Korean cuisine reigns supreme: Junior barbeques the competition

I’m a competitive person; ask any of my friends or family.They’ll tell you that if I find out that someone is better than I am — in grades, fruit ninja or otherwise — I will try to push myself to get back to that No. 1 position.So when my Falcon Lifestyles editors Rohan Hardikar and Amy Lin told the class that we were going to do a cultural cook-off, I was already craving that first place win as top chef.

Since our newspaper staff is not all that ethnically diverse, I got stuck with the job of making Korean food. (I am 0 percent Korean).After much deliberation, I decided to make one of my all-time favorite dishes — Korean Barbeque.

The day before the cook-off, my mom helped me marinate 4 pounds of beef short rib with homemade sauce, which consisted of of green onion, garlic, soy sauce, black pepper and other Asian flavors.Since I was reluctant to touch the meat, my mom set up a cutting board for me and told me to cut up the garlic and green onion while she put the beef into the marinating sauce.After mixing everything together with the meat, the concoction looked somewhat appetizing.

Although I was feeling quite confident, I still decided it would be a good idea to scout out my competition. I took a look on the spreadsheet where the Lifestyles editors had posted what each competitor would be making.

Scanning down the list, I noticed that every group was preparing more than one dish. The Chinese group was making green onion pancakes and fried rice, the Italian group was planning to bake lasagna and tiramisu and what did the box next to my name say? Meat and rice.

Shoot, I thought, that’s pathetic. If I really wanted to win (and I really did,) I had to up my game. I decided to call up the best cook I know, my grandma. Before I had even finished explaining my dilemma to her over the phone, she cut me off and said, “We’ll make red bean mochi. I’ll be at your house at 4:15 tomorrow with all the ingredients.” My grandma is a lifesaver.

The day of the cook-off, my grandma arrived with her mochi-making material. I looked at the recipe and began to measure. One cup of flour, one cup of water, half a cup of sugar, perfect. 

When I cook, I’m one of those people who needs to check the recipe three or four times before doing anything, and after putting in the ingredients I have to check two or three more times to make sure I used the right ingredient and the right amount.

My grandma, on the other hand, is what people call a “true chef” — she based her ingredient proportions on look, smell and taste. So while I was checking and rechecking the recipe, she swooped in and added another cup of water. 

“Nai nai!” I shrieked the phrase for grandmother in Chinese. “What are you doing?! I already added the water!”

“Aiyo,” she replied calmly. “The mixture looks too solid; we have to dilute it.”

She went on adding a little more of this and a few more pinches of that — never measuring anything of course — while I sat back and resisted the urge to butt in. I have to give her credit though, when the mochis were finished, they looked perfect, as though they were bought from an Asian supermarket instead of homemade. To go that extra mile, I decided to finish off each of my mochis with a mini Korean flag.

In the meantime, my dad had been setting up the grill to barbeque the short ribs. This project had basically become a whole family affair. The smell of the barbecue coming from the window was mouthwatering and looking at my intricately decorated mochis, I had the feeling that my dishes were first-place material.

But when I got to school, I realized that I had tough competition. The cheeseburgers from the American group looked perfectly grilled and the Italian group’s tiramisu looked delicious, (although I’m pretty sure they bought it and should be disqualified).

I nervously watched while the judges tried my dishes. Waves of doubt filled my mind. Thought of, “Darn it! How could I have forgotten about vegetarians,” and “Ugh, I should have known only Asians like mochi,” raced through my head as I anxiously awaited the results. 

And then, when I couldn’t stand to keep my mouth shut any longer, I started to go into overdrive competitive mode.

“Guys, you like my dish the best right?” I forcefully asked all the judges. “You will vote me as first place?”

And when there was no response.

“PUH-LEASEEE vote me as first place!” I begged in shameless self-promotion.

Most of the judges either stared at me blankly or gave me weak smiles. It wasn’t much to confirm my first-place standings.

So when Rohan and Amy announced I had won, I was both surprised and ecstatic. Although much of my win is credited to my grandma, my mom and my dad, I’m still very proud of my cooking ability. In fact, next year when I fill in my achievements and awards on my college applications, I’m sure “first place in newspaper cook-off competition” will be near the top of my list.