“One person leaves, one sentence leaves.”
Kim Seo-ryeong's Ingenious "Life Recipe"

Shining but not dazzling 'Seo Ryeong Che'

This book is the last ray of light that a writer has shed on the world, and on the other hand, it is also a monument to him.
It was during the final stages of his illness that Kim Seo-ryeong, who passed away in October of last year, collected all the writings he had written about food.
As literary critic Yeom Mu-woong said, the editing that began to prevent the “pieces of writing that sparkle like jewels” from being scattered and disappearing unfortunately ended up becoming a kind of posthumous collection for those who miss Kim Seo-ryeong’s humanity and cherish her writing.


So, what I would like to ask you to pay attention to in this book, which is composed in an unconventional way by having one of his writings take the lead instead of the usual 'preface', is Kim Seo-ryeong's writing itself.
His writing style, which does not use even a single adjective in vain, has its own unique color, to the point that it is called 'Seoryeongche'.
This is why his previous works, including 『Women's Story』, were so well-received by those interested in writing.

Regarding his writing, Mr. Yeom Mu-ung said, “Every time I read it, I was amazed by his keen sense, rich vocabulary, and vivid metaphors, and I was thrilled by the truth of life that his writing creates” (p. 7).
He lamented, “Where can we find a writer in our literature who knows the inner customs and history of the Sarangchae of the noble families of Andong, their unique language and emotional world, and who can describe them so tangibly?”
Psychological planner Lee Myeong-su, who volunteered to write a letter of recommendation, also paid tribute to her, saying, “Her writing had a healing power that transcended the label of a contemporary prose writer,” and “There was a deep attraction, and reading it made me feel neat and clear.
“I learned through Kim Seo-ryeong that a sentence is not just a technique, but can be everything in writing,” he confessed.


It is an essay on food that you cannot afford to miss a single word, that you cannot afford to let go of a single phrase, that you cannot put down once you start reading it, and that is more than that.
It is also a kind of folk tale that revives the forgotten sentiments of one's hometown, a philosophy of life that shines with wisdom, and a model of writing that is bright but not dazzling.

The opposite of living is rotten.
Only when one's heart is rotten can one be generous to the world.
People who eat cabbage soup seem to have believed without a doubt that living is ultimately about rotting inside, and that after living in this world for a while, your insides will naturally rot, you will develop self-restraint, and you will become dignified.
--- p.17

If the red pepper powder was humble, the hot pepper was proud.
For a clear soup, you should use the cool and proud red pepper powder of a noble lady, not the mild red pepper powder of a country woman.
--- p.25

I firmly believe that the closest and most generous place to encounter something good and beautiful that has sunk to the bottom of humanity, clouded by things like selfishness, greed, anger, and fear, something smooth like starch pulled from a rotten potato, something that could perhaps be called benevolence, love, or mercy, is not the mountaintop Zen room or Sungkyunkwan's Myeongnyundang, but the kitchen.
--- p.30

My mom puts a piece of salted sesame noodles in my mouth.
It's soft.
It's delicious! I don't even open my eyes and chew on that clear, pure, simple, gentle, quiet, dignified, and caring thing.
And then swallow it.
--- p.50

The sight of a summer rice cooker is when the rice starts to boil and a cloth is laid out and various leaves and fruits are placed on top.
First, I put on the pumpkin leaves I picked earlier, then on the zucchini cut into chunks, then on the long eggplant, then on the green peppers coated in flour, then on the chives coated in soybean powder, and then on the perilla leaves and soybean leaves in layers.
As the rice water dries, they also cook accordingly.
The powdered ones were marinated in their own seasoning sauce, and the steamed ones were simply placed on a plate and eaten as wraps.
--- p.58

'Old pumpkin' is a common noun.
Is there any other example than pumpkin where the adjective 'old' rather than 'ripe' is used in such a mature and dignified sense?
Old cucumbers were sometimes treated as 'nogak', but they were no match for pumpkins.
Originally, pumpkin was a vegetable, not a grain.
But it is quite embarrassing to call an old pumpkin a vegetable.
Once old, pumpkins could be treated similarly to grains.
It was definitely the power of time that elevated vegetables to the level of grains.
--- p.61

A bowl of cold soup served in a white bowl on a black tray was a symbol that contained the order of the universe.
As we poured spoonfuls into our mouths, our family groaned, "Ahhh."
Spring, spring is coming.
No matter how cold it is, spring will come soon… … .
--- p.74

My mother said that the taste of thistle was 'bitter'.
The taste of the young is the taste of all things that have not yet found their own taste.
The young and tender things refine and purify the hard and rough things.
That's why spring comes every year and the thistles sprout every year.
--- p.79

The next day, the spring sun shone brightly, perfect for drying the boiled vegetables, and the scent of incense wafted in the wind all day long.
In the world, all the flowers bloomed and fell white like a new leaf on the black strands of boiled wild chives.
--- p.81

When the three-year mourning period for my father-in-law, during which he prepared and offered food and drink at the funeral home every morning and evening, ended and I turned eighty, my aunt said to me:
“Hey, life is really absurd.”
--- p.87

“When people with a mouth gather together, there must be a ‘gunipgeori’ no matter what.
“If your mouth is slow (if you are curious), good words won’t come out!”.
--- p.91

The texture should be fine enough that the shape is not visible, but it should not be so fine that it cannot be picked up with chopsticks.
It should melt on the tongue, but not turn into powder.
It shouldn't be salty, but it shouldn't be bland either.
It should have a rich aroma, but it shouldn't be greasy.
Those were the precise coordinates where Boppurum should sit, and the person who knew how to hit that spot most delicately was Mom.
--- p.108

When I heard the sound of love reaching out, I quickly soaked the salty mackerel in water to remove the saltiness from it that had been soaked in a salt jar for a long time.
Since it wasn't fresh, I couldn't grill it, so I steamed it with radish on top.
The mackerel was placed on the table, and the family members took small bites of the radish soaked in mackerel oil.
Where can I compare that ecstatic taste?
--- p.112

It seemed as if the gentle sunlight shining on the barren land where radish and beans were grown, the sweet yet stingy underground water hidden deep within the ground, the humility that seemed to bring tears to my eyes, the clear patience of a monk, the poverty like the wind blowing over the empty fields, and the upright pride and self-esteem that went with that poverty were all contained in the mild taste of ripe rice.
--- p.121

Jeongseong, I have so much to say about that.
When I was young, I laughed at the endless sincerity that was all around me.
I even vowed to myself that I would never become someone who would give such vain devotion to others.
Now that I'm older, it's funny how things have become the opposite.
I ended up becoming a person who thought that the greatest value a human can extract from himself is sincerity.
--- p.145

The sunlight was like a spring breeze.
It was a plum blossom that had just bloomed on an old plum tree.
It was a chapter with such a charm.
As I turned my head from the sunlight, plum blossom petals flew down and landed on the shelf.
As the days grew longer, flowers began to bloom faintly on the pines.
Pine blossoms fell more actively, scattering their powder yellow over the jar.
--- p.151

In autumn, standing in the sunlight and wind, taking a bite of that crisp green radish—is there anything more pure and 100% joy than that?
In such pure and perfect moments, one reaches eternity.
I believe that only those who savor such moments can grasp the secret meaning of the universe and life.
--- p.177

If I think about it, I have been fascinated by 'things that sparkle and shine silently' for a long time.
If it didn't sparkle, or squint, or be silent, my heart wouldn't move at all.
Perhaps sparkling is talent, tearful is sadness, and silent is shyness or tranquility. I can't even explain why I defined the concept of beauty in these terms.
--- p.196

The 'Utgoei' rice cake is placed on top of the sirutteok for the ancestral rites of Yakjak and Kkaekku, and the 'Miriji' is a smooth white rice cake that is rolled by hand purely for the purpose of enjoying the taste.
I had long forgotten the names of those rice cakes, and there was no way those rice cakes would appear to me, having even forgotten my own name.
Instead of sweets, treaties, and sesame seeds, there were hotcakes, pizza, castella, and donuts everywhere, so there was no reason to miss them.
But it wasn't like that.
I didn't know I missed you because you didn't call my name.
--- p.208

Neat, simple, transparent, somehow shallow, secretly cold, and slightly stingy—that was the Seoul I encountered.
Seoul Sikhye was just the right drink for that.
--- p.221

He puts a freshly boiled potato into his mouth.
There is no word in my dictionary to describe this taste.
It's neither sweet nor savory.
It's neither sour nor fragrant.
If there is such a thing as a pleasant taste, it is close to that.
It's comfortable and welcoming, and it seems like it might evoke some kind of memory or original emotion, but if I had to pinpoint something, I'd have to say it's just plain dull.

--- p.237