Chapter 142
Chapter 142
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 142
Chapter Title: The Pre-Made Doenjang Stew
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"This doenjang stew is pre-packaged, right?"
At my words, Ahn Dong-woo hung his head low and fell silent. A moment later, after gathering his thoughts, he slowly lifted his head again.
"...Yes, you're right. You nailed it."
There was even a hint of bitterness in Ahn Dong-woo's tone as he spoke.
"How did you know?"
"It has that distinct off-the-shelf taste. There's no way it can match something you make fresh in-house."
The advantage of pre-packaged stuff is convenience, not flavor. Sure, they've gotten tastier these days, but I guarantee nothing comes close to what we just had.
Its flavor ceiling is obvious, and since it has to be stored for long periods, the ingredients have clear limitations.
"You need to change this. If you're going to use pre-packaged, just don't sell it. It doesn't taste good."
Better not to sell it at all. No point in getting branded as a place with bad food.
Even the main dish, spicy braised chicken, divides opinions, and if the doenjang stew is like this? No wonder customers are drifting away.
"Since when has it been like this? From the start? Your parents too?"
"Well..."
Ahn Dong-woo squeezed his eyes shut.
"The truth is, I never got the full recipe handed down."
"Pardon?"
"Only for the spicy braised chicken... I got that recipe. The doenjang stew one—they never got around to teaching me. I tried making it myself, but it just never tasted right."
"Hold on. What do you mean? You only got the recipe for the spicy braised chicken?"
"Yes. That's right."
Why on earth?
The question flashed through my mind but faded quickly.
Recipes for a shop are inherently sensitive business. That's why they say even daughters-in-law don't know the trade secrets.
Especially for old establishments. But in Ahn Dong-woo's case, he'd learned the core recipe for the spicy braised chicken—there was no reason not to share the doenjang stew one.
In other words... it wasn't that they deliberately withheld it.
"She collapsed suddenly."
Ahn Dong-woo spoke in a slightly choked voice.
"It was a cerebral infarction. It happened so abruptly, we weren't prepared at all. After Mom collapsed, Dad developed some kind of mental issue and broke down too. ...They're both in the hospital now."
"I see."
As expected. It wasn't that they didn't share it—they couldn't.
Ahn Dong-woo wiped the tears streaking his cheeks with the back of his hand.
"Mom always handled all the cooking. I found the spicy braised chicken recipe in her notebook. I'd helped out at the shop before, so I could recreate the taste just from that. But the doenjang stew... it wasn't written down."
"She probably didn't feel the need to write it. She could make it blindfolded."
"Yeah, I think so. It was basically just the doenjang stew we had at home, but seasoned a bit stronger."
It must have been delicious back then. A shame that unique flavor is gone forever.
"I even quit my regular job to take over the family business. Thinking of it as the last legacy of what my parents built over a lifetime..."
I could roughly guess his situation.
"With both of them collapsing one after the other, there was no one to run the place, so I jumped in hastily. Not an excuse, but that left no time for menu development. We just grabbed pre-made stew, and it's stuck that way till now. I'm sorry."
Ahn Dong-woo's eyes reddened as he bowed his head deeply.
"No need to apologize to me. Hmm, I get the gist of your circumstances."
Selling pre-packaged isn't right, but I can see why it's pitiful.
His whole world flipped overnight. Even if he'd helped a few times, cooking was always Mom's domain. Mastering just the spicy braised chicken recipe must have been overwhelming.
After that, he'd been busy agonizing over dropping sales, tinkering here and there.
I could understand how the stew menu naturally got sidelined.
"If the doenjang stew is like this, I can guess about the kimchi jjigae. That's pre-packaged too, right?"
"Y-Yes..."
"For today, don't sell either of them. Say you've run out of ingredients. You can't charge money for this."
"Got it."
Ahn Dong-woo flushed with embarrassment and nodded.
"If you're determined, Owner, I can pass on a tasty recipe for doenjang or kimchi jjigae. It'll be way more stimulating than what you sold before."
Hey, my nickname isn't Song Chef for nothing. Make stews right, and they're total rice thieves.
"Th-Thank you! If you share the recipe, I'll learn it diligently!"
Good attitude. Or there was another option. Stews are nice, but aren't they ultimately for solo diners?
"With so many people eating alone these days, adding a single-serve spicy braised chicken to the menu wouldn't hurt."
"You think so?"
"Sure, margins would be slimmer. Selling more volume is always better for profit. But what can you do? You build regulars one or two at a time."
"Yep. Understood...!"
Ahn Dong-woo nodded, agreeing with me. Nice to talk to someone who gets it—feels so much more at ease.
As I watched him warmly, Ahn Dong-woo hesitantly spoke up.
"But... honestly, hardly anyone orders the stews. Most come for the spicy braised chicken. Only the occasional drinkers get them as anju, so... could the stews really be dragging down sales...?"
Good. A beginner question. I turned it back on him.
"What do you think the problem is?"
"I have no idea."
Ahn Dong-woo immediately made a woeful face and continued.
"The place has been around a while—is that it? But with my parents' hospital bills, I can't afford remodeling right now. Should I take out another loan and redo it?"
He'd been bothered by the worn interior too. It was originally floor-seating, so that says it all.
Sure, the outdated decor isn't entirely blameless...
"That's not the issue."
"Oh, it's not?"
"For old places with loyal regulars like this, the retro vibe can actually be the selling point. Famous spots always have that rough, unpolished signboard charm."
So the shabby interior isn't a big deal.
"The real problem is out there."
I pointed toward the door at the back. One wall of the shop was nearly all glass, wide open.
For narrow spaces, it gives a sense of openness and clears the view to reduce stuffiness. But it makes it hot in summer and cold in winter.
Here, though... it wasn't even doing that job properly.
"What are those planters?"
The glass that should be transparent was blocked by pairs of planters, casting big shadows. It dulled the appeal of the expansive windows.
"Ah, those are Mom's hobby. She'd grow the plants there and water them."
A kind of legacy, huh. Even so, this is non-negotiable.
"Bring them all inside or take them home."
"...Is that really important?"
"Extremely."
Ahn Dong-woo looked troubled at my words.
"Customers by the window kept complaining they felt like monkeys in a zoo, making eye contact with passersby. So I put them out there on purpose for privacy. Can't we just leave them?"
"That's why shops usually put logos or stickers on windows. For diners' comfort. But those planters are overkill."
I pointed at the window.
"It's not that the view from inside is blocked. The problem is people outside can't see in."
"Really?"
"They need to know what you're selling to get interested. That's free advertising without saying a word."
"!"
Ahn Dong-woo's eyes widened in realization.
"Passersby salivate seeing the spicy braised chicken bubbling inside. That's how you hook them to come in. Why else plant yourself in a high-foot-traffic spot."
"Y-Yeah, you're right."
"Mom might've been fine with her regular power, but you can't rely on that, Owner. Her customers were hers. Now you need to find your own new base."
"You're spot on. I guess I've been clinging too hard to the regulars..."
Ahn Dong-woo smiled wryly.
"With so few inside, I started feeling self-conscious too. Like passersby were watching me loaf around. That's probably why I kept adding planters and blocking the view."
He nodded to himself as he said it.
"I'll fix it right away."
He looked ready to rush out and clear them now. But there was something else first.
"That's a problem, but the main dish here is this spicy braised chicken, right?"
"Yes. It is."
Let's tackle this first. I decided to methodically ask about the points I'd noted.
"What size wok do you use for the chicken?"
"11-liter."
As expected. Right on target.
"...Does the recipe say how to portion the chicken?"
"Ah, no. It doesn't. I just eyeball it based on what I'd seen before."
"You should cut it finer. Or put up a sign saying to eat it with the broth."
What a waste of that broth. Perfectly thick and spicy, whetting the appetite. But it doesn't mesh with the chicken—such a shame.
"The seasoning doesn't penetrate to the inner meat, so it's bland there. If you tell them to eat it with the broth, they'll do it."
"Got it!"
And one more thing.
"Don't you parboil the chicken?"
"W-We do!"
"You do?"
That's weird. Then why the off-flavor still? It usually goes away after one blanch.
As I tilted my head, Ahn Dong-woo added,
"These have all been blanched once before cooking."
"Really? Hmm... Hard to spot the issue just looking. Shall we head to the kitchen?"
Seeing the process firsthand should give me a feel.
"Sure. Come on in."
Ahn Dong-woo, as if expecting this, looked a bit tense as he led the way.
"This is the kitchen."
Past one door, it was a whole different world.
'The kitchen's pretty spacious.'
About 6:4 ratio of dining area to kitchen. Not a bad setup.
I inspected every corner carefully. They'd probably deep-cleaned knowing I was coming, but overall, even hard-to-reach spots were clean.
"Mind showing me how you cook?"
"Ah, sure. First, I'll demo parboiling the chicken. When an order comes in, I portion out one serving and blanch it like this..."
As Ahn Dong-woo explained, I couldn't hold back and interrupted.
"Hold on. ...Is this really how you cook? For real?"
At my question, Ahn Dong-woo tilted his head, wondering what the issue was.
"My god."
This was it.
The off-flavor in the chicken—it was because of this!