Curry, Curry, Care
"...Not hot sauce after all."
While I was at it, I tried drizzling some hot sauce on top, but it didn't seem right for this. Sure, some people do it, but looking at the menu, there are better matches for hot sauce. Better put this back.
"Whew. I'm stuffed."
I'd thrown in all sorts of variations, and before I knew it, the plate was empty.
"Thanks for the meal."
Familiar flavors at a cheap price. No wonder it's popular. I really enjoyed it.
...
"...Overdid it a bit."
Did I shovel the food in too fast? My stomach's starting to ache. Not quite food poisoning, more like my gut's shocked. No risk of losing my human dignity, but I should take it easy for a bit.
"...Hm."
University campus sports field... I think. Sitting on a bench near the field, I watch students playing basketball and badminton. A canned coffee from the vending machine next to the bench. Not bad at all.
"...Didn't know there was an exit over here."
Glancing around, I spot an exit different from the one I came in. Come to think of it, besides the main and back gates, there are a few other access roads. Small, but wide enough for cars. Guess this counts as one too.
"Might as well walk it off. Help settle my stomach."
A short sit-down calmed things down. But there's still food sloshing around inside. Need to take it slow to digest...
"Oh. What's this..."
Emerging from the mystery access road, I see a different commercial strip from Daehak-ro. Printing shops, copy centers... used bookstores... Makes sense. This area's a bit older.
Unlike the front gate's strip packed with restaurants and bars, this one's full of used bookstores and print shops. Ah, there's a student hauling out copies of a thick, hundreds-of-pages book. Textbooks for majors are pricey, after all. I compared production costs and online prices at the System shop once—both were shockingly high. Even at cost, it'd mean skipping four or five meals; online deals were enough to build a decent four- or five-story studio apartment building. Well, textbooks aren't huge sellers anyway, but not everyone's a regressor, possessor, or reincarnator majoring in it. Turns out they sell steadily.
Me? I'm in ingredients, so no overlap, but damn, they're expensive.
"Black-and-white copies: 1pt for two sheets... Color: 2pt per sheet. Not bad business."
Still cheaper than buying a hundreds-page original outright. Probably at least half off. No wonder students copy textbooks. Print shops are crammed with them, each buried in printing and copying, faces etched with exhaustion.
...Pulled an all-nighter on a report, maybe?
"Used bookstore... though it looks like they sell a lot of new ones too."
"Looking for something?"
"Oh, no. Just browsing out of curiosity..."
"Pick anything that catches your eye."
A few used bookstores catch my eye. Some sell mostly near-new books, others deal in rare tomes instead of true used ones. That moldy one over there—hand-bound from the Middle Ages? Not printed, a manuscript. Looks at least 300 years old.
"This..."
"Ah, that's a 300-year-old textbook. No value, so it's tucked in the corner."
"Looks like a rare book, but no value?"
"Rare books vary. This is a textbook—tons of copies, been one for nearly 100 years, so originals are common too. Some are worth less than the same weight in scrap paper."
"Ah, I see... By the way, the place across the way seems unattended."
"That's mine too. Both shops are. This one's for trading, that one's storage."
"Ah."
Makes sense. Chatting more, he says the storage shed opposite is packed with used textbooks—from unread ones bought for four years of school to dog-eared ones underlined by sharp students.
"Most buy new anyway."
"Surprisingly steady demand, huh."
"What money do students have? They get cash from parents for 'new books,' buy cheap used ones instead, and pocket the difference. Happens all the time."
"Ah, got it. Makes sense."
Used bookstores, huh. Thinking back, in my college days, I hunted every bargain spot too. Spent the savings on booze and meals, though. Now it feels less like passion and more like youthful folly...
I leave the bookstore and wander a bit more. Ah, spice shop here. Run by an exotic guy in a turban with a beard. Inside, folks of all races browsing. A little farther, and it's the studio apartment district. No need to go deeper.
"So this loops back here."
After circling the area, I'm somehow in front of the place where I had the pork stir-fry last time. Who knew this path connected. Getting more interesting by the minute.
"Hmm... Stomach's still too full for more."
Walking stirs up smells from restaurants: hearty doenjang jjigae, spicy soft tofu stew. Faint but clear meat scent. Tonkatsu frying, is that pizza baking? Past peak lunch, but places are still packed. Late eaters, probably students.
"Time to head back anyway... Hm?"
Just as my stomach settles, a scent hooks me. Spicy, fiery, smooth yet intense.
"...Curry?"
Curry smell. No, curry smell. One might say there's no difference, but to me: turmeric-heavy, bright yellow homemade stuff is curry. Spice-packed, exotic flavor is curry. That's my line. This is the latter. Pure exotic curry.
"...Whoa."
My stomach... growls. Damn. It was bloated and aching moments ago, now rumbling loud? I rub it. My gut trembles hungrily, embarrassingly audible.
"...Curry it is."
Peek inside. Few customers, but a couple. One curry fiend ripping naan to shreds and dunking it. Another eating light and elegant, like porridge. Both solo. ...Makes sense. Solo-friendly spot.
"...Huh."
Next thing I know, I've ordered. When did I come in? Finish ordering? Stomach was full—why hungry now? This contradiction...
"Chicken tikka masala with butter naan set, ready."
"Ah, thanks...?"
...No choice but to eat now. As much as my stomach can handle...
"Portion... might be okay."
Curry spots like this usually serve small by my standards. Tasty, but value for price? Eh. Fine for an exotic or special meal, though.
Chicken tikka masala... chicken curry. Deep red, worlds apart from the student cafeteria's. Moist over thick. Spoon it up, and it drips down smooth.
"...Whoa."
First bite: tomato tang hits hard. Cafeteria tomatoes hid in the curry's depth as umami; here, it asserts itself amid the spices. Another bite. Now other spices emerge. Herbal, medicinal notes beyond standard curry. Tomato sour-sweet-umami, spice-rubbed grilled chicken's salty-spicy kick...
"Insane. Why does this go down so easy?"
Less like regular food, more like nourishing tonic. Not like gukbap or hangover stew—spices and heat seep in, soothing deeply. I tear naan to size, dip in curry.
...Thick naan, buttery? Naan's flour-butter aroma overpowers curry. Tear it like inari pouch, scoop curry like a spoon, stuff my mouth. Ah, satisfying!
"Was stuffed just now..."
Why does it slide down? Why does spicy curry settle my stomach? Why does it feel better past my limit? Mystery.
"Curry's good, but curry's great too."
I scrape the lamp-shaped bowl clean. Ten minutes from entry to finish. Damn. Lost to curry's magic, devoured shamelessly. Glance: last naan scrap. Wipe remnants, pop in...
Absurd. Curry-stuffed belly digested by curry. Curry, curry, care.
...Such a dumb pun. Good thing I didn't say it out loud—
"Curry, curry, care... curry curry-er care curry... Pfft."
...Oh no. Did that slip out? Face burns. Maybe the spices' invigorating effect.