Soft and Comforting Flavor
Oh no. Did I overdo it with the spicy, stimulating stuff yesterday? I was fine just a moment ago, but now my stomach's burning and stinging like crazy. Did I push myself too hard?
"Phew. Feels like it's kicking in right away..."
He grabs milk, yogurt, and Yoplait from the convenience store and chugs them down. Of course, it's not like it'll heal his gut instantly, but at least he can enjoy the placebo effect. Sure enough, after downing food that neutralizes spice, his stomach feels a bit more at ease. Or maybe it's just the satisfaction of a good meal.
"Hmm... yeah, I shouldn't push it today."
Work won't be a problem, but who knows. His stomach's pretty much at its limit right now. If he strains it any further, he might end up getting carted off somewhere...
"Maybe something light for lunch today."
Still, he needs to fill up. A hearty meal helps the body recover faster. So today calls for something substantial yet gentle.
...What to eat when your stomach's sore and aching? Well, it varies by person. But the absolute best is this.
"Customer 42! Order for customer 42 is ready!"
"Ah, thank you."
When you're on death's door, nothing beats killer porridge. A big sign plastered on the wall right in front of his seat. The rhyme lands pretty well, but it feels like it'd sting if he laughed. Staring it down with bulging eyes in a staring contest, his ordered porridge arrives before he knows it.
"Mm."
Today's special: vegetable porridge. Soft and nutty, packed with finely chopped veggies. A subtle, savory aroma tickles his nose. Sesame oil? Perilla oil? The scent says sesame—probably just a couple drops at the end. Not quite on par with the sesame oil from the Trienta Dimension, but it's nutty enough to stir the appetite. Even in pain, it'll tempt you into one bite. Sesame oil has that devilish charm.
"Let's see..."
Not quite "sick-day porridge"—more like everyday fare. It's soft, but the textures vary nicely. Even finely chopped, the carrots and onions retain a slight firmness. Carrots especially stay a bit chewy no matter how long you cook them. But that's what balances it out. Dense and sticky rice porridge, with veggies cooked just tender enough—not too tough to chew. They slide down the throat almost together.
If the porridge is too thin, the veggies scrape roughly and linger. If the veggies are too firm, the sticky rice feels off-putting. Too much sesame oil overwhelms the flavor and turns greasy. It's tasty even thrown together sloppily. But slack off a little, and the quality plummets. High floor, but a brutally low ceiling. The kind of food you avoid buying out when you're healthy. Yet buying it from a shop has its own reliable comfort—unlike the hassle of making it yourself. Selling "avoid-at-home" food takes guts. Guts that say it's worth skipping the chore and paying up. This vegetable porridge delivers the second you think, "What makes you so confident?" and take a bite: "Ah, yeah, I get it now."
Soft. Nutty. The rice's sticky sweetness blends with the veggies' deep savoriness, delighting the tongue. But surprisingly, that sweetness slips by unnoticed. Too natural to stand out.
"...Mm."
Yet past the halfway mark, it starts feeling a tad monotonous. The flavor's evenly distributed throughout. Which means one note from start to finish. Sure, as it cools, new nuances might peek out—but nothing wildly different. Lacks variation. That's where sides come in.
The kimchi, braised beef, dried radish, and that seasoned soybean paste that come with it. These four can provide all the variety needed.
First, kimchi... ugh. Pass. Spicy, bland, salty. You might wonder how bland and salty coexist, but shockingly, they do. Cheap cabbage? The green, off-flavor hits first, followed by nothing but cheap chili powder heat—no fermented savoriness from fish sauce or anything. But chew through it, and the briny pickling liquid stabs your tongue like a dagger. Salty! Tongue-numbingly salty! Mouth shriveling like it's been salt-cured!
Never imagined tasty porridge with crappy kimchi. Usually, good mains mean good sides. Rare to have one flop alone... Anyway, kimchi's a pass. Too much.
Dried radish, then... "...Huh, this one's good?"
Delicious! Crisp and chewy. The dried radish's firm bite meshes perfectly with the slightly tough radish greens' texture. And the seasoning? Pretty darn tasty. A fresh-made edge like the kimchi, but passable. He picks up bits of dried radish and greens, lays them over the porridge. Big spoonful.
The nutty, soft, peaceful vegetable porridge gains a sharp punch. The porridge strips away excess seasoning, leaving only the prime bits. Chewing the spice-soaked, not-too-salty-or-spicy dried radish makes him crave another spoonful. Mouth stuffed with porridge—where'd it all go? Chemical reaction? Does radish + porridge trigger nuclear fission, vanishing everything but the flavor? One piece battles three spoonfuls before finally settling in his stomach.
Sides like this always come in tiny portions—just two or three bites per plate. At first, he thought it skimpy, but surprisingly, it's perfect. Ideal balance between porridge and sides.
"But still..."
Shredded braised beef like fine threads. And that red seasoned paste. These two are the real stars.
Braised beef. Salty. But just right. Barely a pinch on the chopsticks, yet it screams, "I'm meat! Soy-braised meat!" with massive presence. Yet that presence harmonizes with the porridge's flavor and aroma. Not overpowering—coexisting, symbiotic. The porridge's nuttiness and sweetness elevate the beef's salty-umami punch into new territory!
...Or so he thinks, adding a dab of seasoned paste for another bite. No way! The plain porridge suddenly flaunts unexpected allure. Too charming for "just a bit of paste." No wonder it's the top side here.
"Phew..."
He scrapes the bowl clean. Sets it down—and realizes his stomach feels as soft and comfortable as the flavor. Porridge magic. Already working wonders.
"...Still a bit unsatisfying, though."
Why the lingering emptiness after porridge? Both porridge and noodles digest super easily. Hence the old joke: "Ate eight bowls of noodles and porridge, tripped over the doorsill, and starved to death." Unlike noodles bloating up if scarfed, porridge stacks neatly in the stomach—then whoosh, gone. That's the letdown. Belly feels hollow. Plus, sides are just a couple bites—leaves you wanting.
...But more would be greedy. Stomach's settled enough; no need to stuff it with porridge. Still, heading home like this means hunger in two or three hours. Time for something extra.
"Not full enough for another full meal..."
Dessert it is. What dessert fills without upsetting the stomach? Tough puzzle...
That evening.
"...Ended up pondering straight through to dinner."
"I'll head out now!"
"Ah, good work."
The lunch dilemma stretched into evening. He grabbed a light bread and ice cream from the convenience store midway, but the whole day felt empty. That vague hunger sparked the fire. Too full for this, too empty for that, too little of this... Endless agonizing left him blank on cravings. Bold flavors? Fancy? Meat, veggies, mushrooms, fish—all meh. What does he even want?
First meal after porridge. What does he crave? Labyrinth. Maze. Mystery.
He eavesdrops casually on departing coworkers' chatter. Evening means dinner talk. Dozens of menu ideas flash by—no hits. Stomach growls, of course. Porridge lunch plus one bread? Starving. But no appetite stirs. Body, mind, heart discordant.
What now? What to eat?
Craves a filling meal like always. But something different. Special yet ordinary. Stomach-soothing. Something that clicks...
"Hmm..."
Does such food even exist? The more he dwells, the deeper the worry.