Late November kicks off the Kimjang season, the annual
festive period across the land of Korea just before winter,
and I have returned to Kimchi. Seneca urged: daily, acquire
something to better prepare yourself against fortune which
gives and takes away. The simple and down-to-earth gift
from culture seems worthy of a practising Stoic.
It's been a long time, one and a half years to be exact,
since I last made the stuff. Diet experiments took me away
and the last batch went too sour. Recently, my wife started
buying it in plastic jars and from it I made Tim's favorite
Sundubu Jjigae. Then, all of a sudden, I started to miss the
joy of kimchi.
Following Maangchi's simple recipe, I made my 14th batch
on Veteran's Day with about 6.4lbs of napa cabbages (白菜),
went through it in two weeks, and made a 7.2-lb batch on
Thansgiving Saturday.
At the workplace, Indian colleagues back from vacation often
broadcast to share sweets. Back from Beijing, I have never
done anything similar. Receiving only does not feel good and
sharing shouldn't be a monopoly. Well. Kimjang is all about
sharing and here's my chance.
My co-workers S and L did not even know what kimchi was
when I proudly showed them the picture. Only M the Iranian
was acquainted. I couldn't help but feeling evangelical simply
because I was from that geographical and cultural region.
What came as a surprise was that most Indian team-members
turned out to be vegetarian. One neighbor asked about it and
when I told him it had shrimp in it, just thanked me and turned
away. Others seemed as thrilled as when a cow herd was
informed of a plate of roasted turkey nearby.
It's hard to relish kimchi without fish sauce or salted shrimp.
I might try to do with soy sauce and skip the shrimp next time.
Nonetheless, the message is out: someone from the East is
confident enough to share a unique product of culture. And, for now, that's good enough.
