Chapter 2
Chapter 2
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: penny
Chapter: 2
Chapter Title: Grocery Shopping
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Taean's Muhwa Camping Ground had always been a place Sister wanted to visit. It had a nearby stream and spotless facilities. Perfectly, a spot had opened up two days from now, so I booked it for then.
"Anything you want to eat?"
Camping was half about the food, after all.
Playing in the stream was fun, stargazing at night was great, but nothing beat grilling meat under a lantern in the dark.
Sister pondered for a moment.
"I want too much... What do I do?"
"I'll make it all for you."
"Hmm... Then..."
Sister started jotting down her cravings in her phone's notes app: pork belly slices, chicken skewers, egg-stuffed potatoes. Just three items total. She looked like she wanted to add more but glanced at me and put her phone down.
"You can write more."
"Even this is a lot of work."
"Then I'll add them."
I jotted down the songs she'd been humming lately.
Kimchi stew. Cream pasta. Scallop cheese grill.
With every word, her eyes darted side to side. She swallowed hard without realizing it.
"Did you read my mind or something?"
"Something like that."
"Scallop cheese grill works on the fire pit, but kimchi stew and cream pasta might be a hassle, right?"
"There's a communal kitchen anyway. They provide pots and pans, so it shouldn't be too bad."
Not bad at all. Compared to cooking for a country's president, the difficulty was less than a hundredth. I'd just been too lazy before.
"Let's go shopping then."
"Hold on. Let's list everything we need first."
Sister added the essentials to her notes. Unlike me, she hated waste or impulse buys. We'd both grown up poor, so even abroad studying, we'd scrimped every penny—keeping ledgers, trekking to far markets for food.
"Corn, pineapple, sweet potatoes for grilling?"
"Sweet potatoes sound good."
We had camping gear at her place. Just needed ingredients and snacks for the trip.
It'd been ages since our last trip. I'd spent two straight years in the army; she'd been buried in her grad thesis.
Sister had been buzzing since the trip was set.
I handed her white cardigan to her as she focused on her notes.
"It's chilly out. Put this on."
"Ooh, getting sweet lately? Army turned you around—now you get how precious this sister is?"
"Yeah."
I nodded without thinking.
Too straightforward, maybe. Her playful face flushed red. She opened her mouth like she had something to say, but just cleared her throat.
"Ahem. Ahem. Got the car keys? Let's go."
"Want me to carry your bag? Sweetly?"
"Quit messing around and hurry up."
It'd been forever since I'd seen flustered Sister. Tease more and she'd pout, so I stopped.
The weekend mart buzzed.
From beanie-clad solo dwellers to young couples, elders, kids eyeing sample stations. We wove through, shopping.
"Green onions at home?"
"Nope. Grab some."
We ticked off the list. Sister checked expiration dates, compared prices—online-ordered the cheap stuff.
Then we paused at the fish section.
No fish on today's list.
"Craving fish?"
"It's gizzard shad season. Missed it last year—gotta have it now."
"Nah, you hate fish. Let's go."
"Wait."
She hesitated, then picked a pack of six fall gizzard shad for grilling. Pricey little devils.
"You don't eat it, so one pack's plenty for me, right?"
Her decisive buy tugged at my heart.
We were broke back then.
Orphaned young, her mom passed four years ago. Basically, early-twenties duo tossed into the world penniless.
Only after I became head chef at the restaurant did we get financial freedom.
Before that, Sister managed the home. Held back wants, pinched pennies. Some of those savings went to my knives.
"You can't stand the fishy smell, right?"
"Yeah. Even fresh-grilled, there's this earthy aftertaste."
I vowed silently.
Five of those six shad for her.
Recipes flashed, grilling sims ran. I'd grilled enough fish to fill an aquarium.
Cart full, heading to checkout—crowd jammed one spot.
"Some event? Check it out?"
"Curious. Yeah."
We pushed through.
Meat section center: pop-up booth banner screamed, "Oga-eul Master's Special Braised Short Ribs: Guess the Ingredients!"
Emcee hyped via mic.
"Once more, folks! This special braised short ribs I'm simmering? Exclusive discount from our mart. Collab with the Oga-eul Master himself!"
He held a fancy box: Hanwoo special seasoned short ribs.
"Besides what's visible below, twenty more ingredients inside. Taste and name all twenty—win a 200,000-won Hanwoo flower short ribs set!"
He flashed premium flower ribs packaging.
"Flower ribs. Wow, that marbling..."
Sister's eyes sparkled; she gulped. Obvious craving face.
Come to think, it'd been ages since beef.
"Got 5,000 won cash?"
"Gonna try?"
"Yeah. Watch 5,000 turn into 200k beef magic."
I took cash from her, stepped up.
"Next, sir! Soy, sugar, beef! Basics, of course! But 'special' secret ingredients ain't just that! Sorry! Next. Handsome guy, you in?"
"Yes."
Handed over 5,000.
Emcee stuffed the bill in the cashbox, ladled broth, meat, bits into a paper cup.
Damn good aroma.
I inspected the meat bits.
No perfect pitch here. But decades of chef instinct from practice.
First: sight.
Tilted cup—sauce thickness, oil separation, meat color depth. Veggies: carrot, chestnut, ginkgo, shiitake. Obvious stuff.
Second: smell.
Nose in, deep inhale. Eyes shut. Amid soy richness, sweet—faint fruit tang, herbal whisper.
Taste.
Toothpick-speared chunk in mouth.
No chew—rolled slow on tongue. Tender melt. Layered sweet. Umami linger post-salt.
All senses: deconstructed, rebuilt recipe in seconds.
Silence. Emcee bored, opening mouth—I murmured low.
"Main: Hanwoo ribs, obviously. Veggies: radish, carrot, chestnut, ginkgo, dried shiitake, jujube. Plus green onion, onion."
"Yes, yes—most get that far."
Emcee smirking still. Visual basics.
Now the real.
"Seasoning base: brewed soy, dark brown sugar—not light white sweet. Mirin for umami. Garlic, ginger, pepper basics."
Focused tongue.
"Sweet's complex—no solo sugar. Ground pear for tenderizing, faint sour says plum syrup dash. Onions whole, fished out later—not fried. Juice plus boil-infused subtle sweet."
Crowd hushed. Emcee's smile gone.
"Off-flavor kill: one bay leaf. Depth: shiitake soak water as broth—not plain."
Last smack, confident.
"And... trickiest two. First: coffee powder. Tiny bit—deepens color, bitters balance sweet. Second..."
Stared emcee down. He paled.
"Cinnamon. Stick chunk. Cuts grease, adds luxe aroma. Faint on tongue still."
Dead silence.
Emcee gawked at list, double-checked, scribbled verification.
Finally, hands up.
"Last ingredient too. Congrats!"
Box plastic card: ingredients poured—matched mine.
Murmurs erupted.
"Whoa, all that?"
"Cinnamon even—but coffee? No scent."
"Who is he? One bite, twenty ingredients?"
"Fun fact: he jumped in first—no hearing priors."
Familiar. Once flew to Korea with three Michelin stars—airport gasps galore.
Ignored crowd, triumphant-general style, handed Sister the Hanwoo set.
"How's my magic?"
"The best."
She hugged tight, eyes shining. This warmth topped any chef praise, media hype.
"Cute young couple."
"I'd hug too for Hanwoo."
"Honeymoon glow."
Onlookers whistled. Sister tried pulling back—but I held firm.
Army-honed twenty-something strength. Slim girl couldn't budge.
"N-Now let go."
"Nope."
Released only when her face beet-red.
Got a solid back smack reward. Badge of honor.
Meanwhile, that time.
"That's it for today's stream."
The live streamer called end.
Early cutoff—chat exploded.
-Why end so soon?
-Bouncing! Early off—what's up!
-Special today?
Once calmed:
"Remember that outdoor stream? Tomorrow."
-Ah, camping one?
-Which site?
"Tell ya tomorrow on-site."
Chat surged.
-Then what? No games.
"Booze cam, karaoke, cooking, whatever. Plenty. Look forward."
Final wave, off. 3,000 viewers scattered.