By Michelle Woo          Photographs by Eric Sueyoshi 

Photo courtesy of Yari Films Group

For comedian Bobby Lee, working on his new film “Kickin’ It Old Skool” (due out April 20) was painful — literally. He busted a move, along with several of his out-of-shape joints.

But it was worth it. Starring Jamie Kennedy, the comedy is about a group of former grade school breakdancers who reunite after 20 years of separation. Though they’ve grown more than a bit rusty, they decide to put together a routine for an upcoming dance competition, where they’ll try to krump, flare and G-kick for a $100,000 prize.

We met up with Bobby, a cast member of the sketch comedy show “MADtv,” on the West Siiide (aka Los Angeles), where he showed off a few of his favorite breakdancing poses and told us what it’s like to play the Asian guy.

“Kickin’ It Old Skool” starts out in 1985. What was life like for you then? 

I was in high school during the ‘80s. I had every Run-D.M.C. and Beastie Boys tape. I was in this breakdancing group — I don’t remember what it was called. We had this competition at school, like a talent show. We wore these great parachute pants. My mom bought them from JCPenney.

So, you already knew how to breakdance before the film?

No, that was, like, 20 years ago. They brought in [choreographer] Shaba Doo from “Breakin’ 1” and “Breakin’ 2” to teach us. This guy was serious. We had sore asses every day. See, I don’t work out. I don’t move. The only movement I do is using my fingers to play Xbox. It was all very difficult: the pop ‘n’ lock, some of the ground work, the robot. In the end, they had to get me a body double. But they couldn’t find a guy with my body type — not fat, but chubby — so they found a girl.   

What was it like working with Jamie Kennedy?

He’s a very, very nice guy. He’s very funny, but he’s also a very good actor. There were scenes where [actor] Miguel (Nunez) and I were laughing tears. Once, I was laughing so much, Jamie had to kick me off the set.

What’s your character like?

Aki, on paper, wasn’t that funny. I thought he was a little stereotypical. He has a little accent. That seems to be the role I get — the über-nerdy Asian guy.

How do you feel about playing stereotypical characters?

I’ll do a stereotype if I can make it my own, if I can do it with originality. [On MADtv], we’re putting out so much material that I don’t have the time to analyze it morally. They’ll give us the script that day and say, “Here, do this.” Sometimes, I look at it and it says, “ching chong” and I say, “I’m not going to do this.” But a lot of times, I just have to do it. People tell me that I’m a leader, a pioneer, a role model. I’m not the pied piper of Asian Americans. I mean, I’m flattered when people say that, but I’m just a guy who’s wondering what I’m going to do with my life. I’m just a comic.

What’s next for you?

I’m working on a new film by Judd Apatow (“The 40-Year-Old Virgin”) called “Pineapple Express.” And we’ll be doing our stand-up show “Kims of Comedy” at the Wiltern in Los Angeles in May.

If it’s not me, [some other Asian American] is going to be a breakthrough star. Comedy is the way for us to do it. It’s going to be insane.

A wave of Korean-owned frozen yogurt shops has hit Southern California. But some say these businesses are alarmingly similar to Red Mango, a popular fro-yo chain in Korea.

By Michelle Woo

Dan Kim takes frozen yogurt seriously. Inside a testing kitchen in a Los Angeles corporate office, he pulls down a stainless steel lever and carefully catches a smooth swirl in a small white container.

“This is the original,” says Kim, president of Red Mango, Inc., making sure the frozen concoction tops off with a perfect point. “I don’t know how they make their product, but ours is authentic. This is a different class.”

Next month, Red Mango will open its first U.S. location in Westwood, Calif. With its signature red “O” splashed on 140 storefronts in South Korea, the frozen yogurt chain is ready to introduce itself to the American consumer.

But, as Kim knows, the debut won’t be easy.

Red Mango is squeezing into a land that’s already been saturated with frozen yogurt hype. In the past year or so, Southern California has become somewhat of the fro-yo capital of the universe, with folks across town downing thousands of cups of the fruit-topped frozen confection.

Taking center stage in the frenzy is the Korean-owned Pinkberry, Red Mango’s primary competitor. Its story is a blend of inspirational, little-business-that-could entrepreneurship and catty drama. And its concept is strikingly similar to Red Mango’s.

In this saga that has captured the eye (and taste buds) of foodies, the media and all those curious about the nonfat snack sensation, things are about to stir up.

The “It” Fro-Yo

In January 2005, Pinkberry opened as a 650 square-foot shop in West Hollywood. Curious folks walked in, liked what they tasted and came back for more. Soon attracting a cult-like following, Pinkberry, referred to by its addicts as “Crack-berry,” now has 11 locations in Southern California and three in New York. People have waited up to an hour in the summer sun for a serving of the tangy treat, dubbed “the leg warmer of food trends” by the New York Times.

Pinkberry serves only two flavors of frozen yogurt: plain and green tea. The taste is tart, unlike the ultra-sweet fro-yo of the ‘80s and ‘90s, made popular by dessert chains such as TCBY. Some customers even say it’s reminiscent of the miniature, foil-topped yogurt drinks in Japan, China and Korea, often served as an after dinner refresher. Customers can add on toppings such as fresh fruit, nuts or, if they’re in need of a sugar kick, Fruity Pebbles cereal.

Celebrity gossip site PerezHilton.com described the Pinkberry experience as “spiritual”: “You’re just so happy while eating it that you release serotonin in exorbitant amounts and you really feel high,” one anonymous fan proclaimed. Food blogger Colleen Cuisine summed up the taste like this: “My first bite of Pinkberry felt distinctly sour. … But the sweetness creeps up on you by the second or third bite and it starts to taste … simply amazing.”

Each location has its own herd of regulars, consisting of health nuts, college kids or families. At 9 p.m. on a Tuesday night, Pinkberry’s Melrose location is packed with young professionals, hipsters and model-types carrying designer bags and tiny dogs. This particular spot attracts a celebrity clientele, boasting Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan and Leonardo DiCaprio as customers.

Sitting at an outdoor table are Lisa Malchicoff and Patrick Friend, both 23. They stop by Pinkberry once or twice a week for an order of green tea frozen yogurt topped with kiwis and strawberries. This time, they also added on mochi balls, an un-publicized, off-the-menu item.

“We would come here every day if we could,” says Malchicoff, who works in public relations.

Which Came First?

Some have raised their eyebrows at Pinkberry’s success. John Shim, 26, a restaurant owner in Corona, Calif., lived in Korea two years ago and would frequent his local Red Mango after work and on the weekends. Years later, after he returned to the U.S., he heard about Pinkberry and decided to check it out.

“I was confused as to why people were making such a big deal,” says Shim, who started a blogging group called “Pinkberry’s just a pale imitation of Red Mango.”

“It’s not anything to write home to mom about. Red Mango puts out a far superior product to Pinkberry’s. It’s too bad that people are going to think Red Mango is a copycat, when really, it’s the other way around.”

Red Mango, owned by a team of Korean investment bankers, had always planned to make its way to the United States, but because of how quickly the company was growing, an American launch was put on hold.

Then when executives noticed a U.S. frozen yogurt franchise that seemed to mirror Red Mango’s concept right down to the sherbet-hued color scheme, they were stunned.

“They said, ‘Wait a minute. That’s our product,’” recalls Kim, who began running Red Mango’s U.S. operations last year.

Line the two companies up side by side and the similarities become apparent. Korea’s Red Mango locations are embellished with what Kim calls “Asian pop” finishings — interiors decked with spring colors, glass-covered walls and display cases filled with quirky and charming goods. Step into a Pinkberry shop and you’ll find the same.

Both companies serve tangy frozen yogurt that has zero fat and less than 30 calories per ounce. Both offer similar toppings, including the same eight fruits, nuts and cereal (although Pinkberry offers chocolate chips, while Red Mango’s unique item is granola). And both products are comparably priced. At Pinkberry, it’s about $5 for a medium cup of the original flavor and three toppings. Some people have even found that a Pinkberry fro-yo serves as an inexpensive meal replacement. Call it the new L.A. diet.

Kim says it is difficult to prove that Pinkberry copied Red Mango’s concept, and Pinkberry owner Young Lee asserts that the inspiration for the shop came not from Korea, but from Europe and Hawaii.

Lee says that 16 years ago, he traveled to Vienna, Italy, where he came across a little gelato stand and ordered a cup.

“The taste was so good, I couldn’t forget it,” Lee says. “It was that tangy, sour yogurt taste.”

Later, during a vacation in Hawaii, Lee visited the Dole Plantation, which was selling soft-serve ice cream topped with freshly chopped pieces of pineapple. He says he was taken by the concept.

When plans for an English tearoom fizzled, Lee and his girlfriend, Shelly Hwang, decided to open a frozen yogurt shop instead. Hwang produced the recipe and Lee, an architect, worked on the décor. He says the interior of Pinkberry is like a toned-down nightclub, with design concepts drawn from Scandinavia and Finland.

The original, parking-challenged location in West Hollywood became such a hit that some didn’t mind racking up two or three parking tickets on the same visit. The shop was sent extra police enforcement to control crowds while irked neighbors marched to city council meetings to voice concerns about parking problems and litter.

For Lee, the solution was simple. They would just open more shops. Lee says he hopes to open about 500 Pinkberry locations across the country in the next few years.

Today, the taste of the frozen yogurt still reminds Lee of that Italian vacation.

“I want to make it very clear that none of the products in that cup come from Korea,” Lee says. “The only thing Korean [about Pinkberry] is me.”

The Followers

Following the rise of Pinkberry, a new crop of Korean-owned fro-yo shops have come into play. In the Los Angeles area, there is now Céfiore, Mr. Snowberry, Roseberry, Yogurt Queen and YogurtLand, all run by Korean Americans hoping to cash in on a successful mom-and-pop business model.

Head further south and you’ll find Beach Berries, a shop owned by Jade and Paul Kim. Located across from the Huntington Beach Pier, the business has witnessed long lines of health-conscious Orange County folks craving a taste of its plain fro-yo and natural add-ons.

“The concept comes from Korea,” Jade says frankly. “Pinkberry’s formula is more sour. Customers who have been there say ours is creamier.”

While imitation may be a form of flattery, it’s been reported that Pinkberry has been not so friendly to the competition.

Last year, a fro-yo feud unfolded between Pinkberry and Kiwiberri, a California frozen yogurt company with very similar offerings. Opened last summer by John Bae and Edward Manolos, Kiwiberri has been accused of being a blatant Pinkberry rip-off.

“It’s absolutely a copy,” says Bree Crocetti, 31, a private chef in Los Angeles, who visited the fro-yo shop last September. “It clearly has the same color scheme. When you compare the two, Kiwiberri is definitely not as good. Their yogurt looks kind of translucent.”

As for the dispute, Pinkberry’s legal counsel sued Kiwiberri for copying its “berry” name. Bae filed a police report against Lee for verbally threatening him. Bae did not return KoreAm’s calls for comment.

Both of Kiwiberri’s Los Angeles locations have since shut their doors, although one carries a sign saying it will be featured on the Food Network’s “Restaurant Makeover” TV series. There are still two Kiwiberri locations in operation and the Web site vaguely notes plans to expand nationally.

“You can’t just rip off someone’s idea,” says Lee, who has posted no-photograph signs at all Pinkberry locations, in fear that someone might clone the interior design. “[But] the copycats have not been very well embraced. That cool, hip vibe — not everybody has it.”

Red Mango is also on the lookout for imposters. Bloggers on Chowhound.com dished that a place called California Roll & Sushi in Los Angeles was selling frozen yogurt from a machine with a Red Mango logo. Kim discovered that the machine was counterfeit and lawyers are currently taking legal action.

New Shop On The Block

“Am I nervous? From a purely competitive standpoint, sure,” says Kim, back at the Red Mango headquarters. “Los Angeles is a saturated market. But I really think our product is better. [Pinkberry] just validated the idea that the product would be widely accepted by the American consumer.”

Whereas Pinkberry is known for its eye-popping colors and futuristic design, the look of the new Red Mango in Westwood will be more subdued. Kim describes the atmosphere as “The Coffee Bean meets Whole Foods,” with dark wood furniture and plush couches. There will be an enclosed “friendship booth,” where customers can plug their iPods into a speaker system and enjoy their frozen snack to the sounds of their own customized playlists.

Red Mango will be rolling out an aggressive marketing campaign, backed by billboards, celebrity endorsers, special promotions and a MySpace page — hoopla that Pinkberry never needed. Its plan is to open three locations by the end of June and 10 by the end of the year.

There’s no telling where fro-yo cravers will ultimately flock to, although diehard fans of Pinkberry will be hard to lure away.

“We’re definitely late,” Kim says. “We’re at least a year behind. It’s going to be a very interesting challenge.”

The Yogurt Lineup

PINKBERRY

Opened: January 2005

Where: 12 locations in Southern California and three in New York

Run by: Young Lee, an architect, and Shelly Hwang, a business school graduate

Interior: A futuristic atmosphere of sherbet-hued walls, pebble floors, Le Klint-inspired hanging lamps and Phillipe Starck ghost chairs

Fro-yo offerings: Original and green tea, with toppings such as fresh fruit, chocolate chips and Cap’n Crunch and Fruity Pebbles cereal. Chewy mochi balls available upon request

Calories: 25 per ounce

Taste: Tart and light

CéFIORE

Opened: August 2006

Where: Locations in Los Angeles, Hollywood and Hawaii, with 15 more to come worldwide

Run by: Hans Kim, who is also the CEO of Japanese buffet chain Todai

Interior: Starkly minimalist, with bright white counters, light wood fixtures and Phillipe Starck-esque ghost chairs

Fro-yo offerings: Original (sour or plain), blackberry and green tea, with toppings such as fruit, red bean, cucumber and granola. Also offers “Snow Ice” (frozen yogurt and toppings mounted on shaved ice) and frozen yogurt smoothies.

Calories: 22 per ounce

Taste: Rich and citrus-y
BEACH BERRIES

Opened: July 2006

Where: Huntington Beach, Calif.

Run by: Health-conscious OC-ers Jade and Paul Kim.

Interior: A no-frills mom-and- pop locale with lime and orange walls and standard white tables and chairs

Fro-yo offerings: Original, green tea and strawberry, with toppings such as fresh and dried fruit, nuts and granola

Calories: About 22 per ounce

Taste: Creamy with a tart kick
RED MANGO

Opened: December 2002 in Korea, first U.S. location will open in May

Where: 140 locations in Korea, 10 to open in the U.S. in 2007, the first in Westwood

Run by: President Dan Kim and CEO Brandon Jo, along with a board of directors that includes filmmaker Roy Lee and business attorney Ekwan Row

Interior: Like an upscale coffee shop with dark wood fixtures and plush couches

Fro-yo offerings: Original and green tea (they may rotate new flavors in the future), along with seasonal fresh fruit and dry toppings such as sliced almonds and Cap’n Crunch and Fruity Pebbles cereal

Calories: About 20 per ounce

Taste: Light and creamy with a subtly sweet tang
KIWIBERRI

Opened: September 2006

Where: Two locations in Southern California, with plans to launch several more across the country

Run by: Founders John Bae and Edward Manolos

Interior: Pastel-hued walls and fixtures with signs highlighting the health benefits of frozen yogurt

Fro-yo offerings: Original, green tea, “kiwiberri” and strawberry flavors, along with fresh fruit and dry toppings such as cereal and mochi

Calories: Around 10 calories per ounce

Taste: Customers say the fro-yo leans toward the icy side

By Michelle Woo              Photographs by Eric Sueyoshi

Bundled in coats and scarves, they chant in unison, their fists clenched toward the sky. They are some of the last remaining comfort women, those who endured rape and torture at the hands of Japanese soldiers during World War II.

Every Wednesday for the past 15 years, they demonstrate in front of the Japanese Embassy in Seoul, pleading for an apology that never comes.  

Panning the scene with her video camera, filmmaker Hein Seok stands on the sidelines. Two years ago, the recent CalArts graduate and Fulbright award winner journeyed thousands of miles to South Korea to document the lives of former comfort women residing in what they call their final resting place. 

Her harrowing documentary, “House of Sharing,” a project for her senior thesis, emerged just in time to help inspire change.

On Feb. 15, three survivors testified against Japan at a congressional hearing in Washington. A new resolution, which at press time had yet to be endorsed by the House, urges the Japanese government to “formally acknowledge, apologize and accept historical responsibility in a clear and unequivocal manner” for the mass brutalities. If passed, the resolution could grant the survivors their final wish.

Beginning in the 1930s, an estimated 200,000 girls were forced or tricked into sexual slavery by the Japanese military, some as young as 15. About 90 percent were from Korea.   

Those who remain are now in their 80s and 90s. Through her lens, Seok shares their stories.     

Nestled between lush trees in the outskirts of Seoul lies an unassuming establishment called the House of Sharing. The buildings include a historical museum, a temple and two brick dormitories, home to nine survivors. Founded in 1992, the mission of the House of Sharing is to educate the public on the past atrocities and to provide the former slaves with a safe, nurturing place to live.

When Seok was attending high school in Korea, she heard of villagers protesting the opening of the House of Sharing. They thought such a place would tarnish the image of the conservative community. Seok couldn’t understand why.

Her interest in the subject matter was further fueled in college as she leafed through dissertations, government documents and testimonies, trying to get a grasp on it all. She wanted to help, but didn’t know how.

In 2005, she was finally pushed into action when she heard about the passing of Soon-Duk Kim, one of the most well-known and vocal comfort women. She decided to turn her research and interest into a documentary, showing a real-life portrait of former comfort women in today’s world.   

“Everyone is slowly disappearing,” says Seok, 29, who spent four months filming in Korea. “The problem is that people think that this is over. To the public, it’s past news.”

When Seok first met the survivors at the House of Sharing, she was taken by their warm personalities. She learned that they don’t like to be called comfort women, a euphemism created by the Japanese. They would rather be called halmeonis, the Korean word for grandmothers, a piercing detail since many could never bear children, due to shots to prevent venereal diseases.

Over the first few weeks, Seok became a welcomed addition to their surroundings. Each day, the women would wake up at about 6 a.m., eat breakfast and watch TV. Sometimes, they would sing songs or practice writing in Korean. Other times, they would take trips to the salon or go for acupuncture treatments.

They soon got used to the camera, and as grandmothers often do, rambled all sorts of advice.

“They would say, ‘You’re shooting wrong,’” Seok says. “It’s hard to describe their personalities because they’re all very different. Some are very quiet. Some are very outspoken. Some like to joke around. Some are a little more sad.”

Looking at their faces, wrinkled and genuine, it’s hard to imagine their tragic past.

But it still haunts them.

*** 

In the basement of the museum, there lies a full-scale replica of a typical comfort station. There, in the small wooden corridor, sits a single bed. At the entrance, a white sign displays the woman’s name and her price. According to Justice for Comfort Women, a grassroots coalition, women were divided into categories based on their “freshness,” with virgins in the top tier. Tickets were handed out as rewards. 

Soldiers received condoms at the door, which they often did not use. If a woman protested, she would get beaten.   

Seok says that when one of the survivors first saw the replica comfort station, her knees gave out and she had to sit. Then, she cried and cried. It was exactly what her comfort station looked like.   

In the darkness, when the house is silent, a scream will come from one woman’s room. This one always sleeps with her light on, Seok explains. She often believes the soldiers are in her room.

They don’t bring up the past too often, Seok says, but when they do, it is usually done through forms of therapy. 

Years back, they participated in art sessions, where they were able to spill their emotions through watercolors. The women would sit around the table and, with a paintbrush as their megaphone, illustrate history.

The finished pieces are haunting. Soon-Duk Kim’s shows a naked woman crouched on her knees, face down, as a line of soldiers walk past her in the night. Duk-Kyoung Kang’s shows a blindfolded soldier tied to a tree with three guns pointing directly at him. 

The canvases are filled with symbols of pain and longing. Falling doves symbolize a sense of freedom and peace that vanished the moment they were abducted. Bold colors such as fire-red symbolize the rage that still swells inside them.   

Seok says the women have learned to find solace in such small, everyday acts. But it is not enough. What they want, what they need, is an apology.     

***

Koon-Ja Kim, 81, sits in a wheelchair in the front row of an old, half-full auditorium at the Korean Education Center in Los Angeles. Her hair is short and thinning. Her body is small. One by one, audience members walk up to her, crouch down and introduce themselves. She smiles and nods.      

As part of her project, Seok arranged a tour titled, “As Long as I Live: The Testimony of a Former Sexual Slave for the Japanese Military.” Throughout the month of February, she traveled with Koon-Ja to various California universities and other educational centers, sharing their message through paintings, live testimonies and screenings of the documentary.  

Survivors from the House of Sharing often take turns speaking about their experiences to audiences around the world. For a while, Kim was very sick, but when she got better, she told the assistant director at the house that she was ready to see something new.

This is her first time in America. 

She slowly lifts her body out of her wheelchair and, with assistance, walks onto the stage. There is a youthful glow that emanates from her.

Holding onto a table for support, she bows to the audience and speaks with force. Her voice is raspy and bold.

“I am Koon-Ja,” a translator says, sitting off to the side. “I love you for coming. Please don’t make fun of me for doing these shameful things.”

She sits down.    

“I was 17 and I had a boyfriend. We were about to get married but then I was abducted by the Japanese military. … I arrived on a Friday. On Saturday, when I woke up, the military soldiers were standing in my cube. They were angry and they would beat me, and I couldn’t make sense of it. I had 20 to 30 soldiers a day. Sometimes, I tried to die. I would try to hang myself. The soldiers saw the bruises on my neck and would beat me again. I cried every day.”

She says the soldiers made her pose in shameful ways. The women tried to escape, but the soldiers found out and laughed, saying, “Where could you possibly go?” 

Kim says she became pregnant at the comfort stations, but her baby died of shock at 5 months old. When she returned to Korea after the war ended, she kept her story to herself because few people would believe her or understand.

A hand raises in the audience.

“What is your final wish?” a man asks in Korean. 

Kim answers without hesitation.   

“She wants an apology and official reparation,” the translator says. 

Very soon, part of that wish may come true. 

***

On Jan. 31, Representative Mike Honda (D-CA) introduced before the U.S. House of Representatives what is now the bipartisan House Resolution 121. The proposed resolution does not seek reparations, but demands that Japan formally reject those who say sexual enslavement never happened and educate younger generations about the comfort women’s experiences. Kim was one of the three women to testify at the hearing.  

Honda noted that the purpose of this resolution is “not to bash or humiliate Japan,” but rather to achieve justice for the remaining survivors and “to shed light on a grave human rights violation that has remained unknown for so many years.” 

Adrian Hong, an organizer with Justice for Comfort Women, feels confident that this time, the resolution will pass. In a message he e-mailed to numerous community groups and posted online, he gives background information on the matter and ways individuals can help.

“We can win. We will win. Time is running out,” the message reads.

“It’s really tragic that it has taken this long to do this,” Hong says. “Hundreds of thousands of women went through horrific things and (Japanese) history books claim that it didn’t happen.” 

Similar efforts have been blocked by lobbyists for the Japanese government and those who believe that such a resolution would damage relations with Tokyo, Hong says.    

In 1990, 37 women’s groups in Korea formed the Voluntary Service Corps Problem Resolution Council and demanded a public apology, a memorial, compensation and accurate facts in historical education. A year later, after the Japanese government denied its involvement in comfort stations, three former comfort women filed a lawsuit against the Japanese government, which was never resolved. Congressional legislation was also submitted in 2001 and 2005, but never made it past Japanese lobbying. And last year, a resolution similar to H.R. 121 was passed by the House Foreign Affairs Committee, but the Republicans, who then controlled Congress, never brought it before the full House for action.

Japan says its leaders have apologized. In a letter sent in 2001 to the comfort women, the former prime minister wrote he felt sincere remorse for their “immeasurable and painful experiences.” In the mid-90s, an Asian Women’s Fund paid some comfort women $20,000 each.

But Seok says it is not enough. The women want a formal apology from the Japanese government. And although she believes H.R. 121 misses a major point — reparation — it is something that would bring them one step closer to finding a sense of peace.

“There is nothing that will undo what they went through,” Seok says. “This is about getting some closure.”

 By Michelle Woo

It was an appetite emergency, recalls Peter Pomponi of Grants Pass, Ore.

The 35-year-old engineering sales representative came home from work one evening and had an overwhelming craving for kimchi.

The only problem? He would have to drive more than 30 miles to get to the nearest Asian market, which is mostly stocked with Vietnamese food. 

Frustrated with what was in the fridge, Pomponi hopped online and did a quick Google search. He came across KoaMart.com, an online Korean grocer, where he discovered an entire section dedicated to the tangy, fermented side dish. There, on his computer screen, were vibrant photos of aged kimchi, fried kimchi, sesame leaf kimchi, ponytailed radish kimchi — all for less than 10 bucks per bag.

With a few clicks and a credit card number, he could have a box delivered to his doorstep.

“It’s comfort food,” says Pomponi, who is of Korean and Italian descent and lived much of his life in the San Francisco Bay Area, where Korean ingredients are abundant. “Kimchi is one of those things you can’t make overnight.”

For Korean Americans living where Asian food is scarce, the rituals are all too common. They cram their suitcases with instant curry and spicy ramen noodles from their parents’ pantry, rationing until their next visit home. They empty their wallets for the handful of Korean snacks nestled in their neighborhood markets, which are often overpriced and stale. Some, like Pomponi, arrange for monthly shipments from mom. 

Jonathan Kim can relate. While attending college in Tucson, Ariz., he hankered for Korean home cooking. Several years later, while working at an Internet company in Los Angeles, he also noticed a lack of Korean food online. He and his partner, Gun Kim, decided to launch KGrocer.com and KoaMart.com, two Web sites specializing in authentic Korean food products.    

“We just kind of fell into it,” says Jonathan Kim. “There are many people who don’t have access to Korean food or who crave a greater variety.”

Three-year-old KoaMart.com offers more than a thousand items, from rice porridge in a bag to seasoned seaweed snacks. In addition to Korean goods, there are items from all parts of Asia and the Pacific Islands, including Japanese udon noodles, Vietnamese spring roll skins and Thai chili paste. There are refrigerated and pickled items, which are shipped in special temperature-sealed boxes, along with fish-based side dishes, packaged in air-tight storage bags. 

Though the prices are reasonable, comparable to those at Korean chain markets such as H Mart, shipping can be steep. It would cost about $9 to ship five packages of ramen noodles to Phoenix, Ariz., and about $39 for overnight service.

For some Korean shoppers, it isn’t worth it.

While living in Detroit for a college internship, Catherine Jun, would drive 30 miles to Troy, Mich., to visit the city’s handful of small Asian markets. Even though the Korean products were limited and expensive, she said she wouldn’t have opted for the Internet as a shortcut.

“Shopping for food is an experience that you shouldn’t be so far removed from,” says Jun, 25. “Asian food can be so sketchy. You have to touch it and smell it. Why would I trust someone else to pick my food out for me?”

In reality, Koreans only make up about 30 percent of KoaMart.com’s customer base, up from about 10 percent three years ago.

The site caters to Western crowds. Each product has a short history and description. Underneath photos of the instant ramen packages there are step-by-step cooking instructions.

For those unfamiliar with Korean cuisine, navigating through such online grocers can be easier than thumbing through aisles of fish heads, baby octopuses and spices with names they can’t read.

“We are a small force spreading Korean culture and history,” says Jonathan Kim, who describes business as “not booming, per se.”

Thank goodness for those loyal customers with emergency kimchi cravings.

Got a hankering for some ddeokbokgi or doenjang jigae? Check out these online Korean and Asian grocers.

n www.koamart.com

Easy-to-navigate Los Angeles-based site offering more than 1,000 high-quality Asian products. There are even pages of kitchenware, Korean movies and cosmetics.

n www.kgrocer.com

Sister site to KoaMart.com, offering only dried and instant food.  

n www.asianfoodgrocer.com

San Francisco-based Asian grocer featuring basic Korean products and ingredients such as instant noodles, dried seaweed and soup stock.

n www.asiafoods.com

Large Asian retail and wholesale grocer offering more than 600 products. Includes lots of recipes and a glossary of Asian ingredients. Free shipping on all orders over $75.

n www.ikoreaplaza.com

Launched in 2000, ikoreaplaza.com was the first online Korean grocer. The Oakland, Calif., company carries authentic, hard-to-find products at reasonable prices.

Booking Bars Thrive in Korea http://t.co/bHOtsHVE

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Wednesday’s Links: Michelle Rhee backs lawsuit against teacher's union, Yul Kwon wants more Asians on TV, Dumbfoundead http://t.co/7nVqg7yb

Shin-Soo Choo homered, doubled and walked from the leadoff spot Tuesday versus the Twins. http://t.co/npn0lKFR

Tuesday's Links: Korean Zombie Fight Night, Ahn Sung-ki in new film 'Unbowed,' Monks Accused of Going to Room Salon http://t.co/I8lNm57e