Angels Wear Blue Jumpsuits

Part 11

"Cabbage, radish, carrot, onion..." I mutter, "I don't think I missed anything, did I?" I ask Arya, she yawns and looks away. Turning back to my in-progress kimchi, I decide that I have all the vegetables I need and begin on the sauce.

It's the sauce that truly makes the kimchi.

I use gochugaru, gochujang if I want it extra spicy, fermented shrimp, maybe some fish sauce but fermented shrimp usually does the job on its own, garlic– lots and lots of it, ginger, brown sugar, onion and add it to the flour/water paste. The consistency of the sauce is also important. Some like it thick, some like it thin– I'm the former. I like most things thick– milkshakes, bread slices, peaches, women's thighs, men's dicks, but a thick kimchi sauce? Nothing beats that.

By now, I've been making homemade kimchi for about a year, and much like making bread, it's a very experimental process. It takes a while to make (if one makes it traditionally) and no two outcomes are often ever the same, mostly due to environmental factors. Bread dough needs to rise, kimchi needs to ferment, and if there's a temperature or humidity shift between the batches, it will always alter the result. It's like chemistry. I never cared for the subject at school, though my teacher always lectured me about how much of a fantastic chemist I would make if 'you applied yourself, Isla, instead of chasing boys.'

Was it my fault that boys were so much more interesting than mixing things together in a test tube? Go fuck yourself, Mr Hamish.

"Reow-ang," Arya squawks as she hears your car pull up the driveway. God, she's so conditioned, knowing the sound of your engine. Animals are such nerds like that.

By now, you don't wait for me to answer the door. You give a quick knock to let me know that you're coming in and spend a few minutes appeasing Arya with pats and cuddles in the hallway. Bitch. Where the fuck's mine?

"Oh my god, what's that smell?" you ask as you come into the kitchen. I worry about answering. As much as a lot of people love kimchi, a lot of people also hate it. It's one or the other, there is no in-between.

"It's kimchi."

"Kimwhat?"

"Kimchi," I grin as you approach curiously, "Korean fermented cabbage. It's a side dish."

Your eyes move over the little cabbage parcels I've put in a tupperware box, but your nostrils don't seem offended at the strong scent of them.

"So... it's like sauerkraut?"

I think about it until I shrug. "Kinda, yeah."

"What's that strong scent?"

"The fermented shrimp."

You lean down to sniff it and your eyes begin to water. "Wow, it smells spicy too!"

"Yeah, it packs a punch."

"Is it like... ready?"

"You want to try some?"

You nod and I cut off a leaf, making sure it's packed with the other vegetables and the sauce. You sniff it again before eating. Your spine goes slack and your eyes roll back into your head.

"Holy fucking shit, this is good!" I feel so proud, I could cry. "I feel like I was born in the wrong country if this is what the Koreans eat with every meal."

"It's not even at its full potential yet. It needs to ferment for weeks to unlock its real flavour."

You stomp on the spot impatiently. I didn't know you could act like such a huge baby, but here we are. "Just wait," I smile, "it'll be worth it."