Saeu-jeon (Shrimp Jeon)

Saeu-jeon is small work, which is why people rush it. They peel, dip, fry, and wonder why the shrimp curls into a tight little fist. My teacher Master Seong-nyeo would tap the board once and make us open the shrimp again. Butterfly it properly. Score the inside curve. Press it flat. Only then may the egg behave.

This is holiday food, but not grand food. It sits on the jeon platter beside zucchini, fish, tofu, and meat patties, carried to a family table at Chuseok, Seollal, a birthday, or a potluck where someone knows enough to bring something useful. The tail stays on for the hand and for the eye. The shrimp itself should still taste sweet and clean, with a thin yellow coat around it, not a thick blanket of batter.

Tonight it asks for a dry towel, a patient knife, and a medium flame. Those are the three measurements people forget. I give you the salt, the flour, the oil, but write down the heat of your own stove too. Memory is a borrowed bowl. When the shrimp lies flat and the egg turns pink-gold at the edges, that one does it properly too.