Side Dishes, Side Dishes, and Side Dishes
Water dropwort flounder namul. Honestly, this flavor screams for booze. Well, booze is great, but meat's the real star, right? It'd taste even better paired with boiled pork instead of eating it solo...
"I'm going nuts. Already forgotten?"
It's amazing, really. Just a bit ago, I was so sick of meat. And now, after a few side dishes, it's back on my mind. Sure, it's good with rice, but maybe side dishes are just that—subsidiaries to the main event?
He picks up a couple of water dropwort stems and crunches them down. A refreshing burst fills his mouth. But hm... still, meat...
"Gotta finish the last one and clear the plates... Huh?"
The final side dish. Bamboo shoots. ...Bamboo shoots?
"Oh, no—bamboo shoots and squid?"
Bamboo shoots, squid, abalone, Shanghai greens... Wait, is this palbochae?
Palbochae, huh. What an unexpected side dish.
...Come to think of it, side dishes don't have to be veggies only. Braised eggs or fried shrimp count too. He'd only thought of them as accompaniments, never as sides themselves.
"Well, perfect for the finale anyway."
A bite of bamboo shoot. A bite of scored, blanched squid. Abalone and greens soaked in thick, starchy sauce.
"...It's a side dish."
Yeah. A side dish. Side dish through and through, no matter who eats it. Salty. Too much oyster sauce or salt? Not unpalatably so, but heavy without rice. More side than meal. The way it begs for rice? Classic side dish.
The bamboo shoots crunch satisfyingly. A bit chewy? Nah, on second thought, tender. Feels firm but melts away smoothly, no residue. Proof they've nailed the cooking on these unexpectedly soft shoots.
Bamboo shoots are young bamboo sprouts. A day late, and they turn tough as mature bamboo. Getting them this tender ain't easy.
The crunch pairs with the saltiness, stimulating his salivary glands. Sourness explodes them outright; bamboo shoots work the jaw on those firm, chewy bits. Either way, saliva flows, rice intake doubles.
The squid's fresh or perfectly blanched—zero fishiness. Pick fresh and blanch right, and you get that subtle, salty oceanic umami instead. Springy, chewy texture. Lingers longer than the starchy sauce, endlessly bursting with savory juices. Sometimes fluffy too. Perfectly boiled squid feels like well-cooked fish cake—firm yet light to chew.
Abalone? Finely chopped. But its inherent chew asserts itself.
Shanghai greens? Surprisingly, plenty love them well-cooked. Some even prefer the greens themselves over other ingredients. He favors the squid and shoots, but greens steeped in that flavor-packed starch? They deliver sweet vegetal juices and layered umami from everything else.
One piece per ingredient, one spoonful of rice each. Scrape the sticky starch remnants onto the rice—insane satiety. Carbs on carbs, yet this delicious. Way better than expected...
"Meat cravings? Vanished."
Maybe the salty palbochae reset him—the meat obsession circling his brain moments ago? Gone. Saltier and stickier than standard, but that doubled the satisfaction.
"Not quite traditional palbochae, huh."
Less like Chinese restaurant fare, more a side-dish remix. But that tweak makes you polish off two, three bowls of rice. No wonder it's premium-line stuff.
"Appetite's back—now I wanna try the rest."
A shop slinging sides this good? The others must slap too. Plenty left, but curiosity's killing him. Swing by again tomorrow? ...
Two days later.
"Ugh... all that meat, and now my mouth reeks... Huh? Manager?"
"Lunch."
"Brought a homemade bento today?"
"Yeah."
Today's lunch in the break room: recent side dish hauls lined up, nuked convenience store rice on top. No proper bento box, so it looks kinda pitiful.
"Whoa, you always eat like this? So well-prepped!"
"Found a killer spot lately."
"Lucky... I'm craving this. Mom's home cooking's run out..."
"Want some?"
"Huh? Nah, it's fine. Don't wanna be the employee stealing the manager's rice..."
"Too much for me. Hate lugging it back."
"...Mind if I take a little?"
He slides over the tub wordlessly. Her face lights up.
"Chopsticks?"
"Got wooden ones left from last ramen!"
She grabs them, dives into the fernbrake namul first.
"Whoaaa... making me tear up..."
Eyes misty, she chews slowly. The face you make when something seeps into your soul, as he'd put it.
"Missed this so much. All-meat diet's torture... Craved these mellow, tasty sides..."
"Had a ton. Enough to curse about."
"I live alone. No friends nearby... Started great, but fridge space ran out..."
"How much left?"
"A whole box at room temp. Few days from mold..."
"Share with neighbors at least."
"Near the electronics market."
"Ah."
Electronics district housing? Mostly golems, androids, virtual humans. Prefer industrial power or cheap ag-grade over meat. Makes sense—no takers.
"But today's better. These sides revived my appetite."
"Rough go. Take more?"
"Huh? But..."
"Way too much. Headache for me too."
Buying other sides was fine, but impulse overdid it. Fridge overflow: egg rolls, pollock roe, ferments, quail egg braise, beef braise, egg braise... Shrimp jjang, soy crab, spinach namul, tomato egg stir-fry—basket exploded. Oops, unmanageable.
Hence today's bento workaround. Impulse's price: bliss eating, now the aftermath.
"So take some."
"Thank you! I'll savor it!"
She flatters—Manager's the best!—and snags a pack. Mix of bits, enough for days. Good. Problem partially solved.
"Ugh... regret buying that efficient digestion module on days like this..."
"You look beat."
"Oh, Manager? What's up?"
"Bought too many sides. Want some?"
"Yes, please!"
He hands a tub to the android employee—extra bio-reactor for non-electric energy.
"Raw meat... no good... need... to share meals..."
"Got tons. Wanna split?"
"Wow... thanks..."
To the overtime zombie fanatic too—
"Manager! Heard you're sharing sides! Trade some?"
"Not bad."
Even inter-department guy who sniffed it out gets a pack.
Perfect. Ditched the ones he doesn't love. Home now? Only tasty stuff awaits.
"Excess? Networks save the day."
Why build connections? One favor in a pinch. Cleared the impulse glut thanks to 'em.
Heh heh, suckers. No clue they're handling my scraps.
Villainous chuckle, movie-style. Side dish weight = mental burden. Lighter tubs, lighter heart. All gone? Pure relief.
"Next time, careful. Overbuy on 'tasty' and repeat today."
Thought sides last forever. Some do, but shelf lives shocked him. His fault for blind buying—lesson learned, restrain next round.
...Or so he thought. Oops.
"Ugh... why's this weird flavor calling me back?"
On the way home, he grabs more palbochae from the side dish shop. Fridge packed—why this specifically? Regret space tomorrow, but can't help it. Craving deliciousness? Pure instinct.