Waiting at the Bottom of the Ladder
As a child in the 1970s, I often spent school holidays at my grandmother’s house in the countryside. I was always happy to see her. But I think there was something else I looked forward to just as much.
Grandma had an attic, something we didn’t have at home. To me, it was her little treasure room. Whenever I wanted a treat, she seemed to find something delicious in there.
The attic entrance was high up on a wall, reached by a wooden ladder. From where I stood, the space beyond it looked dark and mysterious. I wondered what was hidden inside. The adults said it was too dusty for children to go in. That only made me more curious.
Snacks weren’t an everyday thing back then. Even at the little neighborhood shop, I couldn’t simply pick out whatever I wanted.
Sometimes, when I was bored or wanted something sweet, Grandma would take my hand and lead me to the ladder. She would glance around to see if any of the other adults were watching. Then she would slowly climb the wooden steps, which creaked under her feet.
I stood below, looking up at her feet in their white cotton socks. Those few minutes felt like the longest wait in the world.
She would open the attic door and reach into the darkness. When her hand came back out, it held a few pieces of yakgwa wrapped in yellow paper.
Yakgwa is a traditional Korean pastry, fried and soaked in a sweet syrup.
Grandma would climb down and slip the pieces into my hand.
“Quick, eat them before the grown-ups come,” she would say with a quiet smile.
The jocheong, a Korean grain syrup, left my fingers sticky. But I didn’t mind. The soft pastry crumbled in my mouth, filling it with sweetness. I’ve never forgotten that taste.
An Old Korean Sweet and Memories of My Mother
Yakgwa has a much longer history than I knew as a child. It was served at royal banquets, ancestral rites, and gatherings among the nobility as far back as the Goryeo period.
It was made with ingredients such as wheat flour, sesame oil, honey, and ginger. These were precious ingredients at the time. The name yakgwa (藥果) is often explained as “medicinal confection,” reflecting the belief that its ingredients were good for the body.
As I grew older, my memories of Grandma’s attic became part of another family tradition: making yakgwa with my mother.
When Seollal, the Lunar New Year, or Chuseok, the autumn harvest holiday, was approaching, we would roll up our sleeves and get to work in the kitchen.
We mixed flour with sesame oil, honey, and ginger juice to make the dough. Then we rolled and folded it several times to create thin layers.
We fried the pieces slowly over low heat, watching carefully so the outside wouldn’t burn. Then we soaked the freshly fried yakgwa in ginger-scented jocheong.
The kitchen would fill with the warm smell of sesame oil, ginger, and sweet syrup.
Enjoying Yakgwa Today
These days, fewer people make yakgwa at home. Preparing the dough, building the layers, and soaking the pastries in syrup takes time and patience.
It’s much easier to buy them in shops or online. Handmade yakgwa is available, too, so you can enjoy it without spending hours in the kitchen.
Here are a few ways to enjoy it:
- Choosing yakgwa: If you miss the old-fashioned taste, look for handmade varieties fried slowly at a low temperature and soaked in jocheong. Some have delicate layers that come apart with each bite.
- Serving it: Try gently warming a piece and topping it with vanilla ice cream. Or enjoy it with warm tea or sujeonggwa, a Korean cinnamon and ginger drink. The spice goes well with the sweetness.
- Using an air fryer: If you like a crisper outside, try heating it at 160°C (320°F) for about 3–5 minutes, then letting it cool. Check it early, as results can vary with the size of the pastry and your air fryer.
- Storing it: Follow the storage instructions on the package. For longer storage, wrap the pieces individually and freeze them. Take one out before you want to eat it and give it time to thaw.
I no longer have to wait at the bottom of Grandma’s ladder to eat yakgwa. Now I can buy it whenever I want.
Still, one bite of that syrup-soaked pastry takes me back. I see Grandma climbing the ladder after taking me by the hand. And I remember the sweet smell of my mother’s kitchen.
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