I’m in LA for a hot second, staying with my parents, and, in the morning, I decide to make gye-ran-mari, a rolled egg dish. I make mine weird, adding leftover brussels sprouts I found in the fridge and some Canadian bacon (isn’t Canadian bacon just ham?) (one day, I’ll Google it to find out what the difference is), and I throw in some toasted, shredded geem (seaweed) for good measure. You know, to add some Korean-ness to it.
I’ve never made gye-ran-mari before, and, later, my mum will laugh when I told her I added soy sauce to season it. She says you’re not supposed to add soy sauce, just salt and a bit of sugar, but I swear I watched a video on Youtube that added soy sauce. She gives me that judge-y look, asks if I trust Youtube or her, my own mother. I go back to cooing at my dog.
My dog loves food, and he always hangs around when I cook, propping himself up on his two hind legs, resting his two front legs on me, the cabinet, whatever is around, so he can sniff, sniff, sniff closer to the countertop. Given that he’s a dog and has a dog’s nose, he knows when I’ve got something he likes — and, when I’m making my gye-ran-mari, I’ve got everything he likes: eggs, ham, even brussels sprouts.
I like eggs, too! I imagine he’d complain if he could talk. And ham! And brussels sprouts! I WANTS!
You need to stop giving him scraps when you’re cooking, you say over Facetime, watching as I give in and feed him bits of ham, and you’re in your bed in your apartment in Boston, propped up on a pillow. You look like you’ve just woken up. I’ve already judged you for still being in bed at eleven a.m. You’ve already told me to fuck off, you like sleep and you’ll take it when you can get it, thank you very much.
But look how cute he is! I say, reaching down to cup my dog’s face in my hands, cooing at him. Dogsie loves eggs and hams very much!
Oh my god, you say, fake-groaning. You know, sometimes I think dogs are like babies. They must think people are morons for talking to them in that voice — but then I pick my dog up in my arms and lift him up and point him in my phone’s direction, so all you can see is his face, his nose wiggling as he sniffs at my phone, and your voice is an octave higher when you say, Hi, dogsie! I know, I know — you miss me; I miss you, too!