Category Archives: food

Corn Pudding is the best!

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One of my all-time favorite holiday dishes was my grandmother’s corn pudding. I’ve spoken to several friends with southern origins, and there seems to be some confusion over what I mean by “pudding.” What I’m describing is the soft, egg-y custard with corn, baked until golden on top–no cheese! I remember shoveling this into my mouth with reckless abandon on many holidays.

Corn pudding

Unfortunately, corn pudding and I lost touch over the years, and after my grandmother died, I thought there was no hope of recreating it.

Wrong. Corn pudding is, like, the easiest thing to make ever. This year, my mom and I recreated this family favorite to great results: empty serving dishes and rave reviews both times.

So here, you go, corn pudding for your next holiday gathering.

Print
Corn Pudding
Prep time: 
Cook time: 
Total time: 

 

Ingredients
  • 5 eggs
  • ⅓ cup butter, melted
  • ¼ cup white sugar
  • ½ cup milk
  • 4 tablespoons cornstarch
  • 1 (15.25 ounce) can whole kernel corn
  • 2 (14.75 ounce) cans cream-style corn
  • ½ teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
  • ½ teaspoon cinnamon

Instructions
  1. Preheat oven to 400 Degrees F (200 degrees C). Grease a 2 quart casserole dish.
  2. In a large bowl, lightly beat eggs. Add melted butter, sugar, and milk. Whisk in cornstarch. Stir in corn and creamed corn, cinnamon, and nutmeg. Blend well. Pour mixture into prepared casserole dish.
  3. Bake for 1 hour.

By the waay, Fiancé-friend hates canned corn and refuses to eat this. Everyone else knows good eatin’ when they see it.

 

Dr. Fish & I hate shopping

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Well, I finally got to fulfill my dream of having tiny fish nom-nom all the dead skin on my feet. (As you may recall, I couldn’t find the Dr. Fish spa in Hongdae back in 2010.)

I took the subway to Gangnam station, which I didn’t realize is a gargantuan underground shopping center. Some directions that I found online told me to take Exit #6, so I wandered around for ten minutes looking for that.

I’ve found that if you get lost in a subway station in life, it’s best to follow the yellow brick road.

As it turns out, the direction I found are no longer correct. You should take Exit #10. Walk straight until you’re across the street from the CGV building and look for this sign:

As you can see, this place is marketed as a “book and spa cafe,” NOT as a place where fish nibble on your callouses.

Initially, I wasn’t sure that I had found the right place since the café looks pretty…well, café-like. Where are the fishies?

You have to order something off the menu (I think?), and the prices are a little steep. I got a caramel latté for 5800KRW and then added on the Dr. Fish treatment for 2000KRW.

Fortunately, there’s a free bar of carbohydrates, coffee, and tea.

Oh, don’t mind me. I’m just over here, stuffing my face with free bread and butter + jam and snacks that taste like FrootLoops. Lunch of Champions!

When I finished gorging myself on bread and snacks, an employee took me over to the “Dr. Fish” area. First, you have your feet and legs hosed off, lest you poison the fish with your body lotions and oils.

Then it’s time to let the Dr. fish do their thang:

If you are at all ticklish, I don’t recommend this treatment. It is a very strange sensation, especially when they nibble in between your toes.

Also, the fish poop in the water (See above.). At first, I was grossed out, but then I thought about how much fish poop there must be in the ocean and in lakes. I think I’ll survive.

Most of the books at the “Book & Spa Café” were in Korea, so I relaxed with my Kindle and an unsatisfying free book.

You do have the option of Anne of Green Gables, should you desire to revisit a childhood favorite:

The spa/café employee told me “fifteen minutes” when I put my feet in the tub. She didn’t come over to stop my spa treatment, but after 15 minutes, I was feeling a little raw. All in all, 7800KRW well spent! And, yes, my feet are softer and slightly less hideous now.

Then I headed to the underground shopping center in the Gangnam subway station and forced myself to browse the many tiny stores. This turned out to be one of the circles of my personal hell.

Most Korean stores have no dressing rooms. Sometimes, you may find a curtain or a tiny make-shift stand, but those are rare. And if you can try on your purchase, you have to emerge into the cramped store and examine your item in front of everyone else. There just isn’t enough room for a mirror in the dressing stall.

I honestly don’t know how Korean women buy their clothes. As far as I can tell, they just take something off the rack, hold it up to their bodies in front of a mirror, shrug, and know that it will fit.

Meanwhile, I blundered through the racks, grabbing the largest things I could find. When I found a store with an unlit dressing area, I tested out one pencil skirt, which was too small and made me feel like a thick-legged office vamp.

Meanwhile, a clueless adolescent kept knocking on the door, ignoring my frantic calls to “WAIT A MINUTE!!!”  As I was in my underwear, trying to shimmy my way out of the tramp skirt, she swung the door open, exposing my partially-covered thighs and bum to everyone in the store.

Since I am, of course, not prone to explosive outbursts, I screamed, “WAIT A MINUTE!!! GOD DAMNIT!” before slamming the [lockless] door in her face. As I wrestled out of the skirt, I unleashed out a fresh barrage of profanity (“What the [rhymes with 'duck'] is with you, TINY ASSHOLE!”). I hope I ruined her day.

I left empty-handed, but sweaty and stressed.

People always talk about how great the shopping is in Seoul, but I’ll take the air-conditioned dressing rooms and vanity sizing of J.Crew any day.

This is no way to live shop!

The Mother Sauce

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Alarm clocks? Who needs those when you have homestay mom yelling Chaemin, wake up! [in Korean] starting at 7:30am. This morning, her dulcet tones were punctuated by the dog barking and the snapping sound of the broken stove’s ignition system trying to light the burner for 30 minutes.

When I finally stumbled to the table, homestay sister was swirling what looked like a bowl of light paste in a shallow dish with her spoon. I asked her what she was eating, and she replied “soup.”

Soon after, homestay mom put a large bowl of soup in front of me, next to a frozen sesame dinner roll (revived by pan-frying with melted butter), and a salad composed of iceberg lettuce, walnuts, red cabbage, and kiwi dressing.

The soup had funny white clumps in it.

Me: [In Korean] Erm…how did you make this soup?

Homestay mom: Butter…then I added flour…a little milk, oh and some water.

Me: Oh. I see.

Oh, yes. I was served a béchamel (white) sauce, thinned slightly with water and masquerading as stand-alone soup, for breakfast.

Fueled by my hearty breakfast of fat and carbs and a long Skype pity-fest with my mom, I walked into class with a new sense of purpose.

During our mid-afternoon break, I announced to Tuesday-Thursday-Friday teacher that I would not be returning to class anymore.

I want to look back on this summer and think that I enjoyed it on my terms. Maybe I will regret my decision to quit, but for the moment, it’s just a relief knowing that I won’t be spending four hours a day holding back rage tears. Everyone says that making mistakes is normal and healthy at this point in my life, so here I go, taking a risk even though I’m a consummate risk-avoider.

Let’s forge ahead with Summer of Self-Discovery! Won’t you join me?

[Tarita also quit today ("Why didn't we think of this earlier?!?"), and once she set the cogs in motion, there was no turning back.]

P.S. It’s my Arrival Day in Korea, and I’m celebrating by…returning? And quitting.

Food I’ve been making.

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Most days, I am bored in Korean class, which is sad but true. I already know some of the grammar, so that’s part of it, but the class just bores me to tears. The class syllabus is very synthetic, meaning that we learn grammar points independently and are then expected to synthesize them ourselves for communicative purposes. Ugh, it’s so, so painful, but there isn’t much I can do. It’s too late to move to another level, and it’s not as if my Korean is really that good. I’m just bored with the format.

So it was exciting to go on a cooking field trip on Thursday where we made bulgogi and japchae in an instructional kitchen classroom. We also learned what a trashcan is:

I loved our teacher’s haircut. Should I cut my hair while I’m here? Thoughts?

It became immediately clear who had experience in the kitchen and who didn’t. I held my breath a few times, preparing to spring into action if a classmate chopped off her finger or spilled boiling water all over himself.

Pouring soy sauce is a job for four people:

Alright, Tarita, let’s sautée the shit out of these vegetables:

I kind of love the frumpy Korean-style aprons. I might have to get one.

Here are the fruits of our labor. I did not eat the bulgogi, but I heard it was tasty:

Here’s my whole class. Mercifully, my classmates are pretty cool, so if I have to suffer, at least I’m not alone. Sorry for the awkward cleavage shot.

Today, I did a fair bit of cooking as well in preparation for homestay dad’s mother’s (homestay grandmother’s) birthday. The apartment went into psycho mode, which was a little bit stressful to be a part of.

Homestay mom made a ton of food: bulgogi, pork, fried shrimp and vegetables, rice, noodles, salads, kimchi (many kinds), sponge cake, stir-fried sardines, etc.

Homestay mom asked me a few weeks ago to make the same yellow cake with chocolate frosting for the party. It was received with moderate success, though many people chose to leave some on their plates in favor of watermelon. (This is always going to shock me.)

As you can see, the dog was very helpful.

In case you have questions about the dog, imagine that we are having a face-to-face conversation about it. This is how I would look; hopefully, you know me well enough to read through the lines.

Tomorrow, I have to buckle down and learn a lot of vocabulary and review grammar points that I have forgotten because our midterm is this week. (Can I make it another six weeks? I might perish of ennui!)

No, that’s not true. In my free time, I’ve been dreaming up ambitious projects, planning my life for the fall semester, trying to sing songs from Wicked without knowing the words, and devouring books on my Kindle. Free crappy romance novel? Sure, I’ll bite.

This exists.

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No, that’s not a bee-hive. It’s “poo bread.” I didn’t have any.

I did have this though:

It was a thin sugar cone shaped like a corncob, containing corn-flavored ice cream with a thin coating of chocolate. Oh, and also, there were actual corn kernels mixed in the ice cream. Kind of like someone just opened up a can of corn and sprinkled a few pieces inside. Yummy?

Speaking of ice cream, scary teacher was shocked to hear this week that we think she’s scary. She seemed legitimately taken aback by this news, so we tried to explain gently that her excited outbursts and banging on the desk with her fist are a little, well, scary.

She felt bad, I think, so she bought us ice cream.

We were really excited about this, weren’t we, Tarita?

 

About honesty and vegetarianism in Korea

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When I was filled out the registration form for my homestay several months ago, I indicated that I was vegetarian and listed “meat, fish, and seafood” as foods that I avoid. The homestay coordinator assured me that whichever host family I selected would accommodate my vegetarianism as best they could, but I prepared to turn a blind eye in some situations. In general, Korea is a notoriously difficult place to be a vegetarian because some animal-based products sneak their way into almost every component of the meal.

Decapitated anchovies for stir-fry or broth….

However, when I arrived at my homestay, it quickly became clear that my family was unaware of my dietary preference. (Oh, hi, beef!) At first, I thought they just didn’t “get” vegetarianism. To be polite, I ate the dishes with meat, though I did explain that “in America, I try not to eat beef because…I don’t like it.”

In retrospect, it seems ridiculous that I didn’t speak up more clearly, but I was (am) terrified of offending my host family. After all, they opened up their house to a complete stranger for twelve weeks and cook for me every day. And what I eat they eat, so I didn’t want to inconvenience them terribly. Since I’m relatively new to vegetarianism and actually do enjoy the taste of meat, I toyed with the idea of being an omnivore in Korea until my return home in August. This made me feel very uncomfortable.

Salad that I made myself for lunch. 

This morning’s breakfast was a breaking point though. I did not want to eat an egg sandwich with a huge slice of processed ham and a Kraft single on it. I tried to eat my sandwich as slowly as possible and wait until everyone left for work/school so I could pick out the ham and cheese. Then, as always happens, homestay mom decided that she gave herself too much food and unceremoniously removed the ham from her own sandwich and put it back in the fridge.

Meanwhile, I had forced myself into a corner with a ham sandwich as a companion. Awesome.

After everyone left, I cried about this on Skype with my mom and received a really reassuring pep-talk from a fellow adoptee and “sister vegetarian” on Facebook. [Susie, if you read this, I <3 you!!!]

When life hands you processed ham, eat peanut butter bagels.

I sent an email–half in Korean, half in English–to the homestay coordinator asking her advice. Fortunately, she works with homestay dad at the same municipal office, and she immediately made him aware of the situation and apologized profusely…even though this whole thing is my own fault.

I was so nervous to come home tonight because I anticipated a barrage of questions and accusations: But you’ve been eating meat! But you said everything was delicious! [This, for the most part, is true.] Why did you eat chicken the other night?!? 

When homestay mom came home though, her arms were loaded with fresh produce, and she immediately started making dinner. When I started to help, she eventually said, “So you’re vegetarian? I’m so sorry! This must have been so hard for you! You should tell me if there’s something you don’t eat.” and apologized several times. [Obviously, this was in Korean, so it's possible that I misunderstood her.]

Stir-fried peppers. Unsurprisingly, this dish was spicy.

I feel foolish that I didn’t speak up earlier, and I feel so relieved that I got this out in the open, even using my terrible, limited Korean.

Even more than speaking up for myself though, I learned an important lesson about how I’ve been viewing my homestay family.

I think it’s dangerous to use culture as a blanket justification for every “strange” behavior and interaction we have with someone from a different country. For example, some of my ESL students are unfamiliar with the importance placed upon intellectual property in American academic culture, but that in no way excuses them when they commit blatant plagiarism. And saying “Well, their culture doesn’t have that concept” just reduces them from people to ambiguous products of their “culture”…whatever that actually means.

Likewise, when something weird happens to me here, it’s frustrating to hear “Oh, that must just be how Koreans are!” I mean, some people are just weird. If a non-American met me, would s/he think that I represented “how all Americans are”?

Yay, meat-free dinner!

[I told homestay mom that I was fine picking out meat from certain dishes.]

Here’s the thing though: by martyring myself, I was effectively doing the same thing to my homestay family. I was desperate not to offend them because I had heard that Koreans “don’t understand vegetarianism,” but I wasn’t actually seeing them as the kind, generous people that they are. I wasn’t even giving them a chance to try to accommodate me; instead, I naively assumed that they would be incapable of or unwilling to deal with a vegetarian. Certainly, some Koreans might be this way, but my homestay family seems eager to make me feel comfortable and at-home.*

*Except I think homestay sister is rather upset about this new development. She loves meat. I’m going to try to buy her lots of ice cream….

If you’ve made it all the way through this long post, congratulations! Your reward? More pictures.

This is apparently how you move out of the apartment complex, via mechanized cart:

This is our teacher today, after inflicting corporal punishment on a classmate for not knowing the difference between the “to” and “at” particles.

Edit (6/25/12): I was just served kimbap for breakfast containing tuna, fish-based fake crab, and ham. I assume homestay mom forgot, but I really felt uncomfortable saying something. I just picked out the animal products, but I don’t think she saw me.

English-y club

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Tarita’s homestay dad goes to an English conversation club every Tuesday, so last night, we tagged along.

For an hour and a half, we sat with some Koreans who were very eager to practice their English. It was pretty fun, though having taught ESL for two years now, I can’t say that it was a particularly new experience.

[Tarita and I later discussed how you know you've been spending a lot of time with non-native English speakers when you start orienting your stories in time by saying "At that time..."]

After English club was over (at 9:15pm), can you guess what time it was?

If you guessed Eating and Drinking Time, you’d be correct.

The group went to a sit-on-the-floor restaurant and proceeded to demolish several platters of jim dak (찜닭), which is spicy soy-glazed chicken and vegetables.

This moist towelette didn’t just encourage you to clean your hands; the reverse side told you all about God and Jesus. I’m wondering if the restaurant owner had stolen a bunch from a church or something….

Tarita and I sat across from this man, whose name I don’t recall, and–man–he had a lot to tell us. He had a very jolly laugh and for whatever reason, a slightly German + Borat-esque accent.

He was very excited to hear that Tarita was from Chicago. He really wanted us to listen to “The Night Chicago Died” on his hilariously huge smartphone in the middle of dinner.

Then he told us his big “secret.” This was a story about how when he studied in London in the 1970′s, he was arrested because he drunkenly got in a fight with his friend or roommate. I can’t remember. The story was frequently interrupted by calls for more soju consumption and food.

He also told Tarita something to this effect:

“I think your descendants [We later realized he meant 'ancestors.'] must be European because you look…very pretty.”

I had at least three conversations to this effect last night:

Korean: Where are you from?

Me: Illinois [Though I should say Virginia since I didn't grow up in IL, and things get confusing.]…the United States

Korean: But your parents…they are Korean.

Me: Sort of. I’m adopted. [This is met with blank stares.]

(By now, at least five Koreans are listening, all wondering the same thing.)

Me: I-byang-a. ["Adoptee"]

Koreans: Ahhhhhh….[Sad sympathy cloud descends upon the table.]

Korean drinking culture is fraught with rules that I don’t really understand. For example, you can’t pour your own drink; someone else has to notice and pour it for you. Also, when you drink, I think you’re suppose to turn your head to the side (and sometimes cover your mouth) out of politeness to your fellow drinkers.

This is actually a bunch of juice that I dumped my soju into. Unsurprisingly, going to the other side of the world does not make beer or liquor taste any better.

See that man in the white shirt? Tarita’s homestay dad insists that he is very attractive because he is tall and has big eyes. He was literally stunned that Tarita and I were not trying to jump his bones.

We got home at 11:30, and it was time to sleep.

Oh, I forgot that this exchange happened between me and the two gentlemen pictured above. (I actually can’t remember their names, so I have to refer to them thusly.)

Korean 1: What’s your nickname?

Me: Mica. My name is Mica. I don’t have a nickname.

Koreans 1 & 2: M…ay…i…what? what?

Me: Miiiiiica.

Koreans 1 & 2: Mi-ga?…MY GOD??

Me: No, Mi-/k/a. Mica!

Koreans 1 & 2: Like Oh mygod?

Me: : No, like Mica. With a k-sound. 

Koreans 1 & 2: Oh…like My-Car. [This is a car model here.]

Me: No, like Mica. M-I-C-A.

Koreans 1 & 2: Oh…Meeka!!!

I love you, 6″ cake.

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Thank you for your feedback as to which topics you’d like to see on MicaPie. Several of you expressed your satisfaction with the blog the way it is–thanks! No worries. My intention isn’t to change things drastically; I have integrity after all. However, I would like to find a recurring theme or niche for my blog. I’m thinking something like a link up at the top that people can use to find all posts pertaining to _____.

[The most preferred topic, by the way, was Rants, cynicism, and other snarky observations.]

But let’s talk about Seoul today, okay?

Seoul has a lot to offer, and today, I think I found my personal sweetspot. I went with Homestay sister and her cousin to Bangsan market, which is part of the greater Dongdaemun market complex. In Bangsan, you can find every baking supply imaginable.

First, some background. Many kitchens in Seoul don’t have ovens, and from what I can tell, Seoul-ites tend to rely on “French” bakeries for their sweets. That is, when they’re not being satisfied with fruit for dessert. [No. I refuse.] Thus, the grocery stores don’t really have baking sections or the necessary ingredients for cake or cookies.

I had heard great things about Bangsan Baking market from a few Seoul expat blogs, but I was really unprepared for how fun and cool it is!

About half of the stores sell baking ingredients: sugars, flours, candies, fillings, toppings, colored powders, mixes, chocolate chips–everything you could imagine!

Other stores stock supplies for presentation: adorable decorated boxes and cellophane bags, bows, ribbons, twist-ties, stickers and labels, etc. The main alley was tiny and dark, but each store was an explosion of color.

Okay, this container didn’t really belong:

With all of the selection, my mind was racing, trying to figure out how I could open a bakery while living in Seoul.

I was really tempted by the selection of cookie cutters, but my minimalist tendencies fortunately kicked in. I cannot even imagine the rage I would experience trying to extract dough from these ridonculously tiny cookie cutters:

I left with only the necessary ingredients…

for yellow cake…

…with chocolate frosting! [How did my layers turn out that flat?? That never happens!]

Since I already have 9″ cake pans at home, I bought one 6″ pan and used it to bake two layers separately, following this recipe. I think I’m in love with the 6″ cake. It’s adorable and just the right size. I see a lot of 6″ cakes in my future.

Homestay sister helped me bake and frost the cake. This doubled as English practice for her because I made her read the recipe for ingredient amounts. [Does this count as task-based language teaching?!?] I also taught her some crucial techniques, especially this one:

Baking in Korea is really an experience. For example, I’m used to sticks of butter, but I could only find it in a huge block. Thus, I had to get out a scale and find conversion rates for tablespoons to grams. And metric system? You’re confusing!

Guess what I ate for dinner?

When we cut the cake into fourths, the top layer actually slid off. Oh well.

Homestay family was very impressed with the cake, and it was great to contribute something finally. They don’t usually let me help with cooking or cleaning, which makes me feel out of place.

Yellow cake with chocolate frosting is not only my favorite dessert, but also my pre-race ritual! Let’s hope it serves me well tomorrow when I run my first 5K in Korea. Apparently, the course, which is a converted landfill, is one hilly mo-fo.

C’mon, cake, take me to victoryyyyyyyy!

Little sister

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Homestay sister is 16 (15 by Western reckoning), and she’s a little quiet and shy around me.

Homestay mom insists that I speak English with her so that she’ll improve, but so far, that just results in relatively short conversations, typically using the words good, bad, many, little, and some in isolation.

Example:

Me: How was school? Do you have a lot of homework?

Homestay sister: Good. Mmm, some.

Me: Do you like dessert?

Homestay sister: Yes. Little.

Not to mention when I speak Korean, the language barrier impedes the display of my obviously sparkling and charismatic personality. After hearing my repetitive and otherwise uninspired observations about Korean life (“I put this thing in the refrigerator now. This pepper is spicy.”), I probably wouldn’t want to talk to me very much either.

Not to be deterred, I insisted that we make a 10:30pm run to the convenience store last night for ice cream.

I got the Black Crunch Bar. It was decent, though nothing spectacular. The crunchy cookie coating was tasty, but the actual ice cream inside was icy. Gross.

I think the best part was the little monster with an afro on the packaging:

Oh crap. I just realized that it expired last month.

Homestay sister got this supremely unsatisfying-looking watermelon-flavored treat. Considering that it only had 90 calories, I bet it wasn’t even ice cream. Oh well, we’re getting somewhere.

In search of smoother, creamier ice cream, I got a hazelnut McFlurry today. This came with a collector-item Olympics-themed glass.

Unrelated–On my walk home from campus, I passed by this:

Revolution of Natural Life.

The World’s Best Adult Stem Cell Company.

 

The relative cost of food.

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Roll of kimbap – 1500 KRW ($1.28 USD)

Bowl of miso ramen + 2 different pickled radish side dishes – 4000KRW ($3.42 USD)

Awesome fish-shaped waffle + ice cream + sweet red bean paste dessert – 1000KRW ($0.86 USD)

One jar 462g of Skippy Super Chunk peanut butter: 5500 KRW ($4.71 USD)

…Sigh….

Wow, I look like Gollum, clutching his Precioussssssss.

American comfort food in a sea of rice and noodles: Priceless.

A girl in my class picked up two jars of Skippy for me from Itaewon, the “foreigner” area of Seoul. It cost almost twice as much as it would in the US, but perhaps that will prevent me from mindlessly scooping it out of the jar with a spoon or my finger.

Language and food are both strongly tied to one’s sense of culture and identity. Honestly, I can’t tell which one is more jarring here. On one hand, it’s disconcerting to encounter Korean in places where I’m used to seeing English: website buttons, receipts, nutrition labels. On the other hand, I’m also quite aware that I’m not in the US when I am served [really] fermented kimchi at 8am for breakfast.

Maybe I’ll go buy some bread and make myself a sammich.