prologue

I was four when my mother sat me down at the dinner table and sternly informed me, "If you're a Korean, you have to learn to eat kim-chee. If you can't eat kim-chee, you're not a true Korean." I hadn't yet developed a taste for kim-chee or anything spicy and balked at this declaration. The disagreement took a turn for the worse when my mom placed a plateful of pungent, scarlet kim-chee under my up-turned nose, a wordless demand. As all arguments between myself and my mother have ever ended, she won. I reluctantly opened my mouth to the enemy and let the burning sensation trickle through my body.

I can now look back at my life and pinpoint that moment as a turning point. Four-years-old may be a bit young to experience such a profound, life changing event, but there it was. It was then that my love affair with food began.

I attribute my palate to my family, whose axis has always been on a plate. My grandmother's impeccable touch for spices. My mother's simple and soulful dishes. My father's adventurous tastes. My sister's endless appetite. We gravitate around food and drink, both in its creation and in its appreciation.

Food is, in a word, everything. It not only nourishes the body, but has the power to transport you to a different time and place. Especially now that I never have enough time or money to travel, I use my tongue to take to all the countries that I can't visit in person.

I guess that's the beauty of living in a heterogeneous salad bowl (not melting pot!)-- ethnic restaurants and dishes all around, just waiting to be tasted, devoured, relished.

So here it is, a record of my eating adventures. I'm making my way through the world, one dish at a time. No editors. No forks. Just me, my fellow food-loving friends, and my ever-salivating tongue. Happy eatings!