Dishing Out Friendship

If I were to move far away, the one thing that would make me homesick for Moorpark would be thinking about chop chae.  Moorpark and a Korean noodle dish? Moorpark certainly does not even have a Korean restaurant. In fact, I have no idea if there is one within 20 miles.

Two Moorpark women have given me the gift of chop chae. When I first moved here from, where else, the Valley, I knew no one. Through the help of a local synagogue, I found my first and only babysitter for my then- 20-month-old daughter. Her name was Jaewon Kim. I have no doubt that, by now, Jaewon is enjoying a remarkable career, possibly even the one of her dreams as a pediatrician. Jaewon had the patience of an angel and Julie adored her.

Jaewon would sometimes take Julie back to her own house. There, her mother, who basically spoke only Korean, would dote on my little girl. Whenever Julie returned home with pretty pink ribbons in her hair, I knew that Jaewon’s mother had been part of her afternoon. I didn’t meet Jae’s mother until much later and I was not prepared to see such a truly stunning, well-dressed, sophisticated woman. I had figured she was pretty much like the rest of us, kind of hunkered down into the daily chores of motherhood and life, wearing jeans, tees, and sandals with our hair pulled back in scrunchies. How 80s is that?

During the two years that Jaewon blessed our family with her calm presence, even in the beet-red face of a tantrumming 2-year old, her mother often shared her chop chae with us. It began when one day, Jaewon showed up bearing an enormous serving bowl. It was the family recipe, as is all chop chae, and her mother had just made a big batch. Would we like to try it?

Holy cow, it was fantastic: a huge bowl of glass noodles, slivers of veggies, tiny slices of pork, garlic, sesame oil, and who knows what else. It is wonderful served hot, at room temperature, or cold. This concoction disappears with unnatural speed as everyone seems to want just a little bit more.

Jaewon’s family moved away years ago and I wish them the very best in life. Being a bit selfish, I figured that chop chae would never again grace my refrigerator unless I learned how to make it myself. I may finesse my own family recipe of sweet and sour meatballs, but no one in my family tree has ever been Korean.

My neighborhood, my end of the block actually, is a friendly group and some of the best neighbors you could ever want around you. One of my neighbors, whom readers of Julie’s series of local profiles might recognize, is our across the street neighbor, Maria Reid. Don’t be fooled by her name; Maria may be from Peru but she is thoroughly Korean, family recipe for chop chae included.

Last week, and not for the first time, I was surprised by another big bowl of chop chae. A few years ago, upon hearing how much I appreciated the dish, Maria’s mother made some for me. Can it get any better? Maria is modest about her cooking but I swear, she has the touch when it comes to chop chae.

Perhaps it is the thoughtfulness that goes into every bowl. Chop chae is a gift to be shared with those you care about. And it is received with a mutual understanding. It creates a bond of friendship because so much soul goes into the unique combination of ingredients that each family has passed down through the generations. I just can’t think of a similar American tradition. Sure, we know how to have fun and we know how to bring it on at a pot luck party. But the effort and thought that goes into this one Korean noodle dish, which likely began as a peasant meal like its distant cousins, bouillabase and cioppino, makes this meal both exotic and familiar at the same time.