Kimchi-jjigae

Did someone grind ink into those brows? A Palace of Siblings that dark and full means deep loyalty, though once crossed, the grudge simmers three years. That is kimchi-jjigae kimchi exactly, child: you cannot make the stew from a fresh batch, it takes half a year of souring before the broth comes alive. Your heart is the same, long-fermented and rich. So stop sulking when people flinch at the sour smell. Yours is a flavor only the knowing tongue knows.

Look at those eye corners climbing to heaven. Eyes that rise like that mean a sharp Palace of House and Land: quick judgment and no patience for losing. Exactly the order of a kimchi stew, no? The first five minutes need high heat, frying the kimchi hard in pork fat to wake the flavor. But child, if all you do is fry and never cover the pot to wait, the taste never settles. The seasoning your temper lacks most is those twenty minutes of low flame.

That nose bridge stands straight as a roof beam. The nose is the Palace of Wealth: a firm bridge means clear pride, clear opinions, and substance gathering in your middle years. But look into the stew pot. However rich the pork broth is, it has to give up its own color into the kimchi to become jjigae; hold out alone and pale, and it is just meat soup. Same for that pride of yours, child. Do not break it, but mix yourself into the broth. That is how people and money gather to your pot.