Little did I know that kimchi was the answer to my prayers.
I began to drink a bottle of wine each night to fall asleep. I stopped eating properly and began binging — at one point, I was eating three or four cheeseburgers in a single sitting. Then six or seven cheeseburgers became normal. I was out of control and in terrible spiritual and physical condition. I was depressed. I knew it had to stop. One day I began to write a list of what I wanted: family, children, good health. My desires poured out and just the thought of these things made me happy.
Change started that afternoon. I went to a therapy session and then headed for a drive in Palisades Park, New Jersey, a town with a mostly Asian population, many of them Korean Americans. I pulled into a small mall that housed many Korean businesses. I was looking for a shop that sold healing items like jade stone beds, which my mother and I had visited before.
“Korean food,” she said, ending the word food with a soft “uh” sound. Her words rang in my soul. Food had been my guide to Americana.We walked into a grocery store named Han Ah Reum that was right across from the bakery. I left with more than an armful of groceries: raw greens, pre-made Korean side dishes called banchan and kimchi.