"Just buy what we need and come out quickly."
I expected my husband to stay in the car reading the newspaper and rush me, but instead, he surprised me by grabbing a cart and leading the way. I walked fast to keep up with him but soon wandered off to look at sale items in other aisles. My husband went straight to the vegetable section and then spent a long time at the fish counter.
He once worked at a vegetable store for a few days when he first immigrated in the 1970s. Using that old memory, he squeezed the white part of green onions tied with rubber bands to choose the thickest bunch, pressed napa cabbage to check for freshness, and tapped watermelons to find the best one. He once got kicked out of a store after dropping and smashing a watermelon! Still, when picking fish, he becomes extremely serious—he checks the eyes and color of the fish, presses and flips them, then finally chooses one. He rinses his fishy hands in the tub where live fish are swimming, looking very satisfied.
My husband’s family is from Hamgyeong Province in North Korea, and they have a real passion for fish. Every time my mother-in-law goes shopping, she brings back flounder, lays out newspaper on the floor, squats down, and spends the whole afternoon cleaning them. She salts them, makes fermented rice drinks with them, and dries the fish in net bags shaped like small tents until they become chewy.
At the dinner table, no one talks. They focus only on eating fish. They don’t leave behind a single piece—no eyes, no skin, no meat, not even the fish head. It’s like watching a scene from Animal Kingdom. Imagine a zebra torn apart by lions until it’s unrecognizable—that’s what it’s like. I just sit quietly, like a guest with chopsticks in hand, watching my husband. Sometimes, he feels a little sorry and gives me a big piece of fish.
When I stop at the meat section, my husband frowns. He hates meat and looks at me sideways with wrinkles deepening on his forehead.
“Why are you picking meat that’s not even on sale?”
I turned around, startled, only to find out a man was yelling at his wife holding a pack of ribs. The women nearby giggled quietly. The woman who was holding the ribs slowly put them back, and somehow I felt a sad kind of friendship with her—as if we were in the same boat.
“Why are you picking up ramen that is not good for your health??”
He glared at me. I looked away. I just wanted to eat ramen one evening when he goes out, without having to cook a full dinner. I imagined eating straight from the pot while watching TV—feeling relaxed as the spicy broth went down and washed away the stress. I waited for him to get distracted and then quietly slipped a pack of ramen deep into the cart.
When we saw pre-cleaned flounder, he lit up like he saw his savior and bought them all. Now our freezer is packed with flounder. For a while, I don’t need to worry about what to cook. As long as he has flounder, he’s happy. He steams it, fries it, braises it—eats it for lunch and dinner, however he wants. People say pet owners start to look like their pets. My husband, with his flat face, really does resemble his favorite flounder! As for me, I like mackerel better. Come to think of it, maybe I look like a mackerel!