Essay – FoodWatcher

How Summers in Greece Taught Me the Joy of Frying

A few years ago I made donuts at home for the first time. To some, this may feel trivial, and to others, impressive. Personally, I was in awe. Moi? Me? I can make donuts at home?! It was as if I’d discovered how to print money on a 2002 LaserJet. I was…

A few years ago I made donuts at home for the first time. To some, this may feel trivial, and to others, impressive. Personally, I was in awe. Moi? Me? I can make donuts at home?! It was as if I’d discovered how to print money on a 2002 LaserJet. I was surprised by how easy the process was and shocked by how judgmental, or perhaps intimidated, I’d previously been by the idea of deep frying at home.

To some, this epiphany may sound basic. As a child of latkes, I wasn’t a total stranger to frying food at home, but, growing up, frying was not in our regular repertoire, nor did I seek it out in early adulthood. Of course, I love a fried good—fried chicken, fried dumplings, samosas, katsu, empanadas, donuts—you name it, I love it. But for some reason, I compartmentalized these items as “things I eat out.”

The Magic of My Harabeoji’s Avocado BLT

My harabeoji had many secrets, and one of them was tucked inside his BLT.

He kept many things hidden—grief, remorse, worry—in an abyss of stubborn silence. He left Korea for San Diego in 1978 after enduring more than half a century of instability and …

My harabeoji had many secrets, and one of them was tucked inside his BLT.

He kept many things hidden—grief, remorse, worry—in an abyss of stubborn silence. He left Korea for San Diego in 1978 after enduring more than half a century of instability and loss. It was then, at 67, that he started anew, not to retire to manicured golf courses and poolside card games like other sexagenarians, but to work in a corner deli. He had been a widower, briefly, and now, in his new city, he was a newlywed with a new business.

How This 130-Year-Old Kitchen Tool Holds My Family’s History

I’ve never seen my grandmother drink a single sip of coffee. No pourover, fancy French press, or flavored brew will tempt her away from her cabinet of caffeine-free teas and herbal tisanes. Known for pulling tea bags out of her pocketbook at restaurants, she once even brought bags of her favorite tea across the Atlantic when I took her on a research trip to the tea-steeped English countryside. Meanwhile, my grandfather drinks his coffee black, all day long, and by the bucket. His coffee set-up—a small drip machine—is relegated to one slim corner counter with a canister or two of Folgers tucked in a small cabinet below. Between his minimal coffee gear and the prominent kettle, cozies, and tea strainers, my grandmother’s kitchen is clearly meant for making tea, which is why I’ve always found it strange that she kept an old wood-and-cast-iron, hand-cranked coffee bean grinder on display in the pass-through window.

The grinder has sat there for longer than I've been alive. Most of those years, I didn’t realize what it was, just another wood-and-metal antique blending in with the other rustic touches in my grandmother’s rooster-themed kitchen in North Texas. Now, as a food scholar with a specialty in food-related material culture—the study of the power and meaning of everyday objects—I see the same utensils and kitchen tools we touch and use multiple times a day with slightly different eyes.