Turkey Lo Mein — The Noodles I Made When I Finally Pressed “Begin”

Dr. Yoon asked me this week if I'd thought more about the search. I told her about telling James, about the database, about the tab that's been open on my laptop for three weeks now like a window I keep looking through but won't climb out of. She said, "What are you waiting for?" I said, "I don't know. Permission?" She looked at me the way she does when I've accidentally said something true — steady, patient, a little sad. "Whose permission?" I didn't answer. We both knew. Karen's. David's. The parents who chose me, whose love I've spent my whole life trying to deserve. Searching for the woman who gave me away feels like telling them their love wasn't enough. Dr. Yoon said, "It was enough. And you still get to want more. Both things, Stephanie." Both things. My whole life is both things.

I made kimchi jjigae on Wednesday, the version I perfected last summer — doenjang-heavy, with soft tofu and zucchini and pork belly, the broth brick-red and bubbling. It's become my thinking food, the dish I make when something is working itself out inside me. James has learned to read my moods by what's on the stove. Kimchi jjigae means I'm processing. Budae jjigae means I'm tired. Japchae means I'm hopeful. He never asks which one it is. He just eats and waits.

Saturday I went to H Mart alone. Moved through the aisles slowly, filling my cart with gochugaru and doenjang and dried anchovies and sweet potato noodles. At the checkout the cashier spoke to me in Korean — just a greeting, casual, assuming — and I answered in my broken Korean 101 and she smiled and switched to English and it was fine, it was nothing, except it was everything, because for three seconds someone looked at me and saw a Korean woman buying Korean groceries and that's all I was. Not adopted. Not searching. Not carrying twenty-seven years of questions in my chest. Just Korean. Just here. Just buying groceries for the week.

I came home and put everything away and sat at the counter and opened the adoption search database on my laptop. I read the instructions again. I clicked "begin application." I filled in my name, my date of birth, the adoption agency. I got to the part that asks what you know about your birth parents — and the answer is nothing, I know nothing, not a name, not a face, not a reason — and I typed that. Nothing. And then I saved the draft and closed the laptop and made rice for dinner and didn't tell anyone, because some doors you open alone.

I came home from H Mart that Saturday with sweet potato noodles I’d planned for japchae—hopeful noodles, James would say—but after I closed the laptop I couldn’t face something that required that much tending. What I made instead was a quick, savory lo mein, noodles tangled up with ground turkey and whatever vegetables were left in the crisper, soy-dark and a little sweet, finished in under thirty minutes. It wasn’t the dish I set out to make, but it was the dish that matched the moment: simple, sustaining, done before I could second-guess it. Sometimes you just need something warm that asks nothing of you.

Turkey Lo Mein

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 20 minutes | Total Time: 30 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

• 8 oz lo mein noodles (or spaghetti)
• 1 lb ground turkey
• 2 tablespoons sesame oil, divided
• 3 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 teaspoon fresh ginger, grated
• 2 cups shredded green cabbage
• 1 cup shredded carrots
• 1 red bell pepper, thinly sliced
• 3 green onions, sliced (whites and greens separated)
• 3 tablespoons soy sauce
• 1 tablespoon oyster sauce
• 1 tablespoon hoisin sauce
• 1 teaspoon chili garlic sauce or sriracha (optional)
• 1 teaspoon cornstarch dissolved in 2 tablespoons water
• Salt and black pepper to taste
• Sesame seeds for garnish

Instructions

1. Cook the noodles. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Cook lo mein noodles according to package directions until just al dente. Drain, rinse briefly with cold water, and toss with 1 teaspoon of sesame oil to prevent sticking. Set aside.
2. Brown the turkey. Heat 1 tablespoon sesame oil in a large wok or skillet over medium-high heat. Add ground turkey and cook, breaking it up, until no longer pink, about 5–7 minutes. Season with salt and pepper. Push turkey to the side of the pan.
3. Sauté the aromatics and vegetables. Add the remaining sesame oil to the empty side of the pan. Add garlic, ginger, and the whites of the green onions; cook 30 seconds until fragrant. Add cabbage, carrots, and bell pepper. Stir everything together and cook 3–4 minutes until vegetables are just tender but still have a little bite.
4. Make the sauce. In a small bowl, whisk together soy sauce, oyster sauce, hoisin sauce, and chili garlic sauce if using. Pour over the turkey and vegetables, then add the cornstarch slurry. Stir and cook 1–2 minutes until the sauce thickens slightly and coats everything.
5. Add the noodles. Add the cooked noodles to the pan. Using tongs, toss everything together over medium-high heat for 2–3 minutes until the noodles are heated through and well coated in sauce.
6. Finish and serve. Remove from heat. Top with sliced green onion greens and a sprinkle of sesame seeds. Serve immediately, straight from the pan.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 430 | Protein: 28g | Fat: 14g | Carbs: 48g | Fiber: 4g | Sodium: 820mg