Weekend Edition: Mandu for the masses.

First, a note about pronunciation: I took Korean classes for a semester (they did a special class for me at a local ‘Saturday school’ run by a church). I would come home and try to talk to Jrex. He never knew what I was saying. I played a tape for him, “That’s how I’m saying it, right?” He nodded, confused, “Yeah, but it sounds weird.” When I told his Mom, she giggled and covered her mouth with her hand, “That’s because I have a Southern accent. He doesn’t know the right way to pronounce things.” So, you say Mandu, I say Mondu, let’s call the whole thing off!

There are numerous steps to making Mondu.

1. Ignore subliminal messages repeating, “Drop it. Drop it. Please. Drop it.”

2. Ignore the appearance of random condiments.

3. Pull back the table cloth and gather willing hands for the work. Wine is optional.

4. Mix egg batter to make the dough edges sticky.

5. Figure out the exact right amount of filling. Too much and your dumpling will burst in the soup, too little and you look like a scared white girl who has a well-developed klutz factor. Better safe than sorry = pitiful mondu. Greedy boy = mondu explosions.

6. Dip finger in egg, dab on edges, smush together.

7. Pre-cooked loveliness. Continue avoiding subliminal voice. As well as audible whine. And nudges.

8. Do what a creative MIL does when she realizes that there is no white rice in the house. Use the wild rice with beans and make the Kim Bop anyway. By the way, it was SO much tastier than white rice. There’s no going back now. It's like the first time you try fresh grated Parmesan. It's not possible to return to bland when you've tasted real flavor! On the down side, the purple rice looks a little scary.

9. Enjoy!

P.S. Interior Decorator/lazy homeowner note: the lace curtains came with the house. I've replaced the living room curtains, but became gainfully employed before I did anything about the dining room. The Victorian theme came with the house, we had to go with it.