Chapter 70
Chapter 70
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 70
Chapter Title: First Day on Raid the Fridge
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How did things end up like this? To figure that out, we'd have to rewind the clock a bit.
It was the long-awaited first shooting day for *Raid the Fridge*.
"Hello~."
I gave a quick bow as I stepped into the waiting room, which was already buzzing with people who'd arrived early. Everyone was busy getting their hair and makeup done here and there.
"Ah, you're Song Woo-yeon, the contestant, right?"
A nearby staff member asked for my name. I nodded, and after whispering with someone else, they quickly guided me to a spot.
"Have a seat here. Everyone's working right now, so just wait a moment and you'll get hair and makeup."
"Okay."
"Since you're a regular person, we won't do much, but basic makeup is still necessary. If you go on camera like you normally look, your features come out flat. So think of it as making your on-screen appearance match your real self."
The staffer rattled it off like a machine gun. It was so fast it almost sounded like rap.
Probably to preempt any complaints like, "I'm not a celebrity or a chef—why do I need makeup?"
Not that I was a chef anyway, or had any aversion to this stuff. No big deal.
What was awkward, though, was that my seat was right by the makeup station, forcing me to watch the other contestants getting their hair and makeup done up close.
My eyes kept meeting theirs in the mirrors...
[The stares are intense.]
It was a competition show, after all. The chefs were sizing each other up, and they seemed a bit surprised by the fresh-faced kid who just showed up.
I glanced around and spotted seven people who looked like chefs.
Five men, two women.
About half were middle-aged veterans, and the other half were relatively young—for chefs, anyway. Even the youngest were probably in their early forties.
[The industry's so small. Everyone knows everyone with one degree of separation.]
The other chefs probably all knew each other at least by sight.
Fine dining, high-end luxury restaurants. Those had their own appeal, sure, but I had zero interest.
That's why I was a businessman, not a chef.
I focused more on the "customers" eating the food than the "food" itself.
"Hello~."
Then someone approached me first. I turned to see a curly-haired middle-aged man smiling warmly.
"Nice to meet you. I'm Bong Kang-min."
"Nice to meet you too."
I bowed, and he naturally took the seat next to me. Hairpins were stuck all over his head to hold his style, but he came right over without a care.
"You're a contestant on *Raid the Fridge*, right?"
"Yes, that's me."
"Wow, we'll be seeing a lot of each other. I run a little Korean fusion restaurant."
His business card had a pretty impressive resume.
Talk about a sudden intro. His intentions were obvious.
[He's beating around the bush instead of just asking, "Who are you?"]
I could feel the stares pouring in. Well, it was going to come out eventually. I pulled a card from my jacket pocket.
"I'm Song Woo-yeon."
"Oh?"
Bong Kang-min peered at the card and widened his eyes.
"I'm not really a chef—more of a businessman. Closer to a restaurant management specialist."
"Ah~! So it is you. The guy who invented snowflake shaved ice?"
A bright voice chimed in from the side.
"! I've seen it all over SNS. The waitlist is insane, so I haven't made it there yet."
A woman who looked fairly young gazed at me with friendly eyes. Surprising. A few others had looked skeptical after hearing me out.
Guess the snowflake shaved ice gave me a good image.
"Come by next time and let them know. I'll make sure they hook you up with some service."
"Really?! That'd be amazing!"
She laughed like a schoolgirl, her eyes crinkling with fine lines but still radiating that innocent vibe.
"I'm Son Jin-ah. Call me Chef Son. Oh, wait—our last names are similar, so that'll be confusing. Jin-ah's fine too."
"Just call me Woo-yeon. I'm not worthy of the chef title—I've got too many shortcomings."
"Aw, come on~. On TV, they just call anyone who cooks a chef, no big deal."
I knew I wasn't a "chef" in the formal sense.
But how could I call myself one in front of people who'd poured their lives into earning that title?
"The world's gone soft. Now selling gukbap or street food makes you a chef."
Not everyone saw it that way, though.
A snide voice pierced my ear. It dripped with resentment.
I turned to see a guy with stylishly styled hair. He was on the younger side here, with heavy double eyelids, prominent cheekbones, and thick brows that stood out.
Not ugly at all, really.
He looked like a model, with strong charisma etched into his features. A sharpness radiated from his face.
His name tag read: "Chef Ahn Derek (Chinese Cuisine)."
"Chef Ahn, why say that...?"
Son Jin-ah tried to intervene, but Ahn Derek doubled down.
"Did I say anything wrong?"
I could feel her fidgeting and glancing at me nervously. But contrary to her worry, his words didn't hurt me at all.
If anything, I agreed completely.
"Exactly. I begged PD Kim to drop the 'chef' label, but he wouldn't listen."
"Hmm."
"I know I'm not up to being called a chef. So please, no need to call me Chef Song—or any of you have to. Same goes for everyone else."
I scanned the room, and the people who'd been pretending not to listen suddenly coughed awkwardly.
They avoided my eyes like it was the end of the world.
Ahn Derek was the only one holding my gaze steadily.
"Just think of me as a fellow in the food industry—a colleague at most."
He gave me a reluctant look before finally speaking again.
"That's why I never wanted to do TV."
"Chef Ahn!"
"What does coming on a show like this get you? You just turn yourself into a zoo monkey. Chef Jeong twisted my arm into this... Tsk."
Yeah, now I got why PD Kim had whined so much about booking contestants.
[I figured it'd be easy.]
I'd seen countless chefs like him—arrogant types.
They didn't consider the general "public" as customers at all. They worked in high-end spots where the prices were too steep for everyday folks.
[They see catering to food critics as far more valuable.]
The subtle flavor differences only ultra-refined palates could detect. These people devoted decades, even lifetimes, to creating them.
Maybe critics who appreciated those nuances were their ideal guests.
Even so, before my regression, they'd all lined up for my help.
[Restaurants don't thrive on taste alone.]
No helping it. The ones boosting restaurant sales weren't critics—they were the masses.
Even for high-end spots, or one-table restaurants. Same deal.
Casual visitors dropping by once in a blue moon for a special occasion outnumbered critics by miles.
[If great taste alone made you rich, why did Owner Lee In-cheol's gukbap joint go under?]
Cooking and business were separate beasts.
These chefs only realized it after capitalism crushed them.
"Sorry about that. Chef Ahn's always a bit prickly."
Son Jin-ah whispered to me.
"No worries. It doesn't faze me."
I'd half-expected this when I signed on.
The industry was so closed-off and hierarchical—they hated outsiders like me crashing the party.
"I'll learn a ton from all you chefs. Please go easy on me."
I flashed a big smile and bowed to the others.
They returned awkward nods, but I could see their egos puffing up a bit.
[Yeah, we're not on your level.]
Not wrong. Normally, we couldn't be equals. The sheer time they'd invested was worlds apart.
"But, you know, just in case—hypothetically speaking."
I kept smiling brightly as I continued.
"Since this is a showdown format, someone might end up facing me..."
No need to get heated. From experience, getting into their inner circle was simple.
"No one's gonna cry foul if they lose to me, right? Haha, no way~."
A few gave me odd looks, sensing the chill in my words.
Most of the chefs, though, smirked arrogantly, like, [Of course not! As if we'd lose to you?]
"Of course, that'd never happen."
I'd prove my skills.
Once I made them eat their words, they'd accept me.
And they were overlooking one key thing.
No food critics on this show, obviously. The win or loss came down to the guest whose fridge we raided.
Against "regular folks" like that,
I knew I could outdo any chef.