After my 12-hour waitressing shift, my feet throbbed, my hair smelled like bacon grease, and my hands were raw from cleaning trays under hot water. As I walked back to my dorm, my phone pinged, and I read a text from my friend: “We need to go.” Following that message, she sent an Instagram reel featuring Shia, the “hottest new restaurant” in Washington, D.C.
Shia is a 22-seat, fine dining Korean restaurant, opened by chef Edward Lee this past November near Union Market. “To be honest, I struggled very much with my Korean identity. Am I American? Or am I Korean?” Lee said in an interview with NPR. Adding a creative twist to traditional Korean fare, they serve a seven-course, $165 tasting menu, including small plates of pumpkin mandu, tuna bibimbap with a runny quail egg, and scorched rice ice cream. Initially, I was skeptical of creating fine dining out of Korean food. What I considered “authentic” Korean cuisine consisted of hearty stews and raw meat cut with scissors.
To understand this evolution from casual to fine dining, we need to look at the history of Korean American restaurant labor. The experiences of these workers uncover the blood, sweat, and tears that go into preparing each dish. This history, which covers the exploitation of women, worker organizing, and cross-ethnic solidarity, reminds us that, rather than solely focusing on what we are eating, we should be aware of who we are eating––the workers who struggle to be seen and heard in an industry that profits off their invisibility. Shia should exemplify how restaurants don’t have to be exploitative, but can instead elevate and empower their workers.
The majority of the restaurant workers in the U.S. are women. From 1976 to 1990, Korean immigration to the U.S. rose due to rapid industrialization, militarization, and political strife in South Korea. My mother, who immigrated from Korea in 1985, worked at a Korean BBQ restaurant and recalls putting her swollen feet into a cold bathtub after her shifts. In a 2001 interview for Marie Ching Yoon Louie’s book Sweatshop Warriors, Lee Jung Hee, a waitress in a Korean restaurant, described the slippery floors and heavy pots, which resulted in back injuries, skin burns, and a miscarriage. These Korean women not only served food in hazardous conditions, but were also subjected to men’s sexual fantasies. Lee’s employer told her that she “looked like a traditional housewife” and “couldn’t play up to the atmosphere the male customers who came at night wanted.”
Despite being vulnerable in restaurant workplaces, Korean immigrant women have historically led worker organizing movements. In 1998, Los Angeles Koreatown held a town hall meeting where Korean restaurant workers demanded state and federal officials enforce labor laws. Additionally, these restaurant unions succeeded thanks to solidarity between Korean and Latino workers. In 2001, Chu Mi Hee, a waitress at Los Angeles Koreatown’s largest restaurant, said her employer started firing people “they didn’t like […] to cut their labor costs.” In response, Hee said her “Mexican chingu [friends] started opening relations with [Korean Immigrant Workers Advocates (KIWA)].” She said she hoped that “protesting, passing out leaflets, talking to people, all of these things would bring about good results.” Through the efforts of KIWA, the Korean Restaurant Owners Association signed an agreement to set up a workers defense fund, conduct workers’ rights seminars, post bilingual employment notices, and form a joint research committee on working conditions. These measures ensured that the restaurants upheld proper labor standards and a more inclusive workplace.
So where does Lee, a Korean American restaurant owner, stand in the struggle between workers and employers? Lee has made efforts towards caring for restaurant workers. For example, during the pandemic, Lee initiated a Restaurant Workers Relief Program in Louisville, Kentucky, which provided hot meals and necessary goods for restaurant workers who were recently unemployed or struggling due to reduced hours. To address the issue of gender inequity in restaurants, Lee is running a women’s chef mentorship program through Shia. His goal is to “elevate more women into leadership positions” and bring “more equity and diversity to the industry.” The LEE Initiative acknowledges that while women make up 54% of food service employees, only 19.6% are chefs and head cooks. This power imbalance can lead to sexual harassment and exploitation in the workplace on top of the harassment female restaurant workers receive from guests.
While these steps are in the right direction, the nonprofit restaurant which claims to focus on environmental sustainability is funded by Chase Sapphire, whose parent company is JPMorgan, the leading fossil fuel financing bank. As a restaurant with the advantages of investors, chef Lee’s celebrity status, and fine-dining menu prices, Shia is unique from smaller Korean American restaurants that may prioritize survival over advancing workers’ rights.
While our internet foodie culture hyper-focuses on a restaurant’s atmosphere, plating, and savory bites, it is easy to overlook how restaurants treat their employees. Shia, which means “seed” in Korean, has the potential to be the fruit of the seeds planted by immigrant workers who fought for their voices to be heard and needs to be met. This fruit must be cultivated by not only restaurant owners, but patrons—who need to pay attention to the workers who grow their food, prepare it behind the scenes, and serve it at the table. Lee’s Shia is, in some ways, continuing a legacy of worker solidarity, but so must the customers at the table. We should all know what we are eating and who we are eating when we dine out.
