Our Taste of Home: Mandu

by Jennifer Choi

A delicacy in many Asian cultures, the Korean dumpling is referred to as “mandu” and can be made with a variety of ingredients. The two specific types that my family personally make are kimchi dumplings and meat dumplings. Both are equally scrumptious comfort foods and friendly reminders of my childhood and nostalgia. From the time that I would wake up in my grandma’s house in Daejeon, Korea to the annual mandu making sessions I’d have with my mom in our kitchen, the kimchi dumplings we’d make together were the true tastes of home in that it reminds me of so many fond memories being around all my family. 

Oftentimes we’d make the dumpling skins from scratch, or we’d buy a pack from the local Korean grocery store and have 4-5 packs refrigerated and ready to go. Over time, I came to understand why my mom would always complain that there were so many working parts to making mandu. Seeing the array of materials set up on our kitchen island, I could feel the knots forming on my shoulders from draining the kimchi water, dicing up the buckwheat noodles, crushing the tofu, and mixing the filling. My mom would always be a busybody trying to prepare all the ingredients simultaneously. As she boiled the mung bean sprouts over the stove, she or I would strain the kimchi in a net with our bare hands, dicing up chives, and the buckwheat noodles we had boiled in the pot before the mung bean sprouts. On the side would be a preheated pan awaiting some combination of pork and beef, ready to be cooked with oyster sauce, Korean rice wine, sugar, salt, and ginger. Once all the ingredients have been prepared, we’d pour them into one large metal or glass bowl to mix. With the finalized ingredients all mixed into one bowl, we began the mandu factory. My mom and I would generally already have our stations set up from before, each with a separate bowl full of water and napkins in front of the large batches of filling. In each bowl we’d place any other metal spoon found lying around the dining table and a tray set aside to transport the mandu to and from the steamer pot. Having perfected the skill of filling each “wang-mandu-pi” or “king-sized dumpling skin,” I generally would go through the first batch relatively quickly. Once the first batch has been completed and seven folds secure the dumpling at the top, my mom steams a batch of kimchi and regular mandu for us to try. The first batch is always the sacrificial lamb in that it never makes it to portions set aside for Ziploc freezer storage. This is then continued until at least 3 Ziplocs are filled with an even batch of kimchi and gogi (meat) mandu. In a way, this process of spending half the weekend making mandu has become a family tradition, and a replacement of the annual Thanksgiving turkey for the Choi family. 

For the first time being away from home in college, I’ve come to miss these spontaneous mandu days, having the day off to just sit down and fold over the dumpling skins as we catch up on life. The bonding of our family as my dad makes the skins in between his meetings and work and my when my brother comes down to the first floor to test out the new batch of gogi mandu is something small that is still very significant to me. I cherish the menial moments in our day to day that make me nostalgic of my home and the times spent all together.