Spinach Namul
"Ugh."
It's spicy. The garlic is too pungent. Not a burn on the tongue, but a sharp sting at the tip of my nose. The moment the garlic aroma hits, my nose bridge twitches involuntarily.
"It tastes good, though."
Soy sauce, sesame oil. A combination that can't possibly taste bad. When you've got no appetite, just a spoonful of soy sauce and sesame oil over rice goes down smooth. Throw in some steamed seaweed or veggie flakes as a side, and it's a feast fit for a king.
This is spinach dressed in that soy sauce and sesame oil. No way it could taste bad...
"Guess some regrets are inevitable."
But as I keep chewing, the flaws start popping up here and there. Did they use cheap soy sauce? The sesame oil feels a bit lacking. The flavors aren't meshing right—they're playing solo.
In my disappointment, I reach to add more soy sauce and sesame oil, but a childhood memory flashes by.
"...These things can't be rushed."
Mom would always let me taste her side dishes after making them. I'd think, why not just taste it yourself? But she'd insist on cross-verification from multiple people, always calling me over.
Sometimes the flavors clashed, or it felt too bland or too salty. I'd tell her straight, and she'd say, "Perfect then," and pack it into the container.
"...Maybe I should just wait a bit."
An hour or two. That's how long she'd prepare such dishes in advance, at least.
Here, I'll invest a little time.
An hour and a half later.
"Not much change..."
The spinach namul looks much the same as before—chopped garlic scattered over blanched spinach. Half the sesame oil aroma has evaporated, and the soy sauce... well.
"...A lot has changed."
But this is it! This is exactly the spinach namul I craved.
I pick up a clump with chopsticks and take a bite.
...Yes, this is the one!
The garlic is sweet now. The soy sauce's refined saltiness harmonizes with the sesame oil's nutty depth. A gentle sweetness blooms from the spinach stems—not overpowering. Perfect.
This is the taste I remember...
"If I'd impatiently added more soy sauce and oil, it would've been too salty."
The seasoning is spot-on. I thought the flavors were discordant, but no—they were just awkward with each other at first. Give them an hour or two to chat and get comfortable, and they finally synergize.
"Why is this so damn good?"
Compared to dishes loaded with additives, it's humble and simple. Just blanched spinach, chopped garlic, soy sauce, sesame oil. That's it.
But why does it taste this good?
I shovel in mouthful after mouthful until my jaw aches. The lingering garlic heat lightly pricks the roof of my mouth. My nose tingles. Saliva floods in.
The more I chew, the sweeter the spinach gets. The soy sauce's subtle, elegant saltiness makes the spinach taste even sweeter. Wild, right?
When I focus, the soy sauce's salt stands out. But eat mindlessly, bite after bite, and it fades to the background—a supporting role that lets the spinach shine...!
"Never gets old. I could eat this forever."
First time making it myself, huh? Shockingly successful for a debut. Delicious. Incredibly so.
Simple to eat, yet this addictive. Too good to relegate to side-dish status.
"Funny, though—no urge for rice. Why's that?"
Most side dishes scream for rice. One bite needs a spoonful; the real rice thieves demand a whole bowl per piece.
But spinach namul feels more like a solo act than a side. Not that it doesn't pair with rice—it's fine that way. But this nutty, subtle sweetness shines brightest alone.
Ah, yeah. That's the vibe.
Spinach namul is like a one-person play in a school club. Or more precisely, watching from afar as a plain kid passionately rehearses lines in the prop room for their solo debut.
Nothing flashy, totally ordinary—yet their effort sparkles so brilliantly. This spinach namul: humble, everyday taste, but why does it sparkle this much?
"Maybe because it's not artificial, it feels even more precious."
Artificial seasonings are like AI-generated videos. Quick, easy, overstimulating.
In an era flooded with AI slop, how would a real video stack up? Comparable, or better?
I've never treasured spinach namul like this before. Sure, I liked it, but I didn't expect to fall this hard.
With all the aggressive flavors out there, maybe that's why this simple, wonderful taste hits harder.
"...Now I kinda want to try the artificial-seasoning version too."
...A little couldn't hurt.
I dress the remaining spinach with soy sauce, sesame oil, and a dash of artificial seasoning powder from the pantry.
Ah. Got it.
This one's tastier. But also less tasty.
Sounds contradictory? That's artificial seasoning for you—always a paradox.
Tastier, yet less so. What better critique is there?
First bite goes to the artificial version. As a side dish, it's way better.
But the one that keeps drawing my hand back? The pure one, no additives.
"They say the ones who date a lot prefer the plain types over the flashy ones."
The artificial namul is delicious. But heavy, like thick makeup—overwhelming.
The simple toss? Plain, as I've said a million times. But that's its killer charm.
Comfortable vibe, like chatting one more time in a cozy atmosphere—chopsticks reach out again.
"Hm?"
Lost in savoring, I realize the whole bunch is gone. Half's already in my stomach; the rest, simply dressed and stacked neatly in the dish.
Snacking while prepping the new batch whittled it down to one palm-sized container.
...Blanching shrinks it, right? Yeah, that's it. Of course.
"What to make tomorrow?"
Nailing a simple dish boosts confidence. Feels like I could tackle something more complex now.
Great. Tomorrow, start from scratch—make seasonings one by one, step by step!
...Two days later.
"Urgh... went overboard..."
Yesterday's mille-feuille nabe was a flop. Not the cooking—portion control. Couldn't finish, left over half.
A whole cabbage was too much, yeah.
"Gotta rest."
Stomachache kills focus. Not bathroom-level, but a walk to settle it?
It's lingered since last night; a short break might deflate it. Better than nothing.
"Lunch might be a skip... no, wait—evening meeting's locked in..."
"Ah, Section Chief! Hello!"
"Hm?"
Resting in the break room, someone greets me. Name tag reads "New Product Development Dept. Jane Doe, Deputy Manager" in fancy font.
New Product Development? No meeting with them today.
"Um, is now okay for a meeting? We've got something amazing from New Product Development!"
"At this hour?"
"Sorry! We pulled an all-nighter on R&D, prototype's ready. I know it's rude, but I just know this'll sell!"
"What could be worth... hm?"
"This is our New Product Development's 'The NaturalRUN Seasoning'!"
"Artificial seasoning...?"
"Yes! Riding the artificial seasoning wave, we positioned it as 'healthier for the body'—"
From what I gather, the artificial boom dragged on too long, supply chain issues hit. Companies rushed new versions to meet demand...
"'Healthier' my ass—means sloppy manufacturing."
"Ugh...!"
"And 'eco-friendly,' yet 20% pricier? No one's biting at that."
"Uuuugh...!"
"...But drop the price a tad, and it's competitive. 1.5x gen artificials would suffice."
"R-really?!"
"Though it needs tweaks..."
"Of course! Hit me!"
"...Scale back production first. Factory site's oversized. Shrink to reasonable size, unit costs plummet—"
"B-but they said outsell Black Group..."
"Still, scaling down makes sense—"
Personally, I figure this artificial boom's ending soon. Build as planned, and inventory piles up in losses. Other firms jumping in? Flood the market, hype dies instantly.
...Or so I predicted.
Days later, System Industry's bold 'The NaturalRUN Seasoning' series tanked for an unimaginable reason.
"No way... How'd the boonies pump out that much?!"
Remote island dimension self-expanded factories, dumped double the volume.
Result: 97% market share for their artificials. Insane.
Boom fizzled from oversupply, sure—but it became System Industry's bestseller anyway.
Mass-produced fans for that fake taste.
"Life's unpredictable..."
Home at last, I sigh over leftover spinach namul. Still simple, still delicious. Tension melts away.
When the head's a mess, nothing beats basic spinach namul. Yeah.