“It’s in a bottle. Look for a bottle.”
Mom was on the phone, coaching me through my search for japchae sauce along the aisles of Galleria Market.
“They’re all in bottles.”
I knew I sounded frustrated. But the entire frickin’ aisle was top-to-bottom bottles of soy sauce, fish sauce, udon sauce, kewpie dressing, anchovy sauce, spring roll sauce, and anything but what I was looking for.
“Go ask someone.”
She was being patient on the phone. Which I appreciated. I just wanted a calm evening of simple cooking. Things were not off to a good start.
I wandered around & finally intercepted a woman who seemed to work there:
“Excuse me — do you know where I can find japchae sauce?”
She stared.
“No English. Are you Chinese?”
“Japchae sauce.”
I tried to make myself sound more Korean.
“Oh. Japchae sauce.”
She still made it sound more Korean.
She caught a passerby shopper and said something to her in Korean. The new woman looked at me:
“You’re trying to make japchae?”
I nodded. Grasping the oversized grocery basket, balancing my phone (mom still on the line), and trying to keep my cardigan from falling down — I probably looked a little desperate.
“You know you can buy that … over there? Have you made it before?”
She pointed to the deli section but started walking back toward the sauce aisle, beckoning me to come with her.
“I haven’t made it … but my mom’s made it before …”
The new woman seemed to get it. She snapped into grocery mode and started examining bottles of soy sauce.
“This bottle is good, a Korean brand. And on sale. But the bottle is big.”
I started reaching for the bottle she was pointing at.
“No … Not that one. Too salty. Try this one.”
She started reaching for another bottle.
“Wait. No. This one. This one is very good. And it’s on sale.”
She finally handed me a little Kikkoman Traditionally Brewed Tamari Soy Sauce bottle. And we kept moving down the aisle.
We stopped briefly in the dried noodles section and she threw a package into my basket. She was clearly much more deft at navigating this store, than me.
We paused a little bit once we landed in the refrigerated fish cake section. She started surveying the different packages, tossing them back when they didn’t meet standards. We finally found a lone package and it seemed to check all boxes — Yamasa Vegetable Tenpura Fresh Fish Cake.
“Ah. This! This is delicious. Try it. Just cut it up and fry.”
We started walking again, angling toward the produce section. She abruptly stopped and paused at one of the sample stands. Then turned around and handed me a fishcake on a toothpick.
“Try this too. You can cook it next time.”
I tried it. It was delicious. This woman was clearly adopting me until I had all the ingredients for japchae in my basket. We kept moving.
“Are you Korean?”
This seemed to be a very important clarification, at this store.
“I’m half-Korean.”
“Ah. Your mother.”
We stopped for two more samples (mini chapssal and marinated short rib) before we made it to the produce area. She grabbed a plastic bag off the reel.
“My daughter never cooks.”
She started picking up bunches of garlic chives.
“Two of these. Cut off the ends. Add them last.”
On to spinach.
“She’s 22. Whenever she comes, she never knows what to do.”
She threw the spinach into my basket and started picking up carrots, when we hear a greeting from behind.
“Anyong!!”
Flurry of activity. She’s greeting a woman behind me. She explains to me:
“We go to church together.”
She says something to her friend in Korean. Something something japchae.
“Japchae? Ohh.”
Her friend seems amused and keeps moving along.
Back to business. Adopted grocery store mom throws in carrots and starts rummaging through our newly acquired items.
“Spinach. Make it fresh. Like salad. Don’t cook too long.”
She slaps it back into the basket. It’s kind of the same gesture that halmuni makes when moving things around the kitchen. Funny.
“Noodles. Boil for … 10 minutes. Maybe 15 minutes. Does it say on the bag? No. Okay, 10 minutes.
Sauce. Use soy sauce … maybe a little sugar. Make sure to use black pepper.
Onion. Oh! Onion. Very important.”
We maneuver over to the onions.
“Good for cholesterol. A little expensive right now. Very important.”
Onions are finally safely in my basket.
She turns to me, with a sense of closure.
“Don’t forget, boil the noodles for 10 minutes. Bye bye!”
And off she goes, zipping through the aisles and back toward the front of the store.
Kind of nice. I always appreciate when other people sweep me into their own way of doing things, with me as the benefiting observer. I text mom back, add a bell pepper and shiitake mushrooms to the basket, and finally head to the checkout line.
Other lessons learned:
- Grocery store attendants will lecture you in Korean if you hold the big baskets like baskets, instead of rolling them like a mini cart.
- Shiitake mushrooms shrink a lot.
- Sweeping into other peoples’ lives is good healing for me. I had been missing that dose for a while.
