Chapter 28
Chapter 28
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 28
Chapter Title: The Last Day
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Before we knew it, the final day of our Japan trip had arrived. We'd minimized filming to focus on dating and having fun, but it still felt bittersweet.
Trips like this don't come around often, and since it wasn't completely detached from work, we couldn't say we'd fully relaxed.
So I resolved to make the most of today and play as hard as possible.
"All packed? Nothing left behind?"
"Charger, laptop, hot pack—all good."
We loaded our overstuffed suitcases into the car and headed to a park near Osaka.
Lots of festivals pop up around year-end. The one we were hitting was called Osaka: Collect 17 Stamps!
True to its name, there were 17 food stalls scattered around the park. You eat your way through them, collecting stamps to win prizes.
The promo site showed okonomiyaki, takoyaki, kushikatsu, dote-yaki, and more being whipped up, so we'd skipped breakfast to dive in.
"Where to first?"
"Hmm. Let's start light. Udon sound good?"
"Walking around in the cold? Yeah, udon hits the spot."
As we chatted, we arrived at the park. Festival mascot images and event banners were everywhere, with upbeat tunes playing softly to set the mood.
There were more people than expected.
Elderly folks reading on benches, kids playing tag with their parents, couples strolling hand in hand. My eyes lingered especially on the kids at play.
"What're you doing?"
"Just... it's so peaceful."
I chuckled and pointed to the udon stall ahead. Booth 13, with a sign for katsuobushi udon and a line already forming.
We joined the queue and soon got our katsuobushi udon.
"They serve it in cups like this, huh?"
"If they gave a full bowl, you'd be too stuffed to continue."
"Not too hot? Use the cup holder."
"Thanks."
The food came in big cups. I fitted the holder Sister gave me on mine and looked for a bench nearby. No luck, so we ended up eating standing up.
Slurp.
"Mm. Not bad."
"Pretty tasty for a jumbo portion."
You could tell effort went into it. The broth had a deep umami kick. The noodles were a bit overcooked, but nothing we couldn't overlook.
For dessert, we hit booth 3 for takoyaki—round balls piled high with katsuobushi and teriyaki sauce. Still scorching, we blew on them and shared bites.
Once we were decently full, we eyed other options.
There was plenty beyond the food stalls.
Carnival games like you'd see at an amusement park, cotton candy vendors, balloon artists twisting shapes. What caught us was the BB gun shooting gallery.
"Huh?"
"What?"
Arm in arm with Sister, her gaze suddenly flicked to one booth.
-Come on, show off your shooting skills!
"Doesn't that look like you?"
"Me? That thing?"
It was a plain chef doll wearing a toque, holding a frying pan and knife. Aside from the chef getup, zero resemblance.
"Hmm. Hold on. I'll win it for you."
"Looks tough."
"I was a marksman in the army."
Not bravado—I really was good with a rifle back then. Problem is, that was decades ago.
"One clip, please."
"Cute couple, huh? Coming right up."
I gripped the gun, shouldered it. Target was fist-sized, decent distance away, but folks said it wasn't too hard.
A kid next to me had just nailed one that size for a prize.
"You got this!"
Sister cheered from the side. Fueling up on that, I squeezed the trigger.
Ting!
"Uh..."
The BB hit way off target. Not even close.
rusty aim—no zeroing it in after so long.
"Got the feel now."
Adjusted and fired again, confident.
Ting.
Incredibly, it veered the opposite way. Five rounds left. I aimed carefully, but not one hit.
"Hahaha! Looks like shooting's not your thing, sir. You'd be too perfect if you nailed it looking that good."
The vendor handed over a tiny Osaka keychain as a participation gift.
"Thanks. Have a good one."
"No way."
"C'mon. Guess the gun's off."
Sister stifled laughs, trying to console me. If you're consoling, at least hide the grin.
"Don't laugh."
"Not laughing? Pfft."
"...Ugh. I swear I was good back in the day."
The absurdity hit me too, and I cracked up. We giggled our way to the next booth.
"How many stamps we got?"
"Hang on."
Sister pulled a paper from her bag. Thanks to our morning hustle, we'd filled 14 out of 17.
"Three to go."
"Let's knock 'em out and head to the airport. Getting chilly."
No matter how tight we held hands, mid-November meant winter. Temps would drop more at night, so we beelined for the remaining stalls.
Booth 5: Dote-yaki.
Dote-yaki is beef tendon—suji—stewed in a miso-based broth.
Hours of simmering make the suji melt-in-your-mouth tender, contrasting the chewy konnyaku. The miso base amps the umami, with sweet and salty notes in perfect harmony—a popular rice side.
Its bold flavor made us save it for last.
"No line here?"
"Weird."
Even with quick turnover, crowds meant long waits everywhere—five minutes short, ten long.
But booth 5 was empty.
"Hey, 'sorry' only goes so far! What now?"
"We're sorry! So sorry!"
It was chaos inside. We grabbed a nearby staffer.
"Here for dote-yaki."
"Ah, sorry. Staff burned a batch by mistake. Evening service starts in an hour."
Stews like this can scorch if the heat's too high or unstirred.
"Guess we can't help it. Take care."
"Wait! Since it's our error and we can't serve, we're stamping anyway."
They ducked inside, emerged with the stamp. Red ink weakly marked booth 5.
I'd been looking forward to dote-yaki. Bummer.
"Too bad. Was curious."
"We can look it up simple later."
Stamp secured, and it's common in Japan anyway—no big loss. We turned to go.
That's when—
"Huff... huff... Wait! You're Kim Haneul, right?"
A guy dashed up, grabbing me. His uniform marked him as booth 5 staff.
"Who're you?"
"I'm a subscriber. Tried your convenience store recipes—hooked me, so I subbed."
A Japanese fan, no less. He panted, catching his breath.
"Sorry, I'm in a rush. Could you help us out?"
"You said it burned. Isn't it trashed?"
"Stuck to the bottom, yeah, but the broth itself isn't too bitter."
Burnt bottoms taint stews overall via the broth. If it's mild, they caught it early. Lucky.
What to do?
I could salvage it. But did I have to? Fan or not, we're on vacation—no need to cook.
I started to decline when a lightbulb went off.
"Mind filming?"
"Filming? Oh, for YouTube. Sure. If you can save it, film and interview away."
"Lead on, then."
I followed. Sister said no need to force a video, but we could check—if the burnt taste was bad, bail.
Going home now meant uploads for days. Filming here bought a week's breather.
Plus, this was prime content.
'Am I a full YouTuber now?'
Spotting video potential now triggers 'Should I film?' vibes. Two months, and my mindset flipped. Kinda funny.
"Here."
He showed a huge pot. Pale brown broth with suji and konnyaku floating. Visually, no burn signs.
-Who's this guy?
-Famous cooking YouTuber. Seems skilled—maybe he can fix it.
-Fix this? Broth already tastes burnt?
Ignoring the whispers, I ladled broth to a plate.
Slurp.
Salt and sweet enveloped the tongue. Nutty suji depth spread, ending in faint burnt aftertaste. Not overpowering, but lingering—unsellable.
"How is it?"
"This much... yeah, salvageable."
If it hits upfront, too late.
Just a whisper at the end? Opportunity.
"First, skim top broth without stirring the bottom. Just the clean stuff."
"Got it!"
He scooped diligently into another pot. The main one showed charred remnants clinging. A bit later, and the whole broth would've been ruined.
"Now what? Still tastes burnt."
"We'll mask it. Grab apple juice and a stick of butter from a nearby shop."
"On it!"
Bitter notes have counters. Dote-yaki's sweet-salty core? Sweet it is.
Sugar risks clashing. Fruit juice's fructose and subtle acid blanket better.
Bubble bubble.
Poured in measured apple juice.
Good there. But not done.
Salvage dulled the signature flavor. Time to revive it.
"How much butter...?"
Nibbled a corner first.
Brands vary in flavor and richness—taste-test for amount.
This one's bold and fatty. Too much, and it'd overpower. Minimal it is.
"This'll do."
Balanced for dote-yaki sauce and butter synergy—just enough.
Butter melted slowly in.
"Try it now."
"Okay."
He sampled cautiously, eyes widening in shock.
"Wait, how?! Burnt taste's basically gone!"
"Best I can do. Perfect fix needs more ingredients—wouldn't be dote-yaki anymore."
"Senior!"
He bolted to another staffer prepping fresh. Explained, earning a sigh as the senior approached.
"You saved it? Nonsense. Thank him quick and send him off. Help with the next batch."
"It is saved! Just try."
Senior relented, skeptical bite turning to awe. Frown to swallows, then admission.
"How'd you save it? It's not just saved—it's gourmet now. Too good for a side dish. Hey, what'd you do?"
"Apple juice and a bit of butter."
"Apple juice and butter? That turns dote-yaki into this?"
Greed lit his eyes. I warned against casual use, but he wasn't listening.
"Wait! Haneul! Can't let you go empty-handed—want any merch?"
The fan grabbed my arm.
Merch meant festival Osaka goodies.
Neither of us obsessed over that. Stamps were just for fun.
Started to pass, then morning flashed back.
"Then... could you snag that chef doll from the air rifle booth? The little one that looks like a chef."