By Joseph E. Yi

Photograph by Eric Sueyoshi

As you enter the doors of Harvard Square Academy, framed black-and-white posters on the walls depict the prestigious Ivy League college campus that shares the same moniker. Other institutions are represented, too—with the flags of Columbia, Yale and MIT featured—but Harvard University is the obvious star at this private tutorial school. You’ll also notice on display the written testimonials of the academy’s graduates, who are mostly Korean and Chinese Americans, and see that some did gain the coveted admission letter to the college that holds an endearing place in the hearts of immigrant Korean parents.

The infamous “Harvard syndrome,” or the fervor of Korean American parents to send their children to elite universities, has fueled the growth of Harvard Square, located in a Southern California suburb, and other Korean-run hagwons  in the past decade. In a 2003 Los Angeles Times article, Korean business directories listed more than 100 academic hagwons (translated from Korean as “study places”) in Los Angeles and Orange counties. Just six years later, the 2009 Korean directory listed 183 academic hagwons, with another 73 specializing in art and music, in Orange County alone.

Similar to the housing bubble, the hagwon industry has grown exponentially in both South Korea and Southern California as parents have invested ever-increasing sums of money in their children’s education. They believe that the more time children spend with after-school programs and tutors, the better their chances of elite university admissions. Private academies stoked the bubble with extensive advertising boasting of graduates admitted to top universities, especially the Ivy League.

Typically, hagwons are established and operated by immigrant entrepreneurs from South Korea, where education is not only highly valued, but also fiercely competitive. There are very limited spots at prestigious universities in South Korea, and many families bend over backwards to get their children admitted. In 2003, according to Dr. Chong Jae Lee of the Korean Educational Development Institute, 72.6 percent of South Korean students received some form of private tutoring, and the cost of that service consumed, on average, 10 percent of a family’s income. For middle and high school students, the percent of family income was even higher, at an astounding 30 percent.

It is not uncommon for high schoolers to return home at midnight after a full day of school and tutoring.

“The Confucian drive to succeed through education means your parents have impressed on you from birth the absolute importance of excellent grades,” explained Horace H. Underwood, a professor at Yonsei University in Seoul. “‘B’ is a failing grade. If you do not have absolutely top grades, you will not get into a top university. Since hiring by the top companies is based on what university you attended rather than on any personal achievement, a ‘B’ in high school could seriously damage your life prospects.”

Koreans who immigrate to the United States largely retain the mentality that admission to prestigious universities is the surest route to success and tend to repeat the pattern of sending their children to tutorial programs, especially in large urban areas, such as Southern California and New York, where hagwons are most likely to crop up.

Most academic hagwons offer courses and tutors in languages, math and sciences. Average monthly tuition ranges from $300 for after-school programs, to $700 for full-day summer classes that include recreation, to $1,500 for intensive, all-day SAT courses. They cater to Korean Americans and recently arrived Korean nationals, but some increasingly are attracting non-Korean families. At larger academies focusing on high school entrance exam and SAT preparation, such as the Fullerton-based Jay Kim Academy, Elite Educational Institute and Harvard Square, Koreans make up 30 to 40 percent of students; the rest are mostly Chinese, Indian, other Asian and Caucasian.

Jeanne Love, a 30-year teaching veteran and former principal of Whittier Friends, a private Quaker school in Whittier, California, has been teaching language arts at the Korean-run Fullerton Tutors since 2005. She noticed the difference between her students at Whittier Friends, who were “very diverse” ethnically (Japanese, Indian, Caucasian, Hispanic and African American), and the Korean American students at the hagwon. “They are harder working than the ones at Whittier Friends,” said Love, noting the Korean kids have higher expectations. “They want straight A’s.”

Such intense focus on education would appear to bolster the “model minority” image of academic success among Korean Americans, and Asian Americans in general. This past spring, the New York Times reported on a study done by Prof. Ruben G. Rumbaut of the University of California, Irvine, which found that Korean and Chinese children have the highest educational attainment among immigrant ethnic groups in Southern California. The study tracked the life patterns of 5,262 second-generation children, who in 1992 attended eighth and ninth grades in public and private schools. It revealed that 50 percent of the second-generation Korean American young adults surveyed received mostly A’s in high school and more than 75 percent attained a college education.

But these statistics don’t tell the full story. As someone who has taught at some of the hagwons mentioned in this story, I know there is a flip side to these impressive figures.

On and off since 2004, I have worked as a private tutor and hagwon writing teacher in Orange County for mostly Korean American middle and high school students. When I first started, I needed a quick, flexible way to support my wife and newborn baby financially while finishing my dissertation and applying for tenure track jobs. For someone who graduated from top-tier universities, but lacks business experience, tutoring offers a flexible, potentially lucrative, economic opportunity. Depending on their skills, experience and contacts, teachers could make anywhere from $20 to $100 per hour.

After four years out of state to teach at colleges and to publish my first book, I returned to Southern California earlier this year to work on a new book about Korean Americans. For both research and financial reasons, I resumed my role as writing teacher and tutor, and it is through this lens as an observer-participant that I explore the hagwon.

In a way, these academies offer a unique window into the struggles and aspirations of Korean American families who have invested so many of their hopes—and dollars—in their children’s education.

Although hagwons in the United States tend not to be as intense—or expensive—as their counterparts in South Korea, the students here still feel incredible pressure to perform. Certainly, many Korean American students have the will and ability to study hard and aspire to attend the best universities in the land. About one-third of the students I encounter are in this “overachieving” category. However, for another third of Korean students, the very name “Harvard” is a curse. Every time the Korean media celebrates another overachiever, it creates that much more pressure on these young people who, for a variety of reasons, struggle academically.

April Kim*, a  hagwon teacher at the Fullerton-based Remnant Academy, said it is this group that leaves the deepest impressions on her. “Many times I felt so bad for my students who confessed that they are happy with the ‘C’ they received and [said] they just want to be an average kid,” she recalled. “They wanted to be freed from the stress of homework, projects, grades.”

Although many of them did make some improvement during their time with her, she said that it was never to their parents’ satisfaction. As a result, some of them grew depressed. “They think in order for them to meet their mothers’ expectations and [for] their love, they need to do well in school,” Kim described. “However, they hit upon their limitations over and over again and give up on their future, their mother’s approval. It really broke my heart to see them shed tears over a math problem.”

Elaine Kim, the owner of the Fullerton-based CL Education, noted that at times, she had to play an intermediary role between struggling students and pressuring parents. Some students at her school suffered from depression or even learning disorders like dyslexia, but their parents did not want to acknowledge these issues. “They actually got offended when I told them their children have problems,” Kim said. “They just want me to push their children to work harder.”

Instead, some parents will go so far as to offer luxurious material incentives to their children. At one popular Orange County SAT prep institute, students were promised new cars if they scored above 2100 (out of a 2400 possible) on the SAT.

But even incentives threaten to create a mindset to succeed by any means necessary.

Kathy*, a high school senior, said that academic cheating was prevalent at her prestigious, college-prep high school. “I could say that all of us cheat at least five times a year, even 10, maybe 20 times,” she said, explaining that it usually involves asking a friend who took the test a couple periods earlier what was on it. “It has become such a casual, ritual thing for us.” Otherwise, Kathy said, “we find it impossible to get an ‘A’ in class.”

Because the tutoring market has become highly competitive and lucrative, some instructors also cross ethical lines and become accomplices in such cheating. High school senior Candy* attended a Cypress-based  hagwon that kept old tests on file from nearby high schools, including the prestigious Oxford Academy. Some parents tolerated or even approved of such practices, she said, but Candy’s mother immediately pulled her out of the  hagwon. Another student described tutors who ghost-wrote “perfect” college application essays for high school seniors.

The “education-at-all-costs” mentality undermines the true principles of education, said Fullerton Tutors instructor Love. Students ideally should have an “incredible thirst for learning…learning how to think, reason, ask questions, go beyond the lines,” she described. They need room to experiment, make mistakes and have the freedom to take classes they are interested in, even if they lower their GPA.

Dr. Austina Cho, a Cerritos-based psychiatrist who counsels many Asian American families, believes that many  immigrant parents live vicariously through their children, viewing them as extensions of themselves. They celebrate their son or daughter’s victories and lament his or her struggles as if their own. As a consequence these parents “lose sight of the ‘good motive’ of improving their children’s situation in life and may push their children in a short-sighted effort to improve their own status in society,” said Cho, who grew up in Louisiana, where her father was a college professor.

Cho, also a local education official, believes Koreans, and Asian Americans in general, need to broaden their definition of success. “Parents must be sensitive and recognize the abilities and interests of their child,” she said. “Ultimately, some children may rebel if they are pushed in a way that does not take into account their talents, gifts, intellectual abilities and interests. Not every Asian student will have a superior IQ, score a perfect score on the SAT test and excel academically.”

Perhaps Korean immigrants parents may find it useful to know that even the Harvard dean of admissions appears to agree with this line of thought. In a September blog with New York Times readers, William R. Fitzsimmons, citing Harvard Prof. Howard Gardener’s groundbreaking theory of “multiple intelligences,” stressed that every child has a unique set of abilities and interests.

“Students who make the most of their potential in a variety of ways are more likely to make significant contributions to a world that values talents of all kinds,” Fitzsimmons wrote. He even warned students against trying to meet others’ expectations: “Professionals in their thirties and forties—physicians, lawyers, academics, business people and others—sometimes give the impression that they are dazed survivors of some bewildering life-long boot camp. Some say they ended up in their profession because of someone else’s expectations, or that they simply drifted into it without pausing to think whether they really loved their work. Often they say they missed their youth entirely, never living in the present, always pursuing some ill-defined goal.”

To be fair, there is a great variety of  hagwons, each with their own particular philosophies and methods. Some focus on test-taking skills, while others seek to develop the academic foundations of students. Some tutors just give the answers to homework; others take the time to help students solve their own problems.

Stephen Lee, a 1.5-generation Korean American and director of Elite Academy’s Fullerton branch, for example, said he stresses individualized counseling for students to find the college and career that suits them. He does not push them to attend an Ivy League, and most of the parents at Elite agree with his philosophy, he said.

Dr. Lauren Kho, 38, a board member of Fullerton’s Fisler Elementary School, believes parents who attended college in the United States, such as herself, better understand that there are many routes to long-term success. Her husband William attended community college in Salinas, California, and was then accepted to the pharmacy school at the University of Southern California. She personally chose a less prestigious University of California branch, Riverside, to study for her bachelor’s in a quiet, smaller setting. Later, she accepted a full scholarship to UCLA Medical School to study family medicine.

Because both parents work full-time, William Kho said the couple may one day send their elementary-age children to nearby Fullerton Tutors after school. Still, he emphasized, “I want my kids to have enough time to play, to enjoy school. I want them to do their best, but not push them to any particular job or university. The type of college really depends on the child.”

Gina*, a sophomore at Troy High School, says her parents are not as success-obsessed as others. “My mom even said that just because one has good grades doesn’t mean [the person] will be successful in life,” said Gina. “They need to have good social skills, and having a variety of friends can help develop those skills.”

But the high schooler still aspires to earn straight A’s and to gain acceptance to Stanford University, and she thinks tutors can help her achieve that. On the other hand, she also worries about the long-term consequences of that support. “I think to some extent, [tutors] are helpful to students in allowing them to preview beforehand what they will learn in school,” she said. “However, if I get too used to private tutors directing me on what exactly I have to do, I will never be able to survive the rest of my life by myself.”

The current economic recession has punctured not just the housing bubble, but also, to an extent, the education bubble. Parents seem less compelled to—or perhaps simply can’t—spend whatever it takes to attain educational success. Kathleen Rhee, owner of Fullerton Tutors in Orange County, said her student enrollment fell from about 80 to 60 this past summer. Rhee and other  hagwon owners she knows reduced tuition for struggling families.

Despite the current hardships, perhaps a silver lining is the slowdown of the exponential growth of  hagwons in Southern California. Rhee worries that some  owners are in it largely for financial reasons, rather than a genuine desire to add value to students’ education. Owners who genuinely enjoy teaching, she predicted, will survive the current shakeout.

Though it is easy to blame immigrant parents for undue pressure on their children, there are plenty I have spoken with over the years who seem to genuinely struggle over the right way to raise their children in America.

In past years, Mrs. Chung* required her teenage boys to attend  hagwon to prepare for school and the SAT. This summer, however, she decided to let them decide for themselves. The recession-induced drop in family income contributed to her decision, but so did the realization that by pressuring her boys, she was alienating them.

“It is very difficult to raise children in America,” said Chung, speaking in Korean. “It is so different than in Korea. I want my children to attend  hagwon and to prepare for the SAT and to make friends with other college-bound kids. But if they say no, I cannot force them.

“Ultimately, it may be better for them to make their own decisions and to learn from their mistakes. Unlike Korea, America is a big country, with, I hope, lots of second chances to get a good education.”

*These names are pseudonyms, used at the request of the subjects due to the sensitivity of this issue.

By Michelle Woo

One of the travails of working on a hospital drama, as Daniel Henney has learned, is having to master words like “hepatomegaly” and “serum ammonia.”

“If you say it fast, you get caught on the ‘M,’” he explains of the latter term, which, for those curious, means ammonia in the blood. “Serum amom-ia. I got stuck, like, 30 times.”

Adopting new languages was never a forte of the 29-year-old actor, sitting on a patio table outside the Hollywood set of CBS’ organ transplant series Three Rivers. Five years ago, shortly after moving to South Korea, the only way he could remember the Korean greeting anyang haseo was by thinking of the phrase, “Own your house, say oh!” Luckily, then, nobody really cared what he was saying, as long as he kept flashing that adorably crooked smile and ending his sentences with a wink. The man, who got by on bad mnemonic devices, was the country’s biggest star.

The story, no, the legend of Daniel Henney consists of a whirlwind of events that suggest he was destined for a quick rise to fame. A Korean American model with a smoldering gaze and a body built for Calvin Klein ads gets hired to do a commercial in Seoul, which leads him to a role on a new television drama series, which becomes not just any drama series, but a shockingly popular one—in Korea and abroad. (The translated title is My Name is Kim Sam Soon and 40 percent of television viewers tuned in each week.) And just like that, he’s Henney The Heartthrob, one who can barely leave his house without making ajumas squeal like schoolgirls and love-struck teens coo, “Opaaaaa!”

“It’s cool, it’s real cool,” Henney says of his icon-status. “But sometimes you just want to go out and grab some orange juice. And that one time when you don’t shave and you look like crap is the time you’ll be recognized. Then you’ll have 20 people taking pictures. It’s insane.”

For the moment, life is much quieter in Los Angeles, where Henney has been living for the past three months. He’s a newcomer in Hollywood, and while his face is splashed across billboards for Three Rivers, in which he plays a smooth-talking surgical resident, he’s not yet on the paparazzi radar, and most Americans wouldn’t recognize his name. He has no entourage here except for his longtime Korean manager Martin Chung, a man who rarely leaves his side. (“Do you need a jacket?” Chung asks. “I’m fine—but thanks, sweetheart!” replies Henney, who then quips, “That’s my girlfriend.”)

Sipping a cup of coffee, Henney wears a tightly fitted gray T-shirt, distressed jeans and a newsboy cap. He’s handsome and charming, and speaks with a gentleness that puts even jittery reporters at ease. He says ever since he made his U.S. acting debut as villain Agent Zero in the summer blockbuster X-Men Origins: Wolverine, things have felt surreal. “It’s overwhelming,” he says of the magnitude of it all—the big casts, the stars, the productions. “I was on a studio lot staring at this mural of The Simpsons, thinking, ‘Oh my God, it’s The Simpsons!’”

Still, when it comes to his work, he remains fiercely focused. He knows that in order to earn respect on the American red carpet, it’s going to take more than perfectly shaped brows and a poreless complexion. When asked how he landed the Three Rivers role, he says matter-of-factly: “I auditioned my ass off.”

“They can’t just give it to someone because they think, oh, he’s a cute guy with a fan base in Korea,” he says. “At the end of the day, if you can’t pull your weight on the screen, you’re not gonna go anywhere.”

***

Movie and television stardom wasn’t something Henney gave much thought to growing up in Carson City, a small farming town in Michigan. (Fun fact: He can milk a cow.) The son of a white father and a Korean mother, the 6-foot-2 Henney was a standout high school basketball player with his eyes on winning a college scholarship.

He succeeded, and went on to play ball at Michigan’s Albion and Alma colleges. But before earning a degree, Henney decided to move to Chicago. On a whim, he tagged along with a friend to a go-see modeling event, where he met an agent. “He asked if I’d be interested in making some money and I said, ‘Yeah, I would. I’m broke as hell.’”

At 21, he started booking modeling gigs here and there, which were fun, but didn’t do much to change the “broke as hell” problem. With a $14 a week budget, he survived on 50-cent muffins from 7-Eleven and 89-cent bean burritos from Taco Bell. “I would split them up with a knife so I could ration them throughout the week,” he says. What finally boosted Henney’s confidence—and bank account—was landing a runway show put on by department store giant Marshall Fields. The gig paid $5,000. “That was like millions!” he says.

From then on, Henney was in demand, striking poses on catwalks and in catalogues. His first overseas job was for a gay sauna in Hong Kong. “I was cool with it, I understood it, I mean, this is fashion,” he says. “But then the guy tried to get me to put on this thong and swim around in hot steamy water. I said, ‘That’s not happening.’ I walked out, though I think I still have the thong.”

Modeling led to commercials throughout Asia, and Henney eventually became the poster boy for products like beer, orange juice, cameras, cell phones and shaving cream. For many of the television ads, he didn’t have to speak. All it took was a smile or wink or guzzle to make female viewers swoon.

One day, while filming a commercial in Korea, he met a manager who told him that a new drama was in its casting stage, and that he might be a good fit for one of the roles. Henney agreed to meet the director, who asked him about 20 questions—not one having to do with acting. Two weeks later, he got the part. Not knowing much about the show, and of even greater concern, not knowing a word of Korean, he was hesitant. He was living in New York City at the time, and was set on becoming an actor in the United States. “I had to ask myself: Is this really what I want to do? I was focused on doing it the hard way, taking acting classes and auditioning,” he says. But at age 25, with nothing much to lose, he signed on, figuring “work is work.”

The show was My Name is Kim Sam Soon (called My Lovely Sam Soon on English DVDs), a 2005 Bridget Jones-esque melodrama about the plump, romance-challenged title character (played by Kim Sun-ah). Henney was cast as Henry Kim, an American doctor who falls in love with his patient, Sam Soon’s pretend-boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend (just go with it).

To prepare for the role, Henney was immersed in Korean language courses, which he loathed. He just couldn’t pick up the words and phrases. So, he simply stopped going. He then wrote letters to the president of the television network, begging them to let his character speak English. They eventually agreed.

Kim Sam Soon was a runaway hit, and Henney was its biggest surprise. Viewers adored his sweet, love-struck character, and didn’t mind the subtitles. Suddenly, Henney mania was in full force. “Korea is a very extreme culture,” he explains. “They’ll jump on a trend like no country I’ve ever seen. Whether it’s music or fashion or acting, you’re in or you’re out. I was very lucky to be a trend. Once that show became popular, it was no longer a question of me being a foreigner. It was: He’s Daniel Henney and he’s amazing. The whole country just automatically believes it.”

His success carved a new niche in Korea’s entertainment industry: romantic roles for mixed-race Korean American men. (Various actors such as Dennis O’Neil and Ricky Lee Neely have both been coined “the next Daniel Henney.”) After Kim Sam Soon, Henney snagged starring roles in other Korean productions, including the television series Spring Waltz and the romantic comedy Seducing Mr. Perfect. In 2007, Henney took on his first dramatic role in the film My Father, in which he played an adoptee searching for his birth parents, only to find that the man believed to be his father was a murderer on death row. That year, for his gripping performance, he swept all the major cinema awards in the Best New Actor category.

“I’m definitely a Korean actor until the day I die,” declares Henney, who now understands the language almost fully. “Korea gave me my career. Korea is where I made my mistakes, where I had my highs, my lows, where I learned the ropes. If it weren’t for Korea, I wouldn’t be here.”

***

Henney knew he would eventually make his way back home. He’s very close with his parents, who still live in Michigan, and always hoped they could one day watch him in an American movie theater. He achieved that goal earlier than expected when he was selected, sans audition, for the cast of X-Men Origins: Wolverine. Producers wanted a Korean actor, and Henney fit the bill. (On Wolverine star Hugh Jackman: “He’s the nicest guy I’ve ever met. I have a man-crush on Hugh; it’s ridiculous.”)

Henney never thought he’d take on another television role since he’d been doing mostly films lately and wanted to “keep that theme going.” But when he read the script for Three Rivers, he was struck by the multi-dimensional character of Dr. David Lee. “He was me as I grew up in the States,” Henney says. “He wasn’t a martial artist. He wasn’t a sidekick. He wasn’t only dating Asian girls. He’s strong, handsome, intelligent, witty. He’s a playboy. I’m not necessarily a playboy, but I’m just saying—when’s the last time you saw that played by an Asian on television?”

Set in a preeminent transplant hospital in Pittsburgh, Three Rivers, which premiered October 4, offers a twist to the modern-day medical drama. Each episode centers around three stories based on the organ donors, their recipients and the surgeons involved. Executive producer Carol Barbee (Judging Amy, Swingtown) says she wanted someone “fresh” to play David, who wasn’t necessarily written to be Asian American. Henney was perfect. “Daniel is comfortable with the sarcastic humor as well as the heartfelt drama,” Barbee says. “He’s friendly, hard-working, just a lovely, lovely guy.”

Earlier this year, the cast sat in on a real-life heart transplant operation, which for Henney was “the most incredible experience.” A 22-year-old kid had overdosed on heroine, granting a heart to a 44-year-old heart disease patient who likely would have died two weeks later. “I watched everything,” Henney says. “I watched them literally rip his heart out.”

Henney’s work schedule, which includes developing a sketch comedy show to pitch to the networks and flying to Korea about once a month for various projects (he’ll go back and forth indefinitely), hasn’t left much time for a personal life. On rare days off, he’s usually hanging out with his golden retriever named Mango, driving around in his new black Jeep or house hunting. (For now, he’s staying in a “beautiful little Spanish home” in Hancock Park.) He’s not dating anyone, but says, “I wish I was. I think I’m gonna start. I don’t know how. It’s hard to find a girl who would stick around if I say, ‘Hey, I’m gonna be gone for two months, is that cool?’” The type of girl he’s interested in: “Someone with a good sense of humor, who’s game to go out and do anything, who doesn’t mind just hanging out and drinking a beer.” (Sorry gals, we can’t give out his number—or give him yours.)

Within five years, he hopes to get married and settle down, in part to please his folks. “I want them to have grandkids. And I like the idea of having someone for life.”

When reflecting upon his fairytale career, Henney frequently uses the word “lucky.” “I’m no dummy. I know I’m so lucky. I just happened to be blessed with some sort of specific look that people seem to find attractive.” But with that luck, he says, comes responsibility. Life is now about taking what he’s been given and turning it into something bigger.

“I want to establish a role model for young Asian Americans to look up to and be proud of,” he says. “We have an African American president. Times are changing. There’s no better time than now.”

Be sure to check out our exclusive video of Daniel Henney where we go on the set of Three Rivers!

By Oliver Saria

Grey’s Anatomy (ABC), Thursdays, 9 p.m. ET/PT

What it’s about: The fifth season of this medical soap ended in a heart-rending cliffhanger. Viewers were left wondering which pivotal character had died—George or Izzie?—that is, until it was announced well before the season 6 premiere that the firebrand, Katherine Heigl, would return and T.R. Knight would not.
The cast: Sandra Oh plays tactless resident Cristina Yang, who is dating Iraqi War vet Dr. Owen Hunt. The new boyfriend’s PTSD, however, caused him to choke Cristina in his sleep. Perhaps this season, the couple will invest in separate twin beds.
Why we’re excited: Now that Izzie no longer speaks to dead boyfriend Denny, hopefully, the show will regain some past glory.
Why we’re worried: Knowing Grey’s, George might come back as one of Alex’s syphilis-induced hallucinations.

The Mentalist (CBS), Thursdays, 10 p.m. ET/PT

What it’s about: Independent consultant Patrick Jane solves criminal cases through his unparalleled observation skills (honed during years of playing a phony psychic. Sound familiar? Fans of The Mentalist snidely like to think of it as Psych’s better-looking younger brother.
The cast: Tim Kang plays deadpan investigator Kimball Cho, whose emotions range from stoic to stern. You might also recognize him from numerous commercials for Shell Oil and AT&T.
Why we’re excited: The Mentalist was the only breakout hit of last season. So as long as Kang doesn’t pull a Gary Dourban (who left CSI to pursue other interests—namely cocaine and ecstasy), he’ll have some job security for a while.
Why we’re worried: There is an absolute glut of these genius mystery-solver types (Lie to Me, Law and Order: Criminal Intent, House). It’s a wonder why these guys don’t team up to cure cancer.

Lost (ABC), premieres early 2010

What it’s about: It’s 2007. The Others are following Locke’s mission to kill the mystical Jacob. Or, it’s 1977. Jack and pals just detonated an atomic bomb at the Swan Station. Or, it’s 2007 again. Sun is looking for Jin, who’s stuck in 1977.  Confused? Join the club.
The cast: Asians abound! Daniel Dae Kim and Yunjin Kim return as husband-and-wife Jin and Sun. For all of season 5, the two have been separated 30 years, and we can’t wait to see if they finally reunite. Also, Ken Leung returns as Miles the dead-whisperer with daddy issues, along with Francois Chau as the haggard Dharma Initiative physicist (and Miles’ pops!) Dr. Chang.
Why we’re excited: It’s the 6th and final season. All the questions will finally be answered! Convoluted, yes, but Lost has maintained a grand vision that is always a step ahead of its audience.
Why we’re worried: It’s J.J. Abrams—master of illusions, but conclusions? Not so much.

Dexter (Showtime), Sundays, 9 p.m. ET/PT

What it’s about: Dexter’s a daddy in season 4! Fatherhood will present certain challenges for the forensic-specialist-cum-vigilante-serial-killer (played by Michael C. Hall). But he finds inspiration (and competition) when a prolific and elusive serial killer (John Lithgow) moves to Miami.
The cast: C.S. Lee plays forensics investigator Vince Masuka. Lest you assume he’s a stereotypically mousy Asian, you’ll be pleasantly surprised to learn he’s a hot-headed, foul-mouthed hornball.
Why we’re excited: John Lithgow is a brilliant character actor at once hilarious and downright creepy. He should be a great addition to the season.
Why we’re worried: The juxtaposition of middle-class ennui and crime has become practically de rigueur on television since the Sopranos. We don’t need another reminder that suburbia sucks.

Heroes (NBC), Mondays, 8 p.m. ET/PT

What it’s about: To give a synopsis of Heroes season 3 in 50 words or less is like arriving at a Todai two minutes before it closes. You’re just not going to get all of it. Suffice it to say in the upcoming fourth season, Sylar’s villainy won’t lay dormant inside the body of Nathan for very long.
The cast: James Kyson Lee plays Ando Masahashi, friend to time-traveling, teleporting Hiro Nakamura (Masi Oka). In season 3, Ando acquires the power to project fireballs from his hands like Ryu in Street Fighter. Hadouken! Unfortunately, Hiro lost his powers and restoring them has come at a cost. Their relationship may shift as one gets weaker and the other gets stronger. Meanwhile, Dr. Mohinder Suresh (Sendhil Ramamurthy) seeks redemption for the diabolical work he did on behalf of The Company.
Why we’re excited: We’re not.
Why we’re worried: Seriously, is anyone still excited about this wayward show anymore?

Glee (Fox), Wednesdays, 9 p.m. ET/PT

What it’s about: A determined high school teacher attempts to revive the defunct Glee Club with a ragtag group of underdogs. But the conniving, territorial coach of the cheerleading squad stands in his way, dead-set on enforcing the school’s rigid social hierarchy. Relationships are tested and formed in between rockin’ musical numbers.
The cast: Jenna Ushkowitz—a Korean adoptee raised in New York City—plays Tina Cohen-Chang, the club’s shy, punky, angst-ridden emo-girl who suppresses her stuttering long enough to sing her heart out. Ushkowitz comes with an impressive Broadway resume including roles in “The King and I” and “Spring Awakening.”
Why we’re excited: This isn’t a Disney-fied version of adolescence. It’s high school the way most of us remembered it, but with better singers.
Why we’re worried: Losers don’t exactly translate to ratings gold—just ask Freaks and Geeks.

FlashForward (ABC), Thursdays, 8 p.m. ET/PT

What it’s about: The world’s population experiences a blackout for 2 minutes and 17 seconds during which time survivors see a vision of their lives six months in the future. While authorities attempt to understand who or what caused the event, individuals are left wondering if their destinies have been sealed.
The cast: After playing Sulu in Star Trek, John Cho apparently only does sci-fi now. Which is fine by us as long as he keeps kicking ass! In his new show, he plays FBI agent Demetri Noh, who is part of the law enforcement team investigating the phenomenon. He, however, is a tad bit unnerved by the fact that he had no vision of his future whatsoever. Doh!
Why we’re excited: With Lost approaching its series finale, ABC is touting FlashForward as the new Lost. Early reviews seem to agree.
Why we’re worried: It’s not like not like we haven’t heard that before. Remember The Nine? No? You’re not the only one.

Community (NBC), Thursdays, 9:30 p.m. ET/PT

What it’s about: Disbarred DUI lawyer, Jeff Winger, has four years to earn a real degree to replace the fake one he received from Colombia University. He returns to the bottom rung of collegiate institutions: community college. There, he meets the woman of his dreams and attempts to finagle his way into her pants.
The cast: Ken Jeong—fresh off the heels of the sleeper comedy hit, The Hangover—plays mercurial Spanish teacher Señor Chang, who defies racial stereotypes. ¿Comprende?
Why we’re excited: If Community is a success, maybe network execs will come to realize what fans of Ken’s stand-up have known for years: He deserves his own damn show!
Why we’re worried: If he does get his own show, some words of warning: All-American Girl.

Melrose Place (CW), Tuesdays, 9 p.m. ET/PT

What it’s about: The infamous address gets a sleek makeover with a brand new crop of ridiculously attractive twenty-somethings and—whoops—a dead body in the pool. It’s a whodunit with a heavy dose of who’s-doin’-it, who’s-not-doin’-it, and who’s-ready-to-do-it-again. Fans of the original can look forward to familiar faces swinging by.
The cast: Stephanie Jacobsen plays medical student Lauren Yung, whose financial woes force her to moonlight as a call girl. Asian students…always over-achieving. Apparently, stripping your way through college is sooo mid-90’s.
Why we’re excited: Hello!—it’s Melrose Place! There are at least three things to get excited about…sex, sex and more sex. Why we’re worried: If the revamped 90210 is any indication, expect blatant product placement and obnoxious corporate tie-ins. Present-day Melrose Place could start to feel a lot like present-day Times Square.

Eastwick (ABC), Wednesdays, 10 p.m. ET/PT

What it’s about: After two failed attempts at a television adaptation of the movie Witches of Eastwick (based on John Updike’s novel), ABC finally delivers this series. In Eastwick, the lives of three very different women intersect when a mysterious gentleman comes to town. His presence unleashes powers the women never knew they had.
The cast: Lindsay Price (last seen on NBC’s Lipstick Jungle) plays Joanna Frankel, the awkward newspaper reporter who suddenly discovers her power of persuasion. A gifted singer/songwriter, Price’s vocals can also make men swoon.
Why we’re excited: These aren’t your pale, frumpy, frizzy-haired Wiccans. These are some smokin’-hot witches with the wardrobes to match. Think of it as Hex in the City.
Why we’re worried: Early reviews haven’t been too kind to this one—apparently it’s less than spellbinding. Given its track record, the TV adaptation may be cursed.

Photos courtesy of the television networks

By Lola Pak
Illustrations by Sylvia Park

Stinky Tofu

Asian street carts sell this dish—aged, fermented bean curd soaked in a putrid, inky vat as a midday snack. The marinade can be made from bamboo shoots, herbs and dried shrimp, all perfectly aromatic ingredients—except when it sits in room temperature for 14 days (or more). The smellier, the better, but even when served with a side of chili sauce, it remains doubtful that the rancid bean curd tastes any better than decaying bleu cheese sitting in two-day old garbage.

Chungookjang

It’s the amino acid breakdown that gives this soybean paste its foot odor-like fragrance. After a few days of fermentation, it turns into a puke-brown/orange-hued mush, which is used for chungookjang jjigae, a thick, salty stew made with onions, potatoes, and greens.

Durian

The spiky shell should be warning enough. When cracked open, the fleshy, creamy interior emits a scent not unlike gasoline or rotten onions. Mystifyingly dubbed as “the king of fruits” in Malaysia, durian is also abundant in Indonesia, where the stronger the stench, the more expensive. Due to its fetid odor, the oval, tropical fruit also has one thing in common with terrorists and smokers: It’s banned from the Singapore airport.

Fermented Skate

Unless you enjoy breathing in ammonia, avoid skate at all costs. A type of stingray that excretes through its skin, its hellish aroma is caused by uric acid-soaked flesh that has been left out in room temperature for days.

Dried Squid

Koreans gnaw on dried squid while drinking beer and soju. Too bad the rubbery strands smell like dead mice. But for devotees, the stinky treat reminds them of the beach, where yards of squid commonly hang on clotheslines.

Natto

Japanese fermented soybeans are mostly eaten raw, sometimes with scallions and often with rice. A marshmallow-type goo keeps it sticky—and quite frankly, makes it look disgusting. The gluey texture, caused by stirring in soy sauce and mustard, is enough to trigger a gag reflex.

Curry

It may not be the smelliest, but curry definitely has a signature aroma. Originally from India, other Asian countries have gradually created their own variations of the pungent, spicy sauce, typically made from curry powder, tamarind, garlic and herbs.

Fish sauce

Made from fermented fish and salt crammed in a jar for a whopping nine months, this brown liquid is drained and left to sun, resulting in the condiment we generously squeeze into our beloved pho. Tip: The hue should be a reddish-brown, like sherry or brandy. If it’s muddy brown, count on a fishier whiff.

Shrimp paste

Used in dipping sauces and stews, this is essentially rotten dried shrimp. The salty mash of mini, coral-hued crustaceans with their beady black eyes intact and swirling in brine is a basic ingredient in kitchens in the East. The larger question remains—what’s up with the Asian obsession with rotten, decaying edibles?

Dwenjang

This powerfully fermented soybean paste, which is slathered into lettuce wraps and cooked in stews, is a Korean kitchen staple. Did you know it’s actually decomposing beans and brine? Crushed soybeans are placed into blocks and left to sun for around three months. Then the blocks are shoved into large, stone urns that are placed into the ground to essentially rot away. Delish!

We got to hang with Daniel Henney on the Hollywood set of CBS’ new medical drama Three Rivers. Here’s what he had to say:

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