Page 71 of Alice Chen's Reality Check

“No. How?” I turn to him.

On the table are two flickering candles and a pile of snacks. There’s Korean rice cakes, bars of strawberry Hi-Chew, packets of dried squid and seasoned nori, and—I can’t believe I’m really seeing this—haw flakes.

Daniel grins. “My luggage was mostly snacks from H Mart. Sorry it’s not a four-course meal, but this was the best I could do under the present circumstances.”

“How did you know?” I touch my finger to the haw flakes, which Daniel has made the centerpiece.

“That they’re your favorite? An informed guess.” He shrugs. “Do you know how many times you’d pop one of those in your mouth and then go on to completely destroy my argument in Mock Trial?”

“That doesn’t answer why you just so happened to have them in your luggage,” I point out.

“You made them look so good, I always wanted to ask for one, but I didn’t have the guts. So when I went shopping for snacks to bring on this trip, I snagged a pack.” He raises an eyebrow at me. “You know, objectively, they aren’t that great a snack. There are better ones.”

“They’re cheap and crumbly discs that I’m fond of for nostalgia reasons, all right? I won’t hear a word against them,” I say, wrinkling my nose at him. “Anyway, I didn’t make you buy them.”

“It’s cool. I’m glad I did.” Daniel lifts a hand to squeeze my shoulder. It feels so natural, so right, that I lean into it. “It’s nice to have something familiar when you’re away from home. Or at least that’s how I’ve always felt.”

He picks up a Tupperware with a red lid and opens it. Inside are what look like rice rolls coated with chopped nuts. Daniel offers me one. To my surprise, it’s delightfully warm.

“Oh, wow. What is it?” I ask.

“Tteok. I made it,” Daniel says. “My grandmother used to makethis for me on competition days. She always put nuts in the ones she made for me.”

“Your grandmother?” I ask. I search my memory, and an older woman in colorful floral cardigans comes to mind. She came to some of Daniel’s competitions, but I don’t recall his parents ever being there—just her.

“Yeah, she taught me how to make these before she passed away last year.”

I never formally met Daniel’s grandmother, but learning that she’s gone is enough for me to feel a twinge of sympathy. “I’m sorry. Were you close?”

Daniel looks away for a moment. The fairy lights illuminate his face, enough so I can see him tearing up a bit. We sit in silence for a few minutes, and then he says, “My parents are both lawyers. They usually had to work late. My grandmother lived with us, so she was the one who’d pick me up from school, make dinner every night, and scold me when I did something dumb, like skin my knees skateboarding.”

“Did that happen a lot?”

He chuckles softly. “Constantly. I was always getting into scrapes, even when I was really little. But my grandmother was always there, ready with Band-Aids. And when I had nightmares, she was the one who chased them away with folktales and midnight snacks.”

It’s hard to imagine Daniel as a kid. Before this, I only knew the high school version of him, all angles and obnoxious confidence. It’s strange to think of him being young, vulnerable, the kind of kid who wakes up with nightmares.

I take a bite of my tteok, and it melts in my mouth while still staying crunchy. I close my eyes to savor it, and immediately want another one once I’m done. I hold my hand out, and Daniel obliges.

“You made this?” I ask.

Daniel looks embarrassed. “I made a big bag and froze some before we came here so I’d have some comfort food. It was a bit of a gamble that I’d be able to warm them up in the kitchen, but they turned outokay.”

“They’re good! Really good,” I say. “You must be a pro.”

“Nah, it’s just a hobby, and not one that I have much time for.”

I wave my piece of tteok at him. “Then how did you get into making these?”

“Hmm, let’s see.” Daniel tilts his head, considering. “I guess, growing up, my grandmother always took me grocery shopping with her at H Mart. Every trip, she let me pick out something new to try. Then when we moved to the Bay Area in junior high, I had a hard time making friends.”

“Really?” I peer at him. “I thought you were always popular.”

Daniel shrugs. “I wasn’t as outgoing back then. But at lunchtime, when everyone else was eating spaghetti and mushy green beans, I had these amazing meals that my grandmother packed for me, plus a ton of snacks. And when I offered to share, well, everyone wanted to be my friend after that.”

“So you bribed your peers into being your friends.”

“If it works, it works,” Daniel says, grinning. “Once I’d figured out that my lunches were the key, I asked my grandmother to teach me how to cook. And after a while, I just fell in love with it. There’s something so wonderful about getting to see the people you love eating food that you made, you know?”

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