Dear Korean Food,
I still remember the day we met; I bought some mysterious pickled cabbagey thing I’d never heard of from the local Wild Oats. I brought it home, popped it open, and as soon as that fermented smell hit me, I knew we were gonna be friends. Remember that? I was living alone and we’d just hang out in front of the open fridge, eating kimchi straight from the jar… yeah, that brand with that grumpy looking woman on the label? What was her name?
No matter. It was pretty hard for us to keep up a relationship; what with me living in the suburbs of Massachusetts and you, well, not. Still, I got to know you a little better during that time — mostly from watching Dae Jang Geum — and I hoped by moving to New York we could really get to be friends.
So, why then, did I only just now learn that you evidently make the world’s greatest fried chicken?
I understand we’re not BFF or anything, but I never thought you’d keep fried chicken from me. Fried! Chicken! You know how I feel about that! And I had to find out about it in The New York Times, for chrissakes, like everyone else!
I’m sorry. I’m just… I’m hurt, you know? I know when I moved here, I changed plans and chose to live in Washington Heights instead of Jackson Heights, but I thought we were past that, aren’t we?
So, anyway… if it’s okay with you, I’d really like to meet this fried chicken of yours; maybe sometime this weekend? I’ll even come out to Queens to see you.