Roy Choi - L.A. Son: My Life, My City, My Food

L.A. SON. Copyright 2013 by Roy Choi, Tien Nguyen, and Natasha Phan. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

FIRST EDITION

ISBN 978-0-06-220263-5

EPub Edition NOVEMBER 2013 ISBN: 9780062202642

13 14 15 16 17 ID/RRD 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

I DEDICATE THIS BOOK TO MY AMAZING WIFE
AND DAUGHTER, JEAN AND KAELYN, WHO I DONT WRITE
ABOUT MUCH IN THIS BOOK BECAUSE THE MOMENTS
WE SHARE TOGETHER ARE OUR OWN. I LOVE YOU GUYS
FOREVER AND EVER AND EVER AND EVER.

FOR IT IS EASY TO CRITICIZE AND BREAK DOWN THE SPIRIT
OF OTHERS, BUT TO KNOW YOURSELF TAKES A LIFETIME.

THE POSSESSION OF ANYTHING BEGINS IN THE MIND.

BRUCE LEE

CONTENTS

THANK YOU TO ALL OF YOU IN AND OUT OF OUR LIVES.

GRACIAS POR TODO.

THIS BOOK IS A PART OF YOU, TOO.

ROY, TIEN, AND NATASHA

HELLO. IM ROY . Get in. Were going for a ride.

Right around the time I started writing this story, I picked up a book about tribal tattoos, written by a Samoan chief. The opening line began, I had to write this book. That first line was so powerful to me. It struck me then, as I started putting the pages of my life together, and it strikes me now, as I sit here writing this introduction after, funnily enough, having finished this book. He wrote that line because he was compelled to tell the story of his tribe and his islands. Because he thought it was his destiny to help keep former generations alive by documenting the folklore, the information, and the stories that are passed down through the art of the tattoo. So it wasnt that he wanted to write that book. He had to. It was his spiritual duty.

In a small, weird way, I feel the same about this book.

I had to write this book. To tell the story of my journey from immigrant to latchkey kid to lowrider to misfit to gambler to a chef answering his calling. To tell a story of Los Angeles and the people who live here. And to preserve it all on wax.

But before we get knee-deep in the messy yet beautiful chapters of my life, maybe itll help to have a little map in your pocket. L.A. is a huge place, and sometimes the glare of stereotypes and television screens blinds visitors to its true character, the amazing cultural diversity of our residents and the food. That muthafuckin L.A. food.

So let me play tour guide for a minute and show you around.

Well start in the same place I started when I immigrated here with my family from South Korea in 1972: Olympic Boulevard and Vermont Avenue. This is a big intersection in the middle of a neighborhood thats now the hardworking community of Koreatown, where the smoke from the Korean BBQ grills will stick to your hair for days no matter which fancy shampoo you choose and where youll wash down your beers with crispy Korean fried chicken before hitting a multitude of other bars. A few miles north of here is Hollywood, and a dozen miles to our west is Sawtelle Boulevard, a little street with some of the best ramen and sushi in the country. Keep going west to see the canals of Venice and to kiss the sands of Malibu. UCLA and Beverly Hills arent too far from the beaches, and if we hop northbound on the 405 and 101, well hit the San Fernando ValleyGranada Hills, Burbank, Tarzana, Sherman Oaks. Or if we ride the 405 southward instead, well drive right into the cradle of the South BayTorrance, Gardena, Carson, Long Beach.

East of Koreatown is Downtown proper, where Hill and Broadway split like wooden chopsticks through Chinatown and the wind tunnels of Pershing Square whoosh us through the Jewelry District. Farther northeast of Downtown is a whole other world: the hills of Pasadena, the tacos and burritos and families in East L.A. and Boyle Heights, the amazing noodles and ph and soup dumplings in the San Gabriel Valley.

And theres so much more: from the SGV, well jump down the 710 or 605 freeway and drive through Commerce or Bell Gardens, passing factories and a casino or two along the way. Roll down your window and smell the sweet drippings of lechn and carne asada smoking in backyards as we swing by Cerritos or Whittier. Keep going south, and there they are, our neighbors, Orange County and Riverside.

To loop back to L.A., well head up the 110 freeway, pull off in South Central and Inglewood for a hot minute to ride the wide streets and grub on BBQ and soul food, and then swoop west on the 10 freeway, through Downtown, to end up right back where we startedright here on the corner of Olympic and Vermont, the heart of Koreatown.

I know. We covered a lot of ground. But dont sweat it. I got the wheel and a full tank of gas. All you have to do is sit back and trust. In the pages that follow, youll see a little bit of this magical city through the lens of my life and through the food of the people who really live here. Through all of that, youll start to understand this amazing place that I was raised in and taste the flavors of the streets of L.A.

Thank you for picking up this book. Thank you for joining me on this ride through the crooked journeys of my life. L.A. welcomes you, and I welcome you, with love.

Oh, by the way, are you hungry?

Let me cook for you.

I got that, too.

Youre riding shotgun with Papi now. What could possibly go wrong?

NOTE:

BEFORE DIVING INTO THE RECIPES, FLIP TO AND CHECK OUT INGREDIENTS YOU MIGHT NEED TO STOCK UP YOUR PANTRY.

Seoul, South Korea, 1970. A hospital room in the heart of downtown Chongro-gu. A baby with a big Frankenstein head, drenched in his own blood, with more spewing out through his upper cleft like lava erupting from a volcano. Wailing, crying. Yeah, they stitched me up all right, but when the rumble in the jungle was over, I had a fat lip and a Harry Potter scar between my mouth and nose. One hell of a hectic entry into this world, huh?

MY PARENTS ACTUALLY MET IN Los Angeles in 1967. They were in Korea before then, on opposite sides of the country in fact. My moms from the most famous province in the North, Pyung-An Do. Its cold up there, where the country meets China. I dont know too much more, as Communism has washed away a lot of history, and its taboo to talk too much about it in the South, but I do know that the herbs and plants there would make even Humboldt County blush. And I know that my moms family took those raw ingredients and turned them into something pretty spectacular. As family legend had it, they had a magic touch: