In the deep of winter I get that hankering for dong dong ju.
And if you have dong dong ju, you gotta have mung bean pancakes!
If it seems like I’m stuck on the one note here with the dong dong ju, that’s because I can only drink it if I make it myself. Or if I go to Korea.
If you can’t drink the drink you love, love the drink you drink? Er, mayhaps. That’s easy enough to do. I am happy with gin and drink it often.
But this year’s January will mark the nine years of my father’s passing, and to honor my melancholia, I brewed a batch of dong dong ju and fried up some mung bean pancakes.
I shared the dong dong ju with my Old Ladies and the friends who I knew would understand its place in my Korean history.
I’m all about making up my traditions as I go along––an antidote to my uncohesive upbringing. And if you happen to be holding onto a jug, bowl, or glass of dong dong ju, please raise it in honor of my father.