18. Curry, Curry, Care
"Curry... huh."
Wandering through the university interior, he suddenly spotted the student cafeteria. Ticket vending machine. Desks that were old and gleaming with use. Some were long conference tables, others felt like small flowerpot tables pieced together. Pretty chaotic. Was it really okay to eat here?
But it was curry. Of all things, curry. It smelled cheap, but unmistakably curry. Curry appearing right when he craved it. How could he pass that up?
"...Hmm."
He'd planned to eat something more proper, but now lunch was curry. Bring it on, curry—he'd devour it.
"Curry, pork cutlet curry, shrimp tempura curry... hmm."
Curry: 15 pt. Pork cutlet curry: 20 pt. Shrimp tempura curry: 22 pt... Cheap. Even for university district prices, this was ridiculously low. Would it really be properly made? What if this impulse ruined his whole day?
He glanced around slyly. Lunchtime had passed a bit, so plenty of empty tables. Still, quite a few students eating even now. Curry, curry, curry. The ones eating curry... oh. Of course. If they were chowing down, he could trust it.
Without hesitation, he punched the button for plain curry on the vending machine. No pork cutlet or shrimp—just curry, a mere 15 pt. A thick ticket clunked into the bottom tray.
Bending down to retrieve it, a faint metallic smell hit his fingertips. This machine's pretty ancient. Whatever, not like he'd buy twice. Fine for one go.
Following the floor arrows with ticket in hand, he reached the pickup counter. A chubby pufferfish beastkin in sanitary gear, looking sullen, extended a hand. Ah, for the ticket.
Handing it over, the pufferfish furrowed its brow, checking the order. Clink—the ticket dropped into the return box. No more needed now.
The pufferfish grabbed a bowl and opened two rice cookers behind. One rice, one curry? Keeping the curry warm in a cooker like that?
Oval, deep bowl filled to the brim with rice, then curry piled high. Done in just 10 seconds.
"More?"
"Ah, yes."
Damn. Overpowered by the aura, he'd absentmindedly added extra rice. It asked a few more times, but he politely declined this round.
"This thing..."
A mountain. A proper heap. Towering white rice like a volcano, thick curry oozing from the side. Nearly a handspan high. Avant-garde, right here.
"Can I really finish this...?"
He'd wanted a quick bite, not a full food fight. Oh well—eat till he couldn't.
"Hm."
Curry's simple: potatoes, onions, carrots. Plus peas and broccoli... tricky.
Peas stayed vividly green even in the sticky curry; chopped broccoli asserted itself strongly. Bland potatoes and onions were diced fine, almost invisible unless you looked close, while carrots were chunky—odd balance.
Felt like max nutrition on a tight budget.
"Why's this so popular?"
Glancing around: mostly ramen sets or curry. Ramen was 13 pt, 2 pt cheaper. Yet subtly more curry eaters. What magic made this a hit?
"...Whoa."
As he hesitated, the surface cooled, forming a thick skin. Scooping it aside, one bite of curry.
A shallow crater formed; thick curry slowly flowed in like lava. Viscosity just his style...
"Oh ho."
Curry. Plain, ordinary curry. But delicious ordinary curry. Commercial curry powder, the famous stuff everyone loves. Cheap and tasty—makes sense.
Umami flooded his mouth. Curry. Pure curry. Nothing else to call it. More precisely... school lunch curry from childhood?
"Veggies surprisingly don't get in the way."
Curry's thickness matched soft potatoes. Overcooked onions were even softer, lighter—disorienting. Carrots... core could've been less raw. Peas shone: popping texture easing the heaviness. Broccoli... eh. Soaked in curry, edible, but not ideal. Still, balanced overall, broccoli held its own.
This tang, though—from where? Ah, tomato. Tomato skins inside. Checking bottom: littered with them. Scraped for extra solids, probably. Chewy. Looked like quartered whole tomatoes. Usually you'd boil and scoop flesh... labor costs, huh. Anyway, tasty. Solid, filling without meat. Better with rice.
Curry alone muted the saltiness under heavy aroma; rice brought it out—salty? No, bland? Pure curry wasn't salty. Maybe brined ingredients...
Time to brine veggies but not peel tomatoes? Why?
"Goes down smooth."
Minor gripes, but this taste, volume, 15 pt? What else for 15 pt lately? Convenience store canned coffee? Discounted triangle kimbap and soda? Suddenly, complaints sank back into his gut with the curry aroma.
"Ugh... starting to feel heavy..."
Curry doesn't tire you out. Except it does. Its scent revives appetite, but this one's... burdensome. Made for starving students' endless hunger. Heavy. Thick curry pressing his stomach like bricks per bite.
"Too much ri—huh?"
"Hey, that much gochugaru okay?"
"Dunno. Other places yell if you do. But I wanna here."
"Still..."
"...Didn't notice that."
Bickering drew his head up—side dish corner. Pickles, kimchi, condiments. Tucked under stairs to second floor; easy to miss. But he'd found it.
Perfect. Sides time. A few pickled radish. Standard yellow half-moons, like at any eatery. Kimchi unremarkable—cheap fresh stuff, watery for overripe. Disappointing as kimchi, but better for palate cleanse than fancy in a place like this. Tasty sides would be trouble with student volume.
Grabbed pepper shaker, gochugaru jar, hot sauce. Half-empty bottles meant for use.
Crunch radish. Slurp curry. Good—one radish equals two more spoonfuls.
Kimchi. Weak. Two bites kimchi per curry scoop. Pepper. Fiery. Pepper clashed with curry spice, stinging nose—but heat made it slide down.
Radish again. Kimchi. Radish MVP here. Not kimchi heaven.
Now half left—still half-handspan high. Fingertip-thick rice daunted him. But too good to waste. Time for variation...
Scoop gochugaru, sprinkle lightly. Whoa! Spicy! Softer, sweeter heat than pepper's bite. Cheap kimchi, but quality gochugaru. Overdo it and it's just thick, not fiery. Pepper fights curry for new flavor; gochugaru melts in, birthing sweet-spicy fusion!
Nice. Simple seasoning, wild twist. All calculated?