When I first entered Hangang by Mama Park in Strathfield, I felt an immediate soul connection; a warmth known in Korean as “jeong”. In owner Jimin Park, lovingly called “Mama Park”, I saw my mother, my aunties and every woman who has ever steadfastly built community through food.
In my role at Parramatta’s Powerhouse Museum, I’m passionate about using food as a catalyst for positive social impact and cultural exchange. Collaborating with the vibrant multicultural communities in Western Sydney is a privilege, each encounter deepening my understanding of belonging and identity.
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Jimin’s table is a living testament to this. Her hands, so sure, make tender, marinated raw soy crab, silky japchae noodles, rich bulgogi and hearty Korean beef stew, all from scratch, the traditional way. Each bite tastes of home: my heritage, my journey as a cook and now, my friendship with Jimin, who affectionately calls me “dongsaeng” (little sister).
These flavours linger, nourishing something deeper. It’s jeong, a bond I will carry, just as these cherished dishes carry me.
As a kid, I had the sand between my toes, salt water in my big afro hair, and a bucket full of ocean treasures: pipis, island clams and as many periwinkles as I could carry. They were my lollies from the sea. We’d dig our heels into the wet sand, racing the tide, collecting them from under our feet. Dinner was whatever we could gather, tossed on the fire.
Fast-forward to adulthood, and I’ve chased those same flavours across the world. From snails in France, pretending to fancy the average escargot; to white-wine vongole on the Italian coast; to chilli-tossed periwinkles in the side streets of Thailand. But nothing beats Japan: sitting at a bustling izakaya, a steaming bowl of saké sake clams arriving at the table. They tasted like the ocean was singing in your mouth – delicate, sweet and umami.
Still, my heart belongs to the Torres Strait. Freshly gathered pipis, cracked open by the fire, with coconut-husk smoky flavours, eaten with laughter under the stars. That was the first, and still the best, “Michelin-starred” meal of my life.
Some of my earliest memories are cooking alongside my mum, Titania Taylor. She’s glamorous, generous and utterly at home in the kitchen. At just seven, I watched her throw a 30th-birthday cocktail party I’ll always remember, where the kitchen was practically a dance floor.
After days of planning and prep, she triumphantly steamed a whole salmon with lime leaves and coconut! She served simmering, melt-in-your-mouth oxtail soup and big bowls of watermelon-and-basil granita. And she baked my forever favourite: lemon delicious pudding. Wobbly from the oven and drenched in a snow of icing sugar, I couldn’t wait; I ate it steaming hot, relishing every bite.
It’s from her I learned that feeding people is a love letter. I celebrate every milestone with a full house and a meal to remember. And my parties still echo hers: friends in finery, everyone crammed into the buzzing kitchen, plates passed, hearts and glasses full. That’s the inheritance I cook with.
Jianne Jeoung and Leaham Claydon, Snug
It was undoubtedly the coldest evening we experienced during our first trip to Korea together, around −22 degrees. Walking through little, dimly lit villages until we found [three-Michelin-starred Seoul restaurant Mosu] felt like an achievement in itself. And with Jianne constantly stopping to show attention to tiny, freezing street cats, the journey there was as memorable as the dinner.
Mosu immaculately displays Korean ingredients and culture through Western techniques. The dishes typically champion a single ingredient, which was a great way to introduce them to Leaham. The sauces were all so perfectly shiny and delicious, the service incredibly thoughtful and the building and surroundings so well kept. It’s an evening that continues to be very inspiring.
It has to be my mum’s lasagne, a recipe passed down from her mother and my father’s family in Plati, Calabria. Paper-thin pasta sheets layered with slow-simmered sugo, tiny hand-rolled meatballs, thinly sliced ham, boiled egg, mozzarella and parmesan. It was a dish reserved for Easter, Christmas and life’s most special moments. It was my father’s favourite – and mine too. It also happened to be the last meal I shared with Dad, making it my most cherished food memory that transports me home, to family and to the heart of who I am.
Dining and Cooking