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Potato Omelet — The Morning the House Was Still Mine

November rain in long sheets. Amazon this week. Sprint planning Tuesday. Two hours of meetings I could have been a Slack message.

Hana, 2, on a step stool stirring miso into broth. She knows the order. She is bilingual already in food vocabulary. Jisoo FaceTimed Tuesday. We made doenjang jjigae together — me in Wallingford, her in Haeundae. Eleven thousand miles. The same soup.

Galbi on the grill Saturday. Marinated short ribs. The Korean barbecue Saturday standard.

Drove to Bellevue Saturday. Karen was tired. I brought soft food. She ate.

I sat at the kitchen counter Sunday with a notebook open. The writing came slow. The writing came.

Reading at night. A novel by a Korean-American writer about a family in 1990s LA. I underlined four sentences. The underlining is the marking-of-the-territory of the soul.

James and I had date night Friday. Indian restaurant on 45th. We ate too much. We sat in the car after talking about nothing for an hour. The marriage is the marriage.

Sunday farmers market on Wallingford Avenue. The kabocha at the Asian vendor's stall. The shishito peppers. The brokered conversation. We bought too much. We always do.

The shiso on the south fence is fragrant and unruly. I brushed past it taking the compost out and the smell stopped me. The smell is the country. The smell is Jisoo's apartment.

A blog reader wrote about her own adoptee experience. We exchanged three emails this week.

Hana left a Lego on the kitchen floor. I stepped on it at two AM. Standard.

The kimchi crock was bubbling Saturday morning when I checked. The bubbling is the right bubbling. The fermentation knew what it was doing.

I read a thread on the Korean Adoptee subreddit Saturday. Some posts brought up old anger. Most are people figuring it out in real time. We are not unique. We are a community.

Therapy Tuesday with Dr. Kim. We talked about the parents — the two sets, the one living, the one gone, the one who became real after thirty years and the one who was real my whole life and is now gone. The work is the layered work.

I made coffee at seven. Hana ate cereal at seven-fifteen. Min wandered down at seven-twenty-five. James left for work at eight. The morning was the morning. The standard.

Sprint review at Amazon Friday. Two hours. I could have been on a podcast.

Yoga Tuesday morning at the studio. The forward fold released something I had been carrying in the shoulder. The mat is the mat.

Jisoo sent a photo of the dol the kids did for our visit last summer. The photo went on the fridge.

My Korean is improving. Slowly. Painfully. Conversationally adequate now. I can argue about kimchi proportions in two languages, which is a milestone in any marriage between mother and daughter.

I sat at the kitchen counter at six AM with a notebook and a cup of green tea. Writing time before the house wakes. The pre-light hour is the only writing hour I trust.

I texted Jisoo a photo of the kimchi in the new onggi pot. She replied with the thumb-up emoji and a Korean-language critique. The duality is the gift.

David came over for Sunday dinner. He brought some tomatoes from the Bellevue garden.

The newsletter went out Sunday morning. The opening sentence took an hour. The piece took five. The piece was what it needed to be.

The Capitol Hill apartment kitchen is small. We make it work.

Rain on the porch all afternoon Saturday. The Wallingford rain is its own weather. I sat with a book and a tea and did not move for two hours.

That six AM window — notebook open, green tea steeping, the house still dark and breathing — is the only hour I fully trust, and it turns out the food I make in that hour follows the same logic: nothing fussy, nothing performed, just what the body and the morning actually need. The galbi on Saturday was ceremony, was family, was the standard we hold. But the omelet at six AM is mine. I’ve been making versions of this potato omelet since before Hana, since before James, since the years I was still learning who I cooked for — and it still answers the question every time.

Potato Omelet

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 20 minutes | Total Time: 30 minutes | Servings: 2

Ingredients

  • 2 medium Yukon Gold potatoes, peeled and thinly sliced (about 1/8 inch)
  • 4 large eggs
  • 1/4 cup whole milk
  • 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
  • 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
  • 2 tablespoons olive oil, divided
  • 1/2 small yellow onion, thinly sliced
  • 1 tablespoon fresh flat-leaf parsley, chopped (optional, for finishing)

Instructions

  1. Parboil the potatoes. Place sliced potatoes in a small saucepan and cover with cold salted water. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat and cook for 5–6 minutes, until just barely tender but not falling apart. Drain well and pat dry with a clean towel.
  2. Whisk the eggs. In a medium bowl, whisk together eggs, milk, 1/2 teaspoon salt, and pepper until fully combined and slightly frothy. Set aside.
  3. Cook the onion and potatoes. Heat 1 tablespoon olive oil in a 9- or 10-inch nonstick or cast iron skillet over medium heat. Add the onion and cook, stirring occasionally, for 3–4 minutes until softened and just beginning to turn golden. Add the parboiled potato slices in a single layer, pressing gently. Cook undisturbed for 2–3 minutes until the bottoms are lightly golden. Season lightly with salt and pepper.
  4. Add the egg mixture. Drizzle the remaining 1 tablespoon olive oil around the edges of the pan. Pour the egg mixture evenly over the potatoes and onion. Tilt the pan gently to distribute the eggs into any gaps. Reduce heat to medium-low.
  5. Set the omelet. Cook without stirring for 6–8 minutes, until the edges are set and the center is just barely wobbly. To finish the top, either cover the pan with a lid for 2 minutes, or slide the pan under a broiler for 60–90 seconds until the surface is just set and lightly golden.
  6. Rest and serve. Remove from heat and let rest in the pan for 2 minutes. Slide onto a cutting board or plate, scatter parsley over the top if using, and cut into wedges. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 380 | Protein: 16g | Fat: 20g | Carbs: 34g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 420mg

Stephanie Park
About the cook who shared this
Stephanie Park
Week 547 of Stephanie’s 30-year story · Seattle, Washington
Stephanie is a software engineer in Seattle, a new mom, and a Korean-American adoptee who spent twenty-five years not knowing where she came from. She was adopted as an infant by a white family in Bellevue who loved her completely and never cooked Korean food. At twenty-eight, she found her birth mother in Busan — and then she found herself in a kitchen, crying over her first homemade kimchi jjigae, because some things your body remembers even when your mind doesn't.

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