In front of a memorial service table

“Mother, I think I should be the one to hold the memorial rites now.”
“Oh, that would be so wonderful!”
My mother-in-law, who had sounded weak from illness, suddenly raised her voice in joy.

Seven years ago, my husband’s older brother’s wife passed away unexpectedly at a young age. A few months ago, he remarried. We couldn’t expect the new wife to take on the ancestral rites. My youngest sister-in-law, who lives near my parents-in-law, had already been taking care of all the memorials—for my husband’s grandmother, his father, and even his late brother’s wife. It was a lot of work.

“It’s hard work. Just hold a simple memorial for your father-in-law on the Lunar New Year and Chuseok with the foods he liked.”
“I’ll do it only while I’m alive. I won’t pass this down to the kids.”
“Alright. Thank you.”
“And when the time comes, I’ll also do the memorial for you.”
“No need. When I’m gone, don’t bother with anything.”

I looked up how to prepare a memorial table online. But if I followed all the traditional formalities, I knew I’d give up after a few tries. So I decided to stick with what my mother-in-law said: just use the foods my father-in-law liked.

He had worked with the U.S. military since the Korean War, using the English he learned in his youth. He lived inside the U.S. 8th Army base and came home only once a week. After serving in Vietnam, he worked abroad in places like New Zealand, Miami, Australia, Papua New Guinea, and more. In the early 1970s, he brought his family to L.A. as immigrants, but he continued working in Alaska until retirement.

Because of his long life overseas, he didn’t enjoy traditional Korean food. He wouldn’t touch strong-flavored dishes like fermented seafood or heavily seasoned food. Instead, he loved black coffee from McDonald’s, red wine, and simple frozen meals from the supermarket. But he really loved Korean pears.

On the morning of the memorial day, my husband and I went jogging and then stopped at McDonald’s to get black coffee for the table. We added the red wine, pears, and frozen food we had prepared the day before. It was a true Seoul–New York fusion memorial table.

I thought we’d have a quiet moment with our kids, remembering their grandfather over this simple spread. But—well...

As I placed the carefully made dumpling soup on the table, my husband frowned.
“No vegetables? No pancakes? No fish?”
He started listing all the traditional Korean foods he wanted but didn’t see, clearly upset.

Now I understood why he was so happy when I offered to take over the memorials.
“You said we should keep it simple with the foods your father liked.”
“Still, this is too much of a shortcut.”
“Well then, why don’t you prepare everything the traditional way—write the spirit tablet, cook the full course, and follow all the rituals properly? You just want to bow a few times and start eating.”
“Shhh, quiet. Don’t fight in front of the table. Your father’s spirit might turn around and leave without even tasting anything!”