) served with water kimchi, a light, refreshing kimchi made with radish in a clear brine rather than the red gochugaru paste. Water kimchi is cooling, palate-cleansing, the yin to bossam's yang. The combination is classic Korean party food, and making both components from scratch — the pork simmered in the doenjang-coffee broth, the water kimchi fermented for three days in a brine of garlic, ginger, scallion, and Korean pear — felt like the work of a competent Korean cook, not a learner. The distinction matters. I'm not learning anymore. I'm cooking. The learner phase is over. The cook phase has begun.
The GOA'L database: still no match. Six months of waiting. Helen from the meetup group waited eight years. I'm calibrating my expectations accordingly. The waiting is part of the identity now — not a temporary state but a feature of being a searching adoptee. You search and you wait and you live, and the living is the main thing, and the searching is the secondary thing, and the waiting is the atmosphere you move through while doing both.
At work, the ML food preference model was presented at an internal research review and received positive feedback. The model maps what I've been living: the interconnectedness of food cultures, the way one cuisine leads to another, the networks of flavor that connect disparate traditions. My personal experience — Korean food leading to temple food leading to Japanese connections leading to broader Asian exploration — is mirrored in the data. People who discover one cuisine explore its neighbors. Food is contagious. Culture is contagious. Identity is contagious. The data says so. My life says so.
Saturday: Bellevue. I brought the bossam and water kimchi. Karen was fascinated by the water kimchi — "This is kimchi? But it's not red!" Not all kimchi is red, Mom. Some is clear, mild, refreshing, a different conversation in the same language. Karen drank the kimchi brine and said, "Oh! This is like a savory lemonade!" Korean water kimchi: Karen's gateway drug. She can't handle the red stuff yet but she's drinking the brine of the clear stuff, and the drinking is love, and the love is Saturday, and Saturday is the day the table holds both, as it always has, as it always will.
Karen drinking the mul-kimchi brine and calling it “savory lemonade” sent me down a rabbit hole of dishes that work the same way — bright, acidic, a little funky, completely disarming for people who think they won’t like them. This tangy lentil salad with dill and pepperoncini is exactly that kind of dish: the pepperoncini brings the vinegary punch that water kimchi lovers recognize immediately, the dill keeps it fresh and herbaceous, and the whole thing lands somewhere between a salad and a side dish and a conversation starter. It’s not Korean, but it belongs on the same table — the one where both the red kimchi and the clear kimchi live, where every dish is a different sentence in the same language.
Tangy Lentil Salad with Dill & Pepperoncini
Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 20 minutes | Total Time: 30 minutes | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 1 cup green or French lentils, rinsed
- 2 1/2 cups water or vegetable broth
- 1/2 teaspoon salt, plus more to taste
- 1/2 cup pepperoncini peppers, sliced into rings (plus 2 tablespoons brine from the jar)
- 1/4 red onion, finely diced
- 2 stalks celery, thinly sliced
- 1/3 cup fresh dill, roughly chopped
- 2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
- 1 tablespoon red wine vinegar
- 1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
- 1/2 teaspoon black pepper
- Optional: 2 ounces crumbled feta cheese
Instructions
- Cook the lentils. Combine lentils, water or broth, and 1/2 teaspoon salt in a medium saucepan. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to a gentle simmer. Cook uncovered for 18–20 minutes, until lentils are tender but still hold their shape. Drain any excess liquid and spread on a sheet pan to cool for 10 minutes.
- Make the dressing. In a small bowl, whisk together the olive oil, red wine vinegar, Dijon mustard, pepperoncini brine, black pepper, and a pinch of salt. Taste and adjust — it should be assertively tangy.
- Combine. Transfer cooled lentils to a large bowl. Add the sliced pepperoncini, red onion, and celery. Pour the dressing over and toss well to coat.
- Add the dill. Fold in the fresh dill last, so it stays bright and doesn’t wilt. Taste for salt and acid — add more brine or vinegar if you want more punch.
- Rest and serve. Let the salad sit for at least 5 minutes before serving so the lentils absorb the dressing. Top with crumbled feta if using. Serve at room temperature or slightly chilled. Leftovers keep well refrigerated for up to 3 days.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 245 | Protein: 13g | Fat: 8g | Carbs: 32g | Fiber: 10g | Sodium: 480mg