Choi Seung-ja's Forty: First Snow Gnocchi Salad

20201213, When I turned thirty, I felt like I was standing at the edge of a high cliff, as if every step from then on would be an endless plunge down a steep slope. But my forties turned out to be a vast, vaulted plain, endlessly wide — walk and walk and no wall, no downhill slope ever comes into view. Except that everywhere there are invisible glass walls, where, if your luck is bad, you smack your head into one with a thud. And yet there is exactly one thing I still believe in, so in this fortieth year, every single day, the axe I trust in cuts my own foot. Memory is selfish. I read this poem a very long time ago and believed that once I turned 'forty,' I'd shake off whatever struggles I was facing at the time and stand fully enlightened atop that vast plain. Turns out I only remembered half of it. Now that I've lived it, even at forty the struggles — like those 'invisible glass walls' — are still very much there, and I go on bruising my head, sometimes my little toe, against them. So then, what's the one thing I believe in that could soothe that kind of pain? Does it even exist? Boil gnocchi in salted water, drain, and toss in olive oil. Sear tomato and enoki mushrooms in a pan with olive oil. Arrange the world's prettiest chicory, red onion, and prosciutto with the prepared gnocchi, tomato, and enoki mushrooms, then grate parmigiano cheese over the top, quietly, gently, like the #FirstSnow. Finish with a light drizzle of whole-grain mustard, white wine vinegar, and olive oil dressing. Thinking about it, I suppose what I believe in these days might just be (my) breakfast.