A Story from a Korean-American Childhood – “Recondensed Mushroom Soup”

I think we all know that it’s common for immigrant parents to have to leave their children unattended at home while they work all day and sometimes night. In fact, you don’t have to have had immigrant parents for this to happen. In this day and age, a dual income household is not only commonplace but a necessity.

My family was no different. My parents worked most of the day, most days of the week. They left my older sister, Eonni (older sister of a girl in Korean), in charge, as is the case for older siblings in these situations.

But that’s where the problem started

Eonni was in charge of making sure I got fed when I got home after school. After all, dinner wouldn’t be for another several hours when our parents got home.

So it is that I became her guinea pig for whatever she learned how to make in Home Economics class (aka Home Ec.). Sometimes I got spoiled with english muffin pizzas, or apples with peanut butter and raisins.

However, most of the time I fended for myself with whatever I could scrounge up in the kitchen. I admit most of it was inedible. But not as inedible as what my sister made for me one fine day.

I went through a mushroom soup phase where I insisted on having a bowl of it nearly everyday. (Doesn’t every kid? 😆)

Even though I was allowed in the kitchen, I was definitely not allowed to use the stove. So Eonni set upon making some mushroom soup for me.

She opened the can of condensed mushroom soup and added that to the pot…. And then forgot about it until we both smelled something burning.

She rescued what remained in the pot and poured it into a bowl. As she set the bowl in front of me, I asked why there was so little of it. To which she replied that she forgot to add water.

Recondensed Condensed Soup

So in addition to burning the soup, she had failed to add water in the first place!

I took a sip and it tasted like liquid charcoal. I said that it tasted awful. To which she replied “just eat it!”

And I tried. I really did. For the love of mushroom soup, I did.

I forgot to mention that there was only about two tablespoons of it in the bowl! So there wasn’t much that I would’ve had to stomach down. And yet, it couldn’t be done.

My sister had managed to recondense condensed soup!

You may be asking “is that even possible?”

Apparently so.

Now, I could blame this cooking debacle on age. Afterall, she was but a child herself when this happened.

But you know what? She still isn’t a very good cook (great baker though so that’s weird). So I’m inclined to think that this could’ve easily happened in present day adulthood. Sorry, but I think you know it’s true Eonni.

The Immigrant Experience

I know my story not unique (maybe the mushroom soup part is though). I had many friends, in the same situation as us, who nearly burned the house down from a microwave or stove accident.

It’s rather commonplace for latchkey kids to fend for themselves until the parents get home. Immigrant parents are usually in jobs that require a ton of hours. It’s not uncommon for the parents to barely see each other, never mind the kids. This is why I consider being a latchkey kid a part of the immigrant experience.

But I can personally say that it made me more independent and self-sufficient, albeit out of necessity than want. And it makes me wonder if I’m stifling my kid’s growth in these areas, because I’m able to stay home with him. I make his meals and do his laundry.

But then again, he’s only three. Perhaps I’ll wait until he’s five to make him fend for himself…immigrant experience style. 😉

How about you? Were you a latchkey kid too? Did your older sibling burn your food as well? Share in the comments!

If you liked this story, check out what happens when I went to look for a blanket one cold and stormy night.