Celebrating Mothers Through the Heart of the Kitchen: Umma-A Korean Mom’s Kitchen Wisdom

Sometimes you stumble upon something that just resonates. For me, it was listening to Sarah Ahn talk about the cultural history of kimchi on NPR's Here and Now.

As M and I were driving along, listening to her chat with Lisa Mullins about her cookbook Umma—A Korean Mom’s Kitchen Wisdom it struck a chord. This wasn't just another cookbook; it was a story about preserving identity, about the threads that connect us to our past through the simple act of cooking. And Ahn's stories, those little anecdotes about time spent with her mom in the kitchen – they weren't just recipes; they were thoughtful, inspiring, and utterly authentic. Her book beautifully demonstrates how the kitchen can be a space for intergenerational connection.

Sarah Ahn, daughter, creator of Ahnest Kitchen, a storyteller in her own right, collaborates with her mother (Umma in Korean), Nam Soon, to share more than just food. They're sharing life. And you realize, as you read, that the kitchen isn’t just a place where meals are made. It’s a space where connections are built, where generations meet, where knowledge, advice, family history, and love are passed down like treasured heirlooms. That intimacy, that warmth, it jumps off the page.

Like Ahn's connection with her Umma, my own understanding of love has been spoken in the quiet language of food. Food is my love language. It's how I communicate care, nurture connection, and build lasting memories with those closest to my heart. This wasn't a conscious decision, but a truth learned by the remarkable women who shaped my early years—my maternal grandmother and mother. I watched them transform simple ingredients into tangible expressions of generosity and affection. My grandmother’s daily market trips, her dedication to the freshest selection, taught me that love lies in the deliberate offering made with intention and heart. And my mother showed me the joy of creation, turning ordinary moments into shared experiences around the table. Their actions spoke volumes about their dedication to nourishing us, body and soul.

The themes in Ahn's book just clicked: food was a way to connect, to comfort, to show affection. The idea of food as a central thread in the tapestry of human connection resonated deeply with my own lived experience. It validated the unspoken language I had learned—that preparing and sharing food is a heartfelt expression of love, a legacy passed down through generations, as important and nourishing as the food itself.

And it makes you think about Mother's Day, doesn’t it? A time to honor those women who nourish us, who guide us, who fill our lives with love. What better way to do that than through the heart of the kitchen, that place where so many of those bonds are forged? Ahn's book beautifully captures that, blending heartfelt recipes with a deep respect for the generations that have shaped us.

As Epicurious put it, this book is a "treasure for its endless kitchen wisdom, heart-filled recipes, and deep-rooted respect for all the generations that came before." It's more than just a list of ingredients and instructions; it’s a journey into a family’s history, told through the flavors and aromas of Korean cuisine.

Beyond the delicious dishes, Ahn's book shares those personal moments, the kitchen wisdom passed from mother to daughter. It’s a reminder of the power of food to preserve identity, to celebrate our heritage. And this Mother's Day, if you’re looking for a gift that truly means something, consider Umma: A Korean Mom’s Kitchen Wisdom. It’s a gift that nourishes both body and soul, a testament to the enduring love and wisdom that mothers share through the simple act of cooking.