To gain something new, you must let go of what you hold in your hands.

It all started with a single lunchbox. On the day of their children's picnic, working mothers wanted to ease their burdens. The small, pretty lunchboxes quickly grew into a corporate catering service supplying large companies. A brand named "Party Drama" was established in Apgujeong-dong, Seoul. As it was introduced in the media as a provider of "delicious homemade lunchboxes" and "successful mom CEOs," people from both domestic and international locations sought to learn from its expertise. However, as success drew nearer, feelings of regret grew. Believing that only "learning" could fill this void, I left behind the fame and success I had achieved and came to New York. I had no certainty that I could grasp something greater. I only had faith that if I worked hard, I would gain something new. With that belief, I completed the rigorous program at the Culinary Institute of America (CIA) and launched a party catering brand, "Party Drama," in New York. This is the story of Chef Ji-yeon Kim.

Ji-yeon Kim/Esther Kim

The owner chef of Party Drama, a party catering brand that expanded from Korea to New York. She started making lunchboxes as a hobby, and in 2014, she established "Party Drama," a company producing lunchboxes and homemade fruit syrups in Korea. She appeared on KBS cultural programs under titles like "Mom is CEO" and "Homemade Lunchbox Sandwich Shop," and was introduced as a "successful entrepreneur" in various media outlets. In 2017, she came to New York to study at the CIA, where she completed an internship at Jean-Georges restaurant. In 2020, she opened Party Drama in New York, introducing upscale party food and homemade fruit syrups and sauces. She currently lives in Queens, New York, with her daughter, who attends an arts high school.

As a child, I loved drawing. Everything I thought came to life in my drawings, and I enjoyed receiving praise from my teachers. I won major awards in every art competition I entered. When I was about to enter middle school, my homeroom teacher encouraged me to apply to an art school. My family couldn't afford art classes, so I saw a plaster statue for the first time when I went to the exam site. While other kids took the exam with dozens of brushes, I took it with just one. As expected, I failed the exam. However, I didn't think of it as a "failure." Even at a young age, I vaguely understood that not passing the entrance exam didn't necessarily mean I lacked artistic talent. Even if the world didn't recognize it, I believed in my own abilities. The career of Chef Ji-yeon Kim, who entered New York with her party catering brand "Party Drama," began with that belief.

That belief became the foundation of my confidence and kept me from kneeling in front of any obstacles. The steadfast attitude I have maintained throughout my life may have come from my mother. My short mother wanted her two daughters to grow tall. She made sure we ate anything that would help us grow. She would secretly cook ramen in bone broth, listening to our childish complaints. My mother believed that "if you work hard," you could grow taller, and thanks to that belief, she helped me grow to a height of 170 centimeters, well above average.

Party Drama, which has entered New York, provides upscale party food and premium cuisine through its party catering and "At Home" packages.

After completing the rigorous CIA program, I can now proudly wear a chef's coat with my name emblazoned on it.

Chef Ji-yeon Kim believes that every step of the cooking process should be filled with heart and dedication. With that mindset, she has brought upscale party food and premium cuisine to New York through "Party Drama."

Beyond helping us grow taller, my mother's cooking was special. Even without an oven, she would deliciously fry pizzas in a pan, a rarity at the time, and she made traditional Korean sweets that other households wouldn't dare attempt. Whenever I left home, she would always hand me a lunchbox. When a friend's mother was hospitalized, my mother packed an extra lunchbox for my friend, saying, "When times are tough, mom's cooking is the best. Just think about how hard your friend must be feeling right now." Even while facing her own difficulties, my mother lovingly prepared a lunchbox for my friend, a memory that Chef Ji-yeon Kim recalls as if it were yesterday.

Through her second brand, "Fresh Party," she also sells homemade fruit syrups and sauces. The pure homemade syrups, made from the finest fruits, can transform into energy drinks or fruit teas when mixed with sparkling water or plain water, and they have endless uses as salad dressings or cocktail bases.

Chef Ji-yeon Kim believes that there is no color more beautiful than the natural colors of ingredients. To her, party food is an artistic creation painted on a blank canvas. Her dishes offer a visual delight that captivates the eyes first.

The lunchbox that became a brand, Party Drama

My mother's lunchboxes were the reason I could get through a difficult childhood and a sensitive adolescence. Perhaps that's why Chef Ji-yeon Kim particularly enjoyed packing lunchboxes. After getting married and becoming a mother, she began posting photos of the food she made on social media. Friends and acquaintances started asking if she could prepare food for their children's lunchboxes or family gatherings. Hesitant because she had never considered cooking as a business, she was determined after hearing that working mothers felt guilty on their children's picnic days. She was also aware that running a business wouldn't be easy. To gather ingredients and tools for cooking, she worked part-time at a night market after putting her child to bed. She was grateful that the large market was relatively close to home. Late at night, when her husband and child were asleep, she tiptoed around to pack lunchboxes.

The lunchboxes quickly gained a reputation for being delicious. Starting with minimal capital, she began cooking in a small café of just 9 pyeong (about 300 square feet) with a portable burner, and as orders surged, she found the courage to open a store in Apgujeong-dong. She was featured on broadcasts, and students from across the country and abroad flocked to take her homemade lunchbox entrepreneurship course. Since she wanted to maintain focus, she limited the number of participants instead of holding large classes. Students even paid their tuition months in advance to wait for a spot. With pride came a greater sense of responsibility and mission.

As she became a teacher, her desire for "learning" unexpectedly grew. After conducting catering for over 600 weddings, she had a pivotal realization. She hired an external buffet team with 30 years of experience to handle Korean cuisine. Despite paying a high fee commensurate with their extensive experience, she found no valuable lessons to learn. Could food for 600 people be made as delicious and visually appealing as food for just one? The questions in her mind multiplied, but there was no "teacher" to answer them. Without hesitation, she chose the CIA to find a mentor. While the school had a reputation as the best culinary school in the world, she also wanted to give her daughter, who was good at drawing, the opportunity to study in New York. Leaving behind the fame and success she had built, she boarded a flight to New York in 2017 at the age of 37, feeling it was "not too late" to start studying.

Learning and filling up at the CIA, the Harvard of culinary schools

Among students who were sometimes as much as 15 years younger, I felt like a sinner for being older and kept my head down. Kitchen classes began at six in the morning. Amidst the suffocating tension, I stood all day in class, and when I returned home, I was exhausted, staying up all night to write essays and study. While young students gathered in groups to study and share their experiences, I had to navigate everything on my own. With the curriculum changing every three weeks, the instructors also changed, requiring me to adapt to each one's style and accent. I frequently had opportunities to introduce myself to new instructors and students. More than my lack of fluency in English, I discovered the "me" I had forgotten, and finding that was sometimes more challenging. After completing my first year at the CIA, I interned at Jean-Georges' ABC Kitchen in Manhattan. It was a busy place where we had to prepare 1,000 plates of food on weekends, making it a restaurant that many chefs avoided. However, Chef Ji-yeon Kim, curious about brunch menus and casual dining that New Yorkers loved, walked in without hesitation.

During a time when we were learning banquet food at the CIA, a cooking competition was held. Three talented students were selected to prepare dishes, and students from various countries tasted them in a blind test to determine the rankings. I proudly took first place with my black bean soup made with black beans and roasted garlic. It was a moment of recognition for my "taste" among culinary students from around the world. I gained a gem of confidence. During the Asian cuisine class, the instructor asked me to demonstrate making kimchi and rolling kimbap. Everyone was fascinated and busy taking pictures. I felt a sense of mission to share Korean food. At the CIA, I was able to find answers to the questions I had long pondered.

When I heard the words, "If you have any culinary questions, I've got an answer!" I couldn't contain my emotions and cried. Without any hesitation or boundaries, I was able to learn and fill myself with knowledge from those who only