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Illustration by APRIL DELA NOCHE MILNE
The familiar sound of rustling and clanking fills the house – it’s the sound of my mother preparing breakfast. My morning alarm.
As I drag my body toward the kitchen, I’m greeted by my mother standing over the stove, effortlessly manoeuvring the ingredients in the stainless pot with grace. My senses immediately come alive with the tantalizing aroma of sizzling steak, juicy tomatoes and hearty potatoes simmering in the pot. The fragrant smell of cream mixed with tomato paste and the unmistakable scent of fresh basil reach the tip of my nose.
The rich red of the tomatoes contrasts with the pale green of the cabbage, all immersed in a boiling broth. The addition of tomato paste and cream gives the broth a pinkish hue. The texture is in between a soup and a stew. The roughly cut vegetables and steak give the broth a hearty thickness, yet still allow it to be easily slurped up with a spoon.
Without a distinct name and far from delivering traditional Korean flavours, the dish remains a beloved breakfast classic within our family. My grandmother’s recipe. She had a unique way of blending western and eastern styles in her cooking, which mirrored her upbringing.
I have become more aware of my mother’s time since my grandmother’s passing last Christmas. When you flip an hourglass, most people won’t bother counting the small grains of sand inside. However, now I can sense the descent of each grain through my mother’s hourglass as if I’m counting them one by one.
Her white hair, darkened age spots and deepened wrinkles have become more noticeable as I tally the remaining grains in the upper portion of the timepiece. I hadn’t fully accepted that she was, like everyone else, aging. She has cooked for her family for more than 30 years, splitting her time nowadays between three countries – Korea, Canada and Germany.
When my parents visit us from Korea, they stay with us in Halifax for several months. She helps around the house, flaunting her veteran cooking skills to provide scrumptious meals for me, my partner and our kids. On alternate years, she and my dad will travel to Berlin to spend a couple of weeks with my sister and her partner.
Regardless of her whereabouts, my mother dedicates countless hours to preparing homemade meals every day. Suddenly, I grasp the gravity of her time – in planning, preparing, cooking and cleaning up after each meal for us.
According to Statista, most Canadians claim to spend between 31 and 60 minutes preparing an average weekday dinner for themselves and others in their household. Ten per cent of respondents to the 2022 survey stated that they spend more than an hour preparing their evening meal. My mother belongs to that 10 per cent.
“Breakfast is ready,” she calls, summoning the entire family to the dining table.
She thoughtfully plates and serves our family at the table. Knowing her granddaughters’ tender palates, she deftly pours the soup for them first, carefully gauging its temperature to ensure it will not burn their tongues. She sprinkles more salt and pepper into mine and places extra potatoes in her husband’s bowl. Out of everyone, her son-in-law has the most substantial portion. It is remarkable how effortlessly she attends to each person’s unique tastes, crafting a meal that feels tailor-made for each of us.
However, her cooking is not just confined to the kitchen – it begins much earlier at the grocery store. My mother’s grocery shopping trips require a well-thought-out strategy, precise calculations and meticulous attention to detail. From assessing the leftovers in the fridge, to keeping track of the condiments and spices, to adding new ingredients to the list, her dedication is plain as she scrupulously plans a week’s worth of meals.
Whenever I stroll along with my mother through the produce aisles pushing the cart, she becomes the utmost brutal critic of vegetables.
“Pick out a bell pepper with a sturdy end.”
“Iceberg lettuce spoils soon, pick out this red leaf lettuce instead.”
“Those Roma tomatoes need to be firmer, redder.”
Her criticism of the produce is just a starting point of our grocery journey. It amazes me every time how she remembers that zucchini is 75 cents cheaper at Walmart, our favourite mint chocolate ice cream is 50 cents cheaper at Atlantic Superstore and a baguette is 30 cents cheaper at Sobeys.
What’s more, my mother accommodates everyone’s individual needs and personal preferences. Her granddaughter favours white sourdough bread, her husband prefers low-sodium chips and her daughter craves spicy food. Somehow, all of our family’s needs, moods and wants are imprinted inside her brain and guide her hands as she adds items to the cart.
When you put so much devotion and love into a meal, it becomes a ritual. It is the only time when everyone gathers, sits down and takes the time to savour each bite. The dining table transforms into the epicentre of the family’s conversation and connection, a space where we share not just food, but our lives. As we catch up on each other’s struggles and triumphs, we offer support and advice. We update each other on our work projects and brainstorm ideas for future vacation plans. And, of course, there are always lively discussions about the wish lists for upcoming birthdays and holidays.
In an era where convenience reigns supreme, with microwave dinners and meal kits flourishing in kitchens, the arduous process of creating a homemade meal from scratch might seem highly inefficient.
However, my 68-year-old mother embraces it with such dignity.
“Nope, that’s not how you cut your carrots.”
“Lower the heat, or you’ll burn the butter.”
“No, you shouldn’t use that bowl for this meal.”
Helping her out in the kitchen demands a great deal of patience. Yet, I know it’s her way of expressing love – that extra ingredient that goes into our every meal.
As I chop the vegetables, she glances over and notices that my carrots are not evenly sized. She nudges me aside to take over the task.
“Just do the dishes.”
Jihye Sophia Hong lives in Halifax.