The Dinner Party

Michelle, one of the Korean women who works on the Planning Team at school, helped me tremendously when I expressed interest in taking calligraphy lessons. She searched out different academies, walked me to each one, and acted as translator when I had questions for the instructors. That day, I offered to take her to lunch, but she said she had to get back to work. I expressed my gratitude over and over and asked what I could do to thank her. “I want – your house eat dinner.” Oh.

Normally, this wouldn’t be a big deal. In San Francisco, I threw dinner parties all the time. One person, ten people. Didn’t matter. And I enjoy it. Perusing cookbooks. Planning the menu. Shopping. Cooking. Setting the table. The camaraderie among the guests.

But I haven’t cooked for anyone other than Chanta since I’ve been here. I live in a true studio. It’s tiny. And I don’t have an oven. Only two small burners. So that eliminates lasagna, frittata, broiled fish, cookies, cakes, breads, most of my specialties. I’m a baker. I can’t even recognize half of the items in the grocery store here. And if I wanted to buy something I didn’t see displayed, I don’t know how to ask for it. Most spices and cooking items are not in the standard English-Korean dictionary.

These thoughts went through my mind in about half a second. “I’d love to have you over for dinner. What day works best for you?” Monday. “Great. Monday it is. I’ll meet you at Kate School at 7 and we can walk to my house from there.” (Giving directions here is next to impossible – street names aren’t used.)

To my surprise, I really enjoyed grocery shopping. I explored every aisle. Really looked at each item and tried to figure out how I could use it. I ventured into the meat section, something I had not done before. I discovered they have monstrous gift platters of raw beef. My hospitality gift issues are solved.

I spent Monday afternoon preparing. Which was incredibly relaxing. There is something about washing vegetables, chopping them just so, sorting them into neat mounds awaiting sauteing, that is therapeutic. I had my balcony sliding doors open, the cool, fresh air streaming in. I was wearing my favorite apron, listening to my favorite tunes. I finished all the prep work, quickly cleaned, then relaxed with a book.

A few minutes before 7 I walked to Kate School. Shortly after I arrived Michelle bounded out the door. She giggled, “Thank you. I so excite. Thank you, Rori.” No problem, ready? “I ask you.” Okay, what? “Young and Cindy come also. Okay? They upstairs.” Oh. Well. Now I know how my mother felt when I asked if a friend could spend the night, with the friend standing right there. It’s a bit awkward. Well, let’s see. I think I’ll have enough food. “Sure. No problem. That would be really fun.” Michelle made a phone call and minutes later Cindy and Young were with us. Oh, my god. I only have two plates. And three sets of chopsticks. I turned to them. “We need to stop and get plates. Where can we stop?” Young led the way to the local C-Space convenience store. They didn’t carry plates, but they did have tin foil pie pans. Close enough. And wooden chopsticks included with the purchase of to-go microwave food. Or tin foil pie plates.

When we entered my apartment, I took off my shoes. Young gave me a funny look. I looked at him with wide eyes and said as seriously as I could, “This is a Korean custom. Please take off your shoes before entering.” He burst out laughing, then took his shoes off.

They oohed and aahed over my tiny room. And all of the pictures. Of my family, my godson, my friends in San Francisco. While I was finishing dinner, they looked through my photo album. Last year was a great “photo” year – pictures of my friends and me skydiving, white water rafting, playing volleyball, sailing. And so many parties. Oh, the parties. Young said to me, “What was your major? Athletics?” No, no, no. “I think so. That is all you do. I see you come to school, you have just run. You snowboard. You play sports. You didn’t really study, did you?” “And what is this? (picture of me and several girlfriends in formal gowns) Were you also Miss San Francisco? What are you doing here? You are not really a teacher.” “And where are the pictures of your boyfriend?” I don’t have one. “I do not believe it. Where are you hiding them?” I smiled and said there were too many to take pictures of. He laughed and said, “Oh, the pictures are in your heart.” Yes, they are.

I suddenly realized I also only have two chairs. Hmmm. I put the kimchi on the table. “Ooooh. You have kimchi!” I prepared the “plates” of food: black rice, white rice, lemon ginger chicken, and sauteed mixed vegetables and set them on the table. When I turned around, Michelle, Cindy and Young had taken the plates and were sitting on the floor. “It’s better this way,” they said. So we all sat on the floor and talked and ate. Young’s English is by far the best. And he’s a smart-ass. I haven’t laughed so much in a long time. Since I’ve been here my conversations, whether in English or Korean, are pretty basic. Name, age, where I’m from, favorite this, favorite that. Vanilla. It felt great to banter back and forth, using plays on words, puns, silly expressions. Whenever Young and I would exchange barbs, Michelle would giggle then translate into Korean for Cindy so there were waves of laughter, first mine and Young’s, then Michelle and Cindy’s.

Chanta came up after she got off work. As she entered, she exclaimed, “I could hear you all laughing from outside the building. What’s going on in here?” And it continued. For a couple of hours. Young announced (for the fifth time) he was leaving. I laughed and said to him, “You have said that five times, but you are still here. Why?” Because you hid my jacket and won’t give it back. Oh. I had put his jacket in my wardrobe. I didn’t realize he was waiting for me to retrieve it. I laughed once again, but this time got his jacket for him.

Michelle sat on my bed and said, “I want to stay. I don’t want to leave.” Honey, I know how you feel. As any of my friends can attest, I’m always the last to want to leave a party, and always the first to suggest we continue the party elsewhere. Chanta and I told her that she could stay and we would walk her home. She said, “No, I want to spend the night here.” Oh. Young then said, “Me, too” and jumped on the bed. In cross cultural communication, sometimes it’s difficult to know when someone is being serious and when they are joking. I thought they were settling in for the night. Well, at least the floor is heated. I won’t be cold.

They then jumped up and headed towards the door. Thankyouvery mu~~~~~~~~ch. For some reason, that strikes me as the funniest phrase. Both Chanta and I giggled uncontrollably, then replied, in stereo, “You’rewelcomevery mu~~~~~~~ch.”