Category Archives: language barrier
My birthday was this past weekend. To celebrate, my mother offered to take me out to dinner at… our family’s restaurant. Some history is in order. (WARNING: This is long.)
My mom works/I was raised in a Korean food catering place called Mae Il Jahnchee Jeep. I don’t really know what Mae Il stands for, but “jahnchee” seems to be a relatively new word to the Korean lexicon, meaning “lunchbox” — not the collectible Mork & Mindy kind, but more like the bento kind. “Jeep” translates to house, which you’ll find in the names of many Korean restaurants that offer traditional home cooking. (Sometimes my mom and her associates drop the “jeep” when referring to the store.) On a final confusing note, according to some English signage, the place is also called Party Well Buffet.
My father’s side of the family seems to be a lot wealthier than my mom’s side. With the financial backing of my better-off uncle, my parents opened a Korean joint called Mae Il Jahnchee in the early ’80s. This was actually the first business of its kind to appear in the states (or at least in New York City), which begs the question of whether or not my family coined the term “jahnchee.” Perhaps “jahnchee” had already existed as the Korean word for lunchbox, but I’ve heard that my parents were the first to use it to refer to a restaurant. (Take that, DJ Conner!)
The first incarnation of Mae Il Jahnchee was a no-frills catering operation in Flushing, Queens. It was a one-story building with a picture window that gave passersby a glimpse into a chaotic kitchen. There was some sort of rudimentary counter behind which my mom and dad took orders, but for most of the day all hands were on deck in the back, and no one really manned the front of the house.
In the late ’80s, my uncle decided to invest in expanding Mae Il Jahnchee. He purchased a large building that was catty-corner from the business and set about renovating it into a catering hall. No one in my family seems to know what this building was used for before my uncle bought it. I’d imagine it was for some kind of entertainment. I remember seeing red vinyl columns but that’s about it.
The renovation took several years. My family moved into a house right next to the new store. My sister and I played in the construction rubble.
My mom and dad dealt with a lot of stress for this long stretch of time: signing a lease on a house; raising two dirty, accident-prone little girls and one teenage boy who had taken to good old American rebelliousness a little too much; overseeing the construction of a new business while still operating the old one. And during all of this my father’s health was declining.
I remember one late-night argument my parents had during this time. My family must have just recently moved into our house, because we were all sleeping together on the living room floor in a mess of blankets. I pretended to sleep as my mom and dad raged over their kids’ prone bodies.
My father passed away in 1990. He never saw the finished, new Mae Il Jahnchee Jeep.
The grand opening was a huge event; pretty much the entire Korean community in Queens was there. Mae Il Jahnchee continued to be the happenin’ spot for weddings, babies’ one-hundredth day celebrations, decade birthdays, and other significant events in the lives of local Korean Americans.
In addition to the main hall on the ground floor, there were two ancillary party spaces that I’m sure were more affordable. One was in the basement, past the bathrooms and sharing a wall with the kitchen. The room itself had low ceilings, terrible lighting and a tacky linoleum floor.
The other party space was on the second/top floor, and though it was airy and spacious, it was also obviously just part of a cleared-out apartment. The room was flanked on either side by bedrooms that came to be occupied by my brother, my cousin (rich uncle’s son), and my grandmother, as well as a couple of bathrooms, complete with bathtubs and toiletries that shouted, “Someone lives here!”
Strangely enough, business moved so briskly that it was a common occurence for each party room to be booked on weekend nights. When karaoke mania hit the US in the mid-early ’90s, I usually fell asleep to the cacophony of not one, not two, but three drunken revelers belting out K-pop ballads.
Meanwhile, Mae Il Jahnchee still did out-of-house catering. My brother and the aforementioned cousin (who deserves his very own essay) earned their keep as delivery boys, driving aluminum trays of food out to Korean businesses, churches and households all over the tri-state area.
Though the store had assumed a more presentable reception area, there wasn’t a lot of walk-in business. Most transactions were conducted over the phone, and the drivers received cash on delivery. The kitchen produced a handful of small styrofoam trays of snacks – jahnchees! – everyday, and what didn’t get sold was usually forced onto me and my sister.
Over the years, as more Korean establishments popped up in the area, Mae Il Jahnchee didn’t change much about its business model. There are still no computers; all numbers are crunched on laypersons’ calculators and documented by hand in composition books. Though I’m sure they’ve started taking credit cards, I don’t recall ever seeing any sort of card reading device.
Thus, business slowed down at Mae Il Jahnchee. As the glamour of the party halls deteriorated, they booked fewer and fewer in-house events. The bedrooms upstairs emptied out as my brother quit his delivery job and moved into another apartment, my grandmother passed away, and my cousin took on a new house and some sort of managerial role at his dad’s newer, grander party hall in Astoria. (That is, until his drug use landed him in a rehab program in Hawaii, where he seems to have been for the past decade or so. Hm, maybe he doesn’t need his own essay after all.)
The basement party room now houses teetering piles of dry goods – napkins, Sterno cups, to-go containers – and, in recent years, the occasional cat. Every now and then the staff will welcome a new cat into the kitchen for mousing purposes. They always name it Nabi, which is Korean for butterfly.
And then – this past Christmas – my brother mentioned that there is now a restaurant on the main floor. Somehow I’d missed this development in preceding months, during which I guess I managed to entirely avoid this area. Anyway, this is when my already weak grasp of the family business reached new, hypoglycemic levels of weakness. My mother sort of just shrugged off our questions, apparently not understanding why this was such a big effing deal.
“Is it ours?” “Did rich-uncle finance this?” “Does the downstairs kitchen make the food?” “Will there be a grand opening?” “If there is a grand opening, can we come?”
Over the course of last night’s very tasty dinner I learned two things from my mother. First, they did not – and will not – have a grand opening. Second, this place is called Mae Il Garden.
I also observed some things which may mean different things about this restaurant and my family’s relationship to it. There is a small, separate kitchen from the dining hall, which I guess means the restaurant’s food prep is under some other jurisdiction. (Although my mom said the kimchi we ate was ours.) We were given a check, which means the place is not ours, though the check had a significant “working staff” discount applied to it. Serving as hostess was a cousin of mine – one of my father’s sister’s daughters – indicating that my father’s sister has some money in this venture (and/or which may also explain the “working staff” hookup).
After the barbequed fatty pork and assorted VIP freebies including shrimp tempura and sizzling stir-fried mushrooms, we were unable to eat a lot of other items on our table. Worried that it would get wasted, my mother picked up a bowl of spicy seafood stew (one of the bahnchan, or non-VIP freebies one typically gets in a Korean restaurant) and carried it into the staff’s plating area, asking them to put it somewhere safe so she could eat it at work the next day. Though they were nice about it, I could tell that her actions were somewhat out of bounds.
All told, I am still pretty confused by this place. I eagerly await someone’s Yelp review to help fill me in.
I’m a terribly unreliable blogger as it is, but I’ve recently been approached with an exciting new project that will unfortunately eat up most of my time for at least the next few months. BUT I’ve recently started using Twitter less for stalking and more for its intended use (microblogging, right?) so you can find me updating more frequently there, under the ill-conceived name PantsForDogs.
The holidays, of course, are also keeping me really busy these days. My sister Alice came to town from DC as she does every year for Christmas. This time – in her ongoing attempt to engage our mom in language-neutral board game family fun times – she brought Jenga.
My mom got pretty into it!
Drunk on Jenga fun, sometimes she’d start her move as Alice was still finishing hers. That’s her hand creeping into the shot.
Near the end of 2011 I declared 2012 to be the year of the class act, which at the time meant that I’d be discrete and sensitive about my impending breakup, try to keep my big mouth shut in general, and maybe not throw up from alcohol. I think I nailed the first goal and not so much the others, so I’ll try to keep it going in 2013.
I hope all of you have a great new year. Keep it classy.
This past Sunday I went to see my mom for the first time since she returned from her two week visit to Korea. I had some talking points to cover, the first few of which I brought up two posts ago:
ON HER BROTHER
He’s old, but otherwise doing okay.
ON INDOOR PLUMBING
Yes, they’ve had a toilet for a few years now.
ON GANGNAM STYLE
Me: “[In Korea, did you hear Gangnam Style?]”
Mom: “[I did not go to Gangnam.]”
Me: “[No, Gangnam Style.]”
Mom: “[Ohhh that dance? Yes. How do you know about it?]”
Me: “[Everyone knows about it; it’s huge here. On the news they said that Gangnam is a very expensive city.]”
Mom: “[Yes, that’s where all the fancy stores are.]”
Me: “[Have you seen the video?]”
Mom: “[There’s a video?]”
At this point I remedy this, performing (at her request) the little pony-riding part of the dance I know.
ON DID YOU BRING ME SOMETHING
Whenever someone you know is going on a trip, ask them to bring you something – anything. It’s a numbers game. Sometimes they’ll do it! And then you’ll have an exciting new snack or toy or other doodad to blog about. Such as:
Sidenote: After laughing at it for a solid minute, I accepted this shirt, asking why she bought such a childish-looking thing. She said, “[Well I know you like dogs.]” “[Mom… you know Mickey Mouse is a mouse, not a dog.]” “[What.]”
Oh, what’s that? That’s a strawberry, not a shopping bag, you say?
All things considered, not a bad haul for a non-Gangnam shopping trip.
Maybe it goes without saying that I apologize for the lack of updates. It’s especially embarrassing for me, as someone who blogs and digests marketing-related social media (“Content is king!” x 1,000,000 4eva) for a living – I really should know better. But I might as well explain what’s been going on in my life, and how that affects KisstheGook.
In early January I broke up with my boyfriend. In the four and a half years we’d lived together, I had become pretty dependent on his computer as my own iBook G4 grew more and more decrepit and incapable of reading modern day web code. So when I moved out of our apartment and into a smaller room with a bunch of (awesome!) roommates nearby, I left behind convenient access to my WordPress dashboard in addition to our two rottweilers and most of my furniture. I’ll presumably be collecting my furniture and one dog once that lease is up later this summer.
I’ve been internetting with the Kindle Fire (more on this later) I bought to tide myself over until I can afford a new computer. Blogging – or any kind of extensive typing – on it is really frustrating. There is currently no good way for me to upload pictures from my digital camera.
In the interest of Keeping It Classy, I won’t go too far into the details of the breakup, but I will say that the ex and I are on good terms (after all, I’m still helping out with rent, utilities and dog care) and that the breakup was a long time coming. So while I did have a good cry about it (okay, several months of private crying) for the most part I’ve been able to maintain my composure since we officially called it quits.
I didn’t talk to my mom about the breakup until the past month, partly because I wanted to wait until I was no longer sleeping head-to-foot in the same bed with my ex, and partly because I didn’t know how to say it in Korean (other than “[MY BOYFRIEND IS NO MORE]”). My brother eventually broke the news to her. When I called to tell her I was coming to visit the following weekend she didn’t let on that she knew. Later, despite the fact that I usually came alone, she greeted me with, “[What, no boyfriend today?]”
So I confirmed to her, in probably very inelegant language, that MY BOYFRIEND IS NO MORE, and was met with a barrage of questions. It was frustrating because this was before I had found a stable new living situation so I didn’t really have any answers for her, though I was confident that I’d be able to work something out eventually.
Over dinner she probably noticed that I wasn’t gorging myself as I usually do. (Now that I’m single I have more free time to visit my mom in Flushing, so Korean food isn’t so much a novelty that I must shove as much of in my mouth.) She asked if I wasn’t eating as much because I was heartbroken. I said no to her in a sort of a snappy way, which ended the interrogation.
Later I realized that my mom may have been trying to bond with me over being single. Widowed for over 20 years, she’s pretty lonely. I don’t think she exactly took pleasure in my breakup, since my ex had attended many family functions at which he always ate enough to please her. However, I remember that when I told her about my sister’s breakup a few years ago, the tiniest of smiles did flash across her face.
My boyfriend Josh works for an upscale photo chain, and last night his boss threw a staff holiday dinner at a very good, very busy restaurant in Manhattan’s Koreatown. I was invited along as Josh’s +1. I got to the restaurant before him so I waited out in front and stared in the direction from which I expected him, scanning the crowd for his bearded, beanie-topped head.
[In case you’ve never been Koreatown, I should explain that it’s pretty damn Korean – more so, I think, than Manhattan’s Chinatown is Chinese. I kind of don’t like going into stores and being waited on there because the staff will automatically start talking to me in Korean and their faces will drop or twist in disgust when they learn that I don’t understand them. That said, it’s also pretty damn touristy. You can make out the non-Korean faces quite easily: just look a few inches above the top of the Koreans’ heads, and that’s where you’ll find them.]
I was probably standing stock-still for a minute or two when a middle-aged white man came up to me and bellowed, “HI!” into my ear. As his mortified family dragged him away, I heard the man shouting, “I thought that was a mannequin! I thought that was a maaaannequin!”
Though this experience was bewildering at first (I actually started laugh/crying as I recounted it to Josh minutes later), I love that this man on vacation was like, “Oh look at that mannequin I’m gonna do something funny.” And to a lesser extent, I also like that I could pass for a mannequin in (the extremely body-conscious) Korean society.
Last weekend I visited my mom in Flushing and told her the news of how dogs now outnumber the human inhabitants of my apartment by more than 3:1. She seemed a little disappointed; she never really approved of us having dogs because she never felt they were worth the time and money and eventual heartbreak.
My brother, who essentially functions as the family chauffeur when he’s in town from New Jersey, also happened to be visiting my mom on this day with his wife. At the end of the night, as usual, he offered to give me a ride back to Brooklyn. And as usual, I accepted, as this turns a crappy 1.5 hour commute by train into a breezy 20 minute commute. But unusually, this time, my mother asked if she could come along.
Since I settled in Brooklyn in 2007, my mom has never expressed an interest in seeing my shabby digs. She may still harbor some resentment that I moved out. But apparently the prospect of 9 squirmy baby puppies was enough to do away with that resentment.
A 20 minute car ride (and a quick phone call to the boyfriend – “HIDE ALL OUR BAD THINGS!” – another time the language barrier came in handy) later, I walked into my apartment with my brother, his wife, and my mom. Penny came over, barked hello, and promptly gave my mom a hug. I was a little worried that they wouldn’t get along – Penny has a nervous tendency to bark and lunge at people who are scared of her, creating this awful positive feedback loop of fear – but maybe they had the mom bond going for them. At any rate, without further ado, here are arguably the most adorable pictures ever taken of my mom.
I’d like to add that I did get around to asking my mom if she had ever eaten dogs in Korea and she answered that, while people around her did, she has no recollection of doing so herself. Whew. I asked what kind of dogs people ate – Jindos? Sapsalis? – and she said no breed in particular, just any sort of mutt lying around with enough meat and fat on its bones. Then I asked, What about cats? to which she answered no, because they’re not good eatin’.
While she was cooing at and cuddling with her puppy I jokingly asked my mom if she’d like one. I know her condo doesn’t allow pets, and she works too many hours to train and take care of a dog, but I guess some part of me figured maybe it could guard the kitchen at work or something. My mom, still regarding the pup with a tender smile, said, “[No, they’re cute now but they grow up to be ugly.]”