Four Songsoo Kim recipes for a goodbye meal
Four Songsoo Kim recipes for a goodbye meal
Mackerel and kimchi jjigae, squid and leek stir-fry, nettle and tofu soup, and mustard greens and spring herb salad. Words and photographs by Songsoo Kim.
Welcome to Vittles Recipes! In this weekly slot, our roster of six rotating columnists share their recipes and wisdom with you. This week’s columnist is Songsoo Kim.
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Cooking Goodbyes
In my day job, I am Head of Sourcing and Development for a group of restaurants in London, working on everything from relationships with farms to menu development to popups. Even if I start my mornings with quiet, I am quickly thrust into the pace that working in hospitality demands: there are goals to achieve and to-do lists to check off. To mitigate this intensity, I’ve started to insert moments of reprieve into my work day, in which I take a moment and simply stare into space, trying to achieve that same state of morning-time meong I’ve discussed before. I stand away from the restaurant, away from colleagues, and look at a fig tree in Arnold Circus. By removing myself from the business, a soft moment sometimes emerges, and my thoughts trail to loved ones.
About a month ago, during one of these moments, Tongtong entered my thoughts. Tongtong is a more recent friend, but whenever we hang out I feel that we must have met in a previous life. When we had met last, she had returned from a trip home to China, where she had learned how to make air-dried sausages from her mother. As she delivered me some sausages, she also delivered some news: ‘I think I’m going to leave London in about two weeks.’ I screamed from both surprise and awe at her swift decision. Tongtong had lived in London for close to twelve years. I felt some panic when I listened to her convey her choice with such ease.
I moved to London six and half years ago without knowing anyone. The friends I’ve made here have been precious, but like anyone who lives somewhere with a large population of transient young people, I’ve had to say indeterminate goodbyes to many of them. Goodbyes have always been part of my life, so when I think about Tongtong during that moment of calm, I tell myself that I’m used to them. But earlier childhood goodbyes seem different from the departures of people now that I’m in my thirties. Friendships are rarer now, and more precious. Saying goodbye is harder than before.
Though I don’t want to bombard Tongtong with my own desperations and worries – What if I don’t get to say goodbye? How will I say goodbye? – I text her: ‘I want to cook for you before you go.’ I look at the message; it reads more casual than how I feel. Tongtong is online, and replies, ‘Yes! I would love that, and you know, Peiran is arriving today’ – another friend whom I didn’t get to say goodbye to when she suddenly left London.
I spend a couple of days thinking about what to cook for them, but I don’t arrive at anything, even as I do my multiple rounds at the farmers’ market. I want to mark the time we have left with what is available at this exact moment, but it is that time called the ‘hunger gap’, when there are not that many vegetables available – they’re all in the ground in anticipation for summer. I spot alliums, and think that I’ll forage for some nettles. I've been thinking of nettles a lot lately, their green, dense flavour, and how they are such an expression of British spring. There’s also squid and mackerel around this time. So, I gather all these ingredients and think about bringing them together for my friends.
When Tongtong and Peiran arrive, the mood at our dinner table is tender. I feel lucky to do this eating ritual together: it’s a commemoration of our life here, and our lives to come. As I cook, my feelings move around the kitchen. I think about how marking farewells is important and also exciting, a promise to meet somewhere new soon again, and I am no longer quite as sad as I was when Tongtong told me the news. I think about visiting Tongtong and Peiran in their new homes in their new cities, without London being the base of our identities. While eating, I ask Peiran, who now lives in Shanghai, ‘Do you miss London?’ She replies, to my surprise, ‘Yes, I do, because I gave it my best days.’ This resonates with me, and makes me think hard about the possibility of my own departure, and my relationship with this city. The place where I spent and gave my youth.
Mackerel and kimchi jjigae
I would say that kimchi jjigae – a comforting, nourishing stew-like dish – is soul food for many Koreans. Maybe this is why I wanted to cook it for Tongtong and Peiran, a transference of feeling of home. Kimchi jjigae is often cooked with pork, but mackerel is used on the southeast coast of Korea. This variation is umami-rich, and the super fishy smell is balanced out by the initial frying of kimchi in perilla oil.
Serves 2
Time 45 mins