Emperor Meat

Pig's head.

Definitely not your everyday ingredient.

It's not like they never use it overseas either.

But they don't eat it as routinely as we do back home. Let alone go to the trouble of subdividing every last cut.

"I get it now."

"Get what?"

"I was wondering how this murderous inflation—where beef and pork fetch dozens of dollars a kilo—could even hold, but it turns out these waste meats have been keeping prices in check, haven't they?"

"……."

Of course not. At best you grind it into terrine or boil it down for stock.

Nobody carefully slices it for barbecue like this.

The visuals alone were repulsive. Eating it took real courage. Yet in Korea you couldn't get enough of the stuff—back in the old days, that is. Having the most meat-cut names in the world isn't purely something to brag about.

"That perspective isn't entirely wrong."

"I'd still been puzzling over Korea's CPI numbers, and this finally clears it up……."

"Just shut up for a second."

In any other country they'd simply hack the carcass apart and eat whatever came. The sheer number of classifications only appeared because people tried so hard not to throw anything away.

And that thrift has produced its own cuisine.

Gastronomy doesn't always bloom from wealth. As the saying goes, hunger itself gives birth to fine food. Fondue was invented to melt frozen bread in the dead of winter. Jjamppong started as the slop Chinese students called "pig-swill stew." Pho was born from the bones French colonials threw away.

"Don't call it waste."

"My apologies—I didn't mean to slight Korea."

"One bite and you'll change your mind."

"You want me to…… eat this?"

Even the scraps from a pig's head can become excellent cuisine. I fed them to the capitalist sow who was recoiling in disgust.

Sizzle sizzle~!

Head hangjeong. The portion of hangjeong that runs from neck to shoulder, only closer to the skull.

Just a trimming error from the butchering process.

You can't carve a pig's head with surgical precision, so a little hangjeong always stays attached. That's why it's called head hangjeong—and why it tastes almost identical to hangjeong itself, the single most expensive cut on the animal.

"It's just…… ordinarily delicious."

"Right?"

"Crunchy yet juicy. The dense fat lets it go down without any resistance—I could eat this forever."

"You've got a lot of opinions."

Sizzle sizzle~!

Jowl. The meat clinging to the jaw and temple—rich in juices and springy.

"There's no fat, yet it isn't dry at all. Is this a high-gelatin cut?"

"Just shut up and eat."

She ate whatever I put in front of her. Next up was tip meat.

Hiss……!

Think belly plus gopchang. Plenty of oil, and a chewy, elastic bite.

"This one's got great chew. A little too oily to eat a lot of, though."

"You've already put away plenty."

There were more cuts besides. None of them lost to the usual grilled-pork roster.

The novelty factor is huge too.

No wonder Rachel wouldn't stop talking. Overseas these parts don't even have names. No one ever thinks of grilling them—not when shoulder, loin, and tenderloin are rotting on the shelf.

"Hmm! Hmm! This barbecue is actually worth eating."

"Enjoyed your waste-meat tasting, did you?"

"I also understand what you're after."

Meat is expensive in Korea. The whole practice was born from the desperate research into how to eat cheap, delicious pork.

Looked at that way, Rachel's point isn't entirely baseless.

Dietary variety does dampen inflation. Still, the burden is real. As CEO Baek Hwa-seon said, the entire restaurant industry is in emergency mode right now.

"So you've discovered meat that's cheap relative to how good it tastes?"

"Sigh."

"?"

"I guess a princess's thinking only ever reaches that far."

Prices need to rise. Yet the economy is so sour that customers refuse to open their wallets.

You could always tighten the belt the way the izakayas do.

Survive first, scheme later. I won't deny that works—but.

"That's the kind of thinking people do while staring at financial statements in their rooms."

"Are you finished talking?!"

"I'll show you the world doesn't run on numbers alone."

The restaurant business only needs customers to keep buying.

A samgyeopsal joint in Dongdaemun-gu.

The parking lot was packed solid. Guests waited two full hours for a table.

Every review from people walking out was pure praise. It made you walk inside full of expectation. Tables were packed. Faces while eating ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠looked genuinely happy.

A simple question. Even a famous samgyeopsal place shouldn't draw this kind of reaction if it were just ordinary belly.

Instead of answering, the middle-aged man simply pointed at the menu. The answer was written right there.

The meat was called Emperor Meat! Suddenly the "emperor treatment" made perfect sense.

Sizzle sizzle~!

It was cooking on the grill. The marbling was so generous it barely looked like pork; saliva flooded the mouth. The generous side dishes were another reason people paid restaurant prices for meat they could cook at home.

Every customer in the place flashed simultaneous thumbs-up. The video ended on that warm note.

"So you're showing me a scam?"

"Scam? Don't make it sound so disgusting."

"But why is this……."

If you knew the truth, the whole thing felt absurd. No—downright ridiculous.

Emperor Meat, my ass.

It was head hangjeong. The exact cut Rachel had just eaten. The restaurant simply sold it under the name Emperor Meat.

Every other cut got the same treatment. Rename it, slap on a fancy description, and suddenly it looks rare and precious.

Of course you only get a few dozen grams—it comes from the head.

In reality none of it is rare. Price-wise it costs less than half of belly.

"It isn't a scam."

"I already said it isn't."

"It's false disclosure."

"……."

Rachel—rigid, elite-track Rachel—could only see it that way. With ordinary cuts it would be illegal. Selling unskinned belly as "five-layer pork," for instance. Origin, expiration, and cut name are all mandatory labels. Pig's head, however, falls outside those rules.

"It's selling your conscience, not outright fraud."

"You can say that with a straight face?"

"Who cares?"

"As a business model, though, it's solid."

Head hangjeong → Emperor Meat

Tip meat → Springy Meat

Sirloin tip → Crocodile Meat

Change the names and the law has nothing to say.

So you package them as rare cuts and sell them expensive.

Rachel had already figured out the game. In the tightly regulated United States this would be unthinkable.

"Wow, this is amazing!"

"This is the original place that was on TV, right?"

"Ajumma, two more servings of Emperor Meat~!"

And it worked. Paid TV spots delivered excellent advertising ROI.

This game is pure brand recognition.

Hang a sign and no one believes you. Put it on television and people swallow it without a second thought. Human psychology. Pour the high margins into more ads and the virtuous cycle spins.

"You know how to think of interesting things."

"Is that a compliment?"

"It's only a hair's breadth from crime, though."

"Ahem!"

The customers were happy too. In the middle of an economic freeze they got to dine like emperors for the price of a normal meal out.

They put real care into the side dishes, after all.

Satisfaction soared. Same price as belly, yet more variety and better flavor. Seller and buyer both win. The methods may be ruthless, but there is still a line they refuse to cross.

"I think I understand what kind of person you are."

"Already?"

"Hmph. That wasn't a compliment."

In the end it all comes back as profit for me. Everything is just the process of building trust.

I could always cash out and vanish later.

Until then, though. In this industry, credit is treated as the same thing as money.

"Thanks for showing me this kind of world exists."

"Is eating waste meat that fascinating?"

"I don't think of it that way anymore."

What I actually do for a living. After tagging along these past few days, Rachel had grown genuinely interested. The suspicion and revulsion in her eyes had softened a little. She looked almost as round and approachable as the day we first met.

Hiss……!

The consulting was finished. Reports would keep coming, but no meaningful counterattack would arrive.

They didn't look particularly competent.

Don-yuk-ga. All they knew how to do was match prices. Whether head office was lazy or simply incompetent, they posed zero threat.

Rachel and I finished the meat and headed back. It would have been a crime to skip the free meal that came with the consulting excuse.

"I enjoyed it."

"See? Tastes good, right?"

"The taste is one thing…… but I feel like I learned something new about Korea."

Just a meal. Slightly unusual ingredients, nothing special to a Korean. To a foreigner it can be different. Nothing reveals a country faster than its eating habits.

Of course.

The best form of field research. Our styles differ, but we look in the same direction. Everything is economics. Simply understanding Korea better already counts as profit in her ledger.

"Thanks for the meal today. Next time it's my treat."

"Is that enough?"

"Of course it's enough—why would you even……."

"We still have to have dessert."

"???"

I also taught her a thing or two about Korean men.