Pizza - Ann Kim

[bunniefuu]

[pensive string music playing]

[woman ] Growing up in America,

there's very little representation

of what an Asian American woman can be.

There's all sorts of stereotypes.

Asian women are meant to be quiet,

to do as they're told,

to be a model minority.

I'm not wired like that.

[music intensifies]

[woman ] When I decided to make pizza,

I refused to stay in my lane.

I just said, "f*ck it."

"I'm gonna do things my way."

If you give people the freedom
to just be themselves…

some amazing things can happen.

[Vivaldi's "Winter" concerto playing]

[birds squawking]

[man] In Minneapolis,
there is a style of pizza.

[upbeat music playing]

[man] Thin crust,

sweet red sauce,

cheese and pepperoni, cut into squares.

[Brett] You can get these in barrooms
around Minneapolis

with a pitcher of Miller beer.

If you would have told me
that a Korean American from Minnesota

would become one of the more
respected chefs working in the country,

using pizza as her medium…

I would have been like, "You're on acid."

[Brett] But Ann Kim actually did that.

[woman ] When Ann Kim
opened her restaurants,

it was just a different way into pizza.

If you look at any of her pizzas

and sort of start to unpack them,

you'll find that they're rooted
in a very personal cuisine.

[Dara] It has everything to do
with her identity.

[Brett] She serves pizza
with Korean comfort food,

using a great deal of skill
and very high execution.

It transcends this idea
of what I had come to expect

when I go to a pizzeria.

[Dara] The most important thing
to understand about Ann Kim

is that she's not just
running a pizza kitchen,

she's trying to change the way

you think about the American experience.

[Ann] Hello!

I have some pizzas for you all.

À La Parisienne, and a margherita
with pepperoni. Good choice.

-Enjoy your dinner.
-Thank you.

Yeah. You're welcome.

Good to see you both.

-Oh my gosh.
-Yeah! How are you?

-We miss you.
-Oh, I miss you too!

-You two are doing well though?
-Yes.

[Ann] Pizza wasn't a part
of my family tradition growing up.

Yeah, sure.

[emotional music playing]

[Ann] My appreciation of pizza

came when I was in college
in New York City.

In a New York City slice shop,

you get to really see
the diversity in this country.

You bump into someone
and you talk to them.

I love that energy,

and I wanted to recreate that
in my restaurants.

Minnesotans are very to themselves,

but pizza is one of those things
that brings people together.

[inaudible chatter]

[Ann] We all have our differences,

and if we can find common ground

at a table, sharing a slice…

then all is good,
at least for that moment.

That, to me,
is the wonderful power of food.

[sound of cabbage being torn]

[woman speaking Korean]

[in Korean] Taking leaves off this cabbage
is different from Korean cabbage.

[woman, in Korean]
Chop it to just here, not to here, okay?

-[Ann, in Korean] Where? Here?
-Yeah.

[woman, in Korean] If you chop to the end,
you can chop it deeper.

Okay.

[in Korean] I told you, not upside down,
but like this.

[Ann, in Korean] Okay.

In the past, we've made kimchi
many times with Granny.

[woman, in Korean] Yeah, my mother
is number one in making food.

[Ann, in English]
For Koreans, kimchi is life.

[soft string music playing]

[Ann] My kimchi recipe
has been handed down for generations.

The kimchi that I make is my mother's,

and her mother's
was her mother's before her.

There was no documented recipe.

It was just here and here.

Yeah?

[in Korean] Well, it's not salty enough.
Or is it okay?

[in English] No, it's okay.

[woman] Delicious!

-[Ann, in English] You have to trust me.
-Good job.

[tap runs, stops]

[Ann] Making kimchi is all about son mas.

Son means hand, and mas means taste.

[Ann] It's about touching and smelling

and understanding
what it should look and taste like.

When I was younger, my mother taught me

to listen to my gut
about what I thought tasted good.

That left a real impact on me.

At my restaurants,

kimchi doesn't appear
in a traditional way,

but it does appear
in a way that represents who I am.

And that is on a pizza.

Kimchi is funky and pickled,

but when you cook kimchi,

the flavors open up,

and it produces a sweetness.

It evolves into something
completely different and delicious.

And that's how Lady Zaza was born.

The thing I love about pizza
is that it's a gateway

to introduce people to flavors
that they were resistant to trying.

If it's on a pizza
then you just trust it, I think. [laughs]

[Ann] I was born in Busan, South Korea.

When I was four years old,

my family immigrated
to a small suburb of Minnesota,

which was primarily white.

We were the only Asian family
in the neighborhood.

[soft instrumental music playing]

[Ann] My parents didn't speak any English.

They didn't understand the culture,
they didn't understand the food.

My grandmother smuggled some seeds
from Korea,

and she planted a garden in our backyard.

Both my grandmother and my mother

would make traditional Korean meals
from scratch.

It brought us comfort…

and a sense of familiarity.

The first day of school,
my grandmother made me a lunch.

A bento box of rice, kimchi,
and dried fish.

I went to school
and I opened my lunch box,

and everybody else opened theirs.

[Ann] My lunch didn't look the same,
and it definitely didn't smell the same.

I remember them laughing and teasing me.

To them, it smelled disgusting,
like things were rotting.

So, I threw my lunch away.

I realized I'm not like the others.

I'm different.

That was the first time in my life
where I felt ashamed of who I was.

[sizzling]

[man] We're gonna start
the pickle pizza on Thursday.

-[Ann] Okay. I wanna try those pickles.
-[man] We will.

No. No, right now.

-Right now, right now?
-Yeah.

Okay, well, keep an eye on my potatoes.

These are from the twenty-fours.
These are ready to go.

[Ann] Mmm.

-Drew said he put Thai chilies.
-[man] Yeah.

Thai chilies, garlic.

Let's try.

-Those are good.
-Mm-hmm.

[Ann] It's just garlic, Thai chilies.

Oh, I just think I got a Thai chili.

[coughs, laughs]

-[Ann] Man up.
-[man laughs]

[Ann] Throughout school,
I was embarrassed of my parents.

[Ann] Okay. Let's see how that goes.

[Ann] They didn't speak any English,
and they acted different

and smelled different.

I didn't want anything to do
with the Korean part of myself.

And so, I tried to create another reality.

[pensive string music playing]

[Ann] Instead of crying
because I got teased about my name

or the size of my eyes,

I used my sense of humor
to join in on the jokes.

I tried to become a class clown.

That was a way for me to fit in.

And that's how I discovered theater.

The theater gave me a safe space
to take on these different characters.

The moment I stepped on stage,
I was free to be someone else.

Hiding felt so much safer

than being the real me.

[train horn sounding]

[patrons chattering]

[Ann] Take this one.

-[Ann] Oh!
-Hi, Ann.

-Hi, Oppa.
-Hi. How are you?

Good. Pizza is five minutes, okay?

-Okay.
-Yeah. Do you want ice cream?

-Yes, please.
-Okay. Sit down, I'll get it.

[Ann] My parents didn't want me
to participate in theater.

They felt passion gets you nowhere.

It's hard work and determination.

That's how you succeed in life.

[emotional string music playing]

[Ann] My mother worked the night shift
cleaning nursing homes,

and my dad worked graveyard shifts
for a glass company.

My dad was pretty strict.

Everything was very serious and rigid.

The couple memories
that I have with my dad

where he really enjoyed something

was when we would get
soft serve ice cream.

We would go to Old Country Buffet,
and he'd go back three times.

It was one of those moments
where I thought,

"Wow, that really brings him joy."

At Pizzeria Lola, I serve chocolate chip
cookies and soft serve ice cream.

In some ways, the desserts I offer

are representative of the things
that I wanted in my childhood.

But in some ways,

they're a homage
to how hard my parents worked

to make life easier for us.

I'm really grateful for that.

[in Korean] What is the most
delicious food tonight?

[woman, in Korean] Tonight…
perhaps it's number , yukgaejang.

[Ann speaking Korean]

[Ann, in Korean] Okay, give me just
dolsot bibimbap and yukgaejang, please.

[in English] Number and number .

[woman, in Korean] Okay, got it.

-Thank you.
-Welcome.

[paper rips]

[Ann, in English] After high school,

my parents wanted me
to go to an Ivy League school.

In their minds, that meant success.

So, I chose to go to Columbia
in New York City.

[pensive string music playing]

[distant police siren wailing]

[Ann] The minute I come into the city,

I stepped out of the cab,

and I can't even describe it.

The sounds.

The smells.

It smelled like America.

The first place I went was a pizzeria

to get a slice of cheese pizza.

I'm standing
on this street corner, eating,

and there's this woman with
a Gucci purse and Louis Vuitton heels

walking next to women in saris.

And a guy pushing a knish cart.

I could hear
all of these different languages.

It was so diverse.

And yet, it felt like
everybody could coexist.

I felt like life was full of possibility.

It did something to my soul.

It made me feel alive.

After college, I moved back to Minnesota.

I was determined to pursue my passion,
which was the theater.

[indistinct chatter]

[Ann] I knew I couldn't tell my parents.

So, I lied to them.

[propulsive instrumental music playing]

[Ann] I got a respectable
nine-to-five job.

Started auditioning on weekends.

And then I landed a real theatrical gig.

And in order to accept that role,

I needed to quit my job.

I thought I could get away
with doing the show

and never having my parents find out.

One day, my dad happened to call my work.

The front desk picked up the phone,

and told them,
"Oh, Ann doesn't work here anymore."

"She's doing a show."

That's how they found out.

[emotional string music playing]

[Ann] I remember sitting
in the living room.

My mother was crying.

I could see the disappointment
in my father's face.

There was a certain panic,
like, "How dare you?"

"We came to this country.
We sacrificed everything

for you."

"And you're throwing it all away."

They told me I was a disgrace.

And the profession I chose

was no different from being a whore.

And that they'd disown me.

That was really, really hard.

[Ann] Hi!

I'd love to get a gourmet pickle.

-Perfect.
-Thank you.

-[woman] Here you go.
-[Ann] Thank you so much.

-[woman] Have a great day.
-[Ann] You too.

Would you like a pickle?

-I'm good. Thanks.
-Are you sure?

-Yes.
-They're really good.

-I know, I've had them.
-You've had enough?

-Many a time.
-Mm.

[Ann] I was a professional actor,
and it brought me great joy.

Once my parents realized
that I could make a living,

they came around and they
would come to see some shows.

But then, when I was around years old,

things started to not feel as good.

[somber ambient music playing]

[Ann] I was getting typecast
in these stereotypical characters.

I would get a call for an audition,

and I'd be there with the same
five other Asian women in town.

Directors would tell me I was too Asian.

Or I wasn't Asian enough.

[children's voices echoing]

[Ann] I really thought if I worked hard,

I can be whatever I want to be.

I quickly realized, "No… I can't."

Because other people had a lane
that they wanted me to stay in.

I had zero agency in my life.

No matter how hard I worked,

my destiny was somebody else's decision.

I left the theater,

and I felt like a failure.

My parents immigrated to this country,

lived through w*r, lived through loss,

separated from their family

so that I could find
who it is I was meant to be.

But I honestly didn't know who I was.

During that time, I was making dinner
with my husband Conrad,

and he looked at me and said,

"When you cook, you light up."

[gentle harp music playing]

That's when my wheels started turning.
And I thought, "Well,

the one thing that was always
a constant in my life

was food."

Growing up, cooking at my grandmother
and mother's hip

was a really happy time in my life.

The idea of cooking for a living

was familiar and different
and exciting all at once.

I said to myself,
"Either you can live in your unhappiness…

or you can change it."

"Just trust yourself."

[Conrad] Looks amazing.

[Ann murmurs]

[Ann] Got sweetcorn?

It's delicious.

[Ann] It's getting darker now.

There's not too many days like this left.

[Ann murmurs]

[Ann] I had never
cooked professionally in my life.

I didn't really know where to start.

And so I thought,

"Is there something in my life
that I really miss eating?

And that one thing was pizza.

[pensive string music playing]

[Ann] I started experimenting
with different doughs.

It's just a few simple ingredients.

Flour, water, salt, and yeast.

It seemed like a good way
to get my feet wet.

But % of the time,

I made some really bad pizza.

And that pushed me to get better.

I woke up day after day
trying to do things better.

-It's like The Blob. [laughs]
-Get it, get it!

[Ann] Over time, I learned that
a recipe doesn't make great pizza.

Great dough is really
an understanding of time and temperature.

Touching, feeling, smelling.

It's about the person
that's handling the dough.

It's all about son mas.

[music swells]

[Ann laughs] I couldn't believe it.

I found this connection
between dough and kimchi.

It really came natural to me.

I knew at that moment that

this was what I was meant to do.

[cash register beeping]

[Ann] I decided that I was going
to open up a pizzeria.

Conrad and I invested every penny.

When I was thinking
about different flavor profiles

that I could introduce on the menu…

I knew in my heart that the only way
that I was going to succeed

was to just be myself.

[soft instrumental music playing]

[Ann] I started to dig deeper
to the flavors that spoke to me.

And so I thought, "What about kimchi?"

I just said, "You know, f*ck it.
I'm gonna put kimchi on a pizza!"

I tried it.

And I said, "This is damn good."

"It's going on the menu." [laughs]

[Ann] The day that we opened,

I started having doubts.

[soft string music playing]

[Ann] In Minnesota, at the time,
nobody knew what kimchi was.

I didn't know what to expect.

When the first Lady Zaza went out,

I was watching out of the corner of my eye

to see the look on their faces.

[Ann] People told me that it was
their first experience with kimchi,

and that they would have never tried it
had they not had my pizza.

But they loved it so much

that they wanted to explore
more Korean cuisine.

[Ann] I thought people
were out there doubting me.

[music swells]

[Ann] I was really the one
doubting myself.

From that point on, I wasn't going
to make decisions rooted in fear.

f*ck fear.

[mellow ambient music playing]

[Ann] I did not tell my parents
about the restaurant.

I needed to stand up
and tell them the truth.

I gathered the courage.

I had my sister bring them
to the restaurant.

I sat both my parents down,

and I said, "This is my restaurant."

"This is what I'm going
to be doing with my life."

"I am who I am."

There was silence.

I was shaking inside.

My mother stood up

and she knocked me
on the head with her fist,

and said, "Arata."

Which means…

"Okay."

[emotional ambient music playing]

[Ann] It was her way of saying,
"I trust you."

"I'm going to let go,

and let you be free

to explore all the reasons
why we sacrificed

and worked so hard to bring you here."

And to me,
that was the ultimate show of love.

It felt like a privilege,

and I wasn't going to waste it.

[indistinct chatter]

[Ann] Con, you wanna grab
one more pizza tray from inside?

[Conrad] Sure.

[pizza paddle scraping]

[Ann] I was gonna put some chimichurri on.

Or I could put barbecue sauce
on the bottom as a base.

-[man] The first one sounds better.
-[Ann] Chimichurri? I agree.

[Dara] Pizzeria Lola became very popular.

It would have been very easy
to make six more Pizzeria Lolas

and then have a mansion in the woods

and just go do that
for the rest of her life.

But Ann Kim wanted to
test herself and grow.

[indistinct chatter]

[gentle ambient music playing]

[Ann] I wanted a restaurant
that expressed my heritage.

And that was Young joni.

All the things that I was ashamed of,

the flavors, the smells,

I was ready to embrace all of it.

I just played by my own game,
sharing who I was through food.

I wanted people to know that this is mine.

You can't put me in a box.
You can't put my food in a box.

You're not gonna tell me
that I can't put kimchi on a pizza

or Korean barbecue on a pizza.

You can't tell me that I can't serve
whole fish and ssamjang

next to a pepperoni pizza.

My food is loud and bold
and funky and spicy.

Just like me, and this is who I am.

[music swells]

[Brett] Young joni represented the step
putting yourself more out there.

And confronting that fear
and forging ahead anyway.

She was standing up and saying,

"I'm an Asian American,

and I'm sick of trying to hide it."

It was the strength of that restaurant
that she won a James Beard Award.

And the Beard Award goes to…

Ann Kim of Young joni in Minneapolis.

[audience cheering]

Ten years ago, I said, "f*ck fear."

[audience cheering]

And my greatest hope in doing so

is to give permission to all of you
to do the same.

We cannot be what we cannot see.

[in Korean] Mom and Dad,
thank you so much.

[in English] Thank you.

[audience cheering]

[Ann] All my life,
I was listening to other voices.

My parents, classmates, directors.

Cultural norms of what
I thought I could or could not do.

There was a lot of white noise,

and I had to just block all of that out
and just say, "Enough."

"You're not gonna keep me quiet anymore."

[children laughing and cheering]

[faint birdsong]

[Ann] As a child,
I was ashamed of my parents.

I'm not anymore.

[gentle instrumental music playing]

[Ann] I realize now that my parents
had to make some difficult decisions.

Not because they were trying
to repress me,

but because they wanted to keep me safe.

For them, love was about action.

Because of their sacrifice,
I'm where I am today.

-Cheers.
-Cheers.

[Ann, voice breaking]
My restaurants are a love letter

to my mom, and my grandma, my dad,

and all immigrants,

or anybody that feels like
you can't choose your destiny.

You can.

And, um… [sniffles]

A Korean immigrant woman
can make really damn good pizza, so…

[sniffles]

That's all I wanna say. [sniffles]

For Franco, pizza is an art,
pizza is important.

[dramatic orchestral music playing]

He lives and he breathes pizza.

[in Italian] I wanted to reinvent
the concept

of the pizzeria and the pizza maker.

[soft string music playing]