Chapter 118: Hunger Trip (3)
Chapter 118: Hunger Trip (3)
………Even if it is only a restriction for the first day.
Jo Minjoon stared at the wooden sticks in front of him with a frustrated expression. Had the production team studied Korean variety shows? He had no idea. In the first place, he did not even know how American variety programmes normally worked.
Emily narrowed her eyes. “Wait. What are the highest and lowest amounts?”
“The highest is 300 reais, and the lowest is 50 reais. You won’t have any trouble getting meals either way. It’ll only be difficult to eat anything expensive or particularly plentiful.”
At least the highest amount was generous.
Jo Minjoon did not hesitate. He pulled out a stick, looked at it, and sighed.
Martin’s face lit up with anticipation. “How much?”
“I’m screwed.”
Jo Minjoon showed him the stick.
The cheerful smile on Martin’s face vanished the instant he saw it. His mouth twisted as though Jo Minjoon’s sigh had been nothing but an act.
“It’s 300 reais.”
“……Let’s move on. Emily, pick one!”
“Wait.”
Emily pointed towards the stick in Martin’s hand.
“Why aren’t you putting that one back?”
“It’s already been drawn.”
“So that means I can only get something below 300 reais?”
“Yes.”
“Martin! Even for a variety programme, this is too much. People feel worst when they can’t eat what they want…… Are you seriously planning to make me miserable?” Emily complained with a sulky expression.
Martin smiled gently and admonished her as though speaking to a child. “Emily. Like I said before, 50 reais is still quite a lot of money. It’s almost thirty dollars. If you eat ordinary food, you’ll have enough for two meals. And things are fairly cheap in Brazil.”
“Even so, drawing lots like this is cruel. I’m not even asking for 300 reais. One hundred…… No, 200. Just give me 200 reais.”
“Emily. You know food tastes best when you’re hungry.”
“……Fine. I’ll draw one.”
Emily reached towards the wooden sticks with the expression of someone surrendering to fate.
Her trembling hand made it obvious just how nervous she was.
She hesitated over several sticks before finally choosing one.
The moment she pulled it out, her voice sounded close to tears. “I knew this would happen.”
The stick had 50 written on it.
Sand slipped into their shoes with every step.
Jo Minjoon and Emily were in São Paulo, walking along a beach whose name he did not know.
It was July, which meant winter in Brazil. Yet rather than cold, the weather felt fresh and mild.
Even so, quite a few people were sunbathing on the beach. Others jogged along the pavement beside the sand, while children shrieked and toppled over whenever the waves crashed around their feet.
The blue sea seemed to cool his head as though ice had burst in front of his eyes, and the rows of round parasols made him feel as though he had stepped into a film.
Emily, however, did not seem able to appreciate any of it.
Then again, how would someone who normally kept thousands of dollars in the boot of her car feel after being handed only 50 reais? Her fingers kept moving anxiously towards her wallet, only to stop each time, leaving nothing but frustration behind.
“How much did he say 50 reais was again?”
“About thirty dollars?”
“That’s practically a tip.”
“……You give very large tips.”
Once again, Jo Minjoon was reminded that he and the woman beside him lived in very different worlds.
Emily looked startled and quickly shook her head. “Ah, don’t misunderstand. I’m not particularly extravagant. I just tend to spend a lot when I eat. Maybe because food makes me feel better?”
“But now you can’t even do that.”
“Ugh…… I should’ve chosen a documentary instead of a variety programme.”
“Still, haven’t you eaten plenty of cheap food too? You’re an food critic. You’re supposed to try all sorts of things.”
“It’s embarrassing to admit, but food critics also tend to eat only what they enjoy.” Emily laughed awkwardly.
And so, Jo Minjoon and the suffering heiress ended up at a churrasco restaurant by the beach, built from dark brown timber.
Sitting beneath a parasol on a white wooden chair, Jo Minjoon looked around with a refreshed expression.
White grains of sand glittered beneath the sunlight.
He had seen scenery like this plenty of times on television, but rarely with his own eyes. More than anything, he wondered what it would feel like to eat a meal in a place like this.
“I’ve always wanted to eat somewhere like this.”
“Then eat as much as you want. Not that I’m the one paying.” Emily joked lightly, but her expression darkened the moment she looked at the menu. She muttered under her breath. “Maybe it’s because we’re on the beach, but this place is expensive. Unlimited servings like a buffet cost 110 reais…… I can’t even dream of that. Individual carvings are five to ten reais each…… At most, I could probably eat five servings.”
“Isn’t five enough?”
“Minjoon, you’ve never eaten churrasco in Brazil, have you? This is a tourist area. Places like this can be ruthless. Some of them slice the meat so thinly it looks like industrial artwork.”
“Come on, surely they don’t slice it as thin as paper. There are cameras here too, so if anything they’ll probably give us decent portions. And even if they do slice it thin……” He smiled leisurely. “I can eat six times more than you, so it won’t really be a problem for me.”
“Hmph. Now that I’m not a judge anymore, you’re treating me like this?”
“That sounds a bit strange. Even when you were a judge, I never particularly worried about how I treated you.”
“That’s true. I raised a tiger. Ah, whatever. Here, look at the menu.”
Jo Minjoon took the menu from her.
It listed rump cap, beef tongue, chicken hearts, lamb leg, and various other cuts.
The pricing was simple.
If he had to describe it in Korean terms, churrasco was available either as unlimited refills for 110 reais or paid for each time a serving was carved onto the plate.
Then there was the tip on top of that.
It was rather expensive.
Jo Minjoon looked at Emily with concern.
“Emily. What if we go somewhere else? We don’t have to eat churrasco today.”
“……You’re the first man who’s ever treated me like this.”
“What did I do?”
“A man telling me we should go somewhere else because I don’t have enough money! How could this happen? I never imagined a day like this would come in the life of Emily Potter……… Ah, please cut that line. You know I was joking, right?”
Martin only laughed instead of answering.
Emily grabbed the front of her T-shirt and fanned herself with it.
Jo Minjoon glanced towards Martin.
“Martin, maybe……”
“No.”
“You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”
“You were going to ask if the two of you could share a budget because you’d pay for her. I’m not allowing that from the start.”
“It’s fine, Minjoon. I’ll give up on the churrasco and order something else. I saw curry and beef stroganoff on the menu too.”
“……Are you really okay with that?”
“What else can I do? Reality is cruel.” Emily gave the smile of a tragic heroine and began studying the menu.
In the end, she ordered a 20-real feijoada.
(Translator’s Note: Feijoada— A bean-and-meat stew strongly associated with Brazil, commonly prepared with black beans and pork or beef. A popular story attributes its creation to enslaved Africans cooking discarded cuts of meat, but historians dispute this simplified origin; recognisably Brazilian feijoada is documented in nineteenth-century sources and likely developed from several Portuguese, African, and Brazilian culinary traditions.)
It was a dish of black beans and chunks of meat, some resembling pieces of osso buco.
Jo Minjoon could not help being surprised when he looked at it.
For something that seemed like ordinary local food, its score was unusually high.
Cooking score: 8.
“……Emily, is this place famous?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t been here often either. You saw earlier—I just walked wherever my feet took me.”
“But it smells incredible.”
“Let’s see if the taste is as good…… Mm.” She took a bite. Her expression changed. “It is. No, it’s more than good. It’s excellent. Well, feijoada is often like that. If you put enough effort into it, it’s easy to develop a deep flavour. But that effort is the difficult part. Do you know how long it takes to make proper feijoada?”
“How long? I don’t even know what kind of dish it is.”
“Four days. Four. One day to soak the beans, another to prepare and cook the meat. Then if you simmer everything again with onions, beans, garlic, and the rest for another couple of days…… Here, look.”
Emily lifted a piece of meat with her spoon.
Among the round black beans, the meat sat on top like a crown. Even at a glance, it looked tender from long cooking, and the sauce had penetrated deeply into it. It seemed as though the flavour of the meat and the beans would be almost impossible to separate.
Emily put the piece into her mouth.
The earthy flavour of the beans met the strong richness of pork across her tongue. The meat practically melted. Could it even be called melting if it had already broken down so completely and was merely holding its shape? Even so, the characteristic fibres of the meat brushed briefly against her tongue.
A faint expression of happiness appeared on Emily’s face. “Ah, I wasn’t expecting much because this is a churrasco place, but this is really good. You can tell the chef cooks properly.”
“……Is it really that delicious?”
“At least when it comes to food, I never lie. And……” She stopped speaking.
Beside Jo Minjoon stood a heavily built man holding an enormous skewer and a carving knife. Several curved slabs of meat were threaded onto the skewer.
Picanha.
(Translator’s Note: Picanha —The Brazilian name for the rump cap of beef, recognisable by its thick outer fat layer. It is one of the most characteristic and highly prized cuts used in Brazilian churrasco.)
It was one of the most popular cuts used for churrasco in Brazil, taken from the rump cap of the cow.
The carver spoke in accented English. “Shall I slice some for you?”
“Ah, yes.”
The man smoothly carved off a piece of meat. Most people probably would not have found the motion particularly impressive.
Jo Minjoon did.
Cutting meat to an even thickness without damaging the direction of the muscle fibres was not something an ordinary person could do so effortlessly.
……Cooking score: 7.
For meat that had simply been roasted to receive a score of 7, it had to be very well cooked.
And, naturally, very well carved.
As he bit into the slice, the dense aroma of charcoal blended with the salt, bringing out both savoury and faintly sweet flavours. The metallic richness of beef combined with the fire without becoming unpleasant or gamey. When he ate it with a sauce made from onions, garlic, chilli sauce, and other ingredients, there was no heaviness at all.
Jo Minjoon looked at Emily. “See? It isn’t as thin as paper.”
“………Who knows? Maybe it’s because of the cameras. Or maybe this really is a generous place. But what does it matter either way? I still can’t eat it.” She spooned feijoada onto a piece of bread. “Still, this being delicious makes me feel a little better.”
Jo Minjoon smiled and touched the small disc beside his plate. One side was painted green and the other red. Its meaning was simple. Green meant, Keep serving me. Red meant, I’m finished.
Naturally, he was nowhere near ready to show the red side.
Personally, the thing Jo Minjoon enjoyed most was the chicken heart. Its cooking score was only 6, but there was something uniquely satisfying about the springy chew of fresh heart meat and the way it pressed against his lips.
Strangely enough, his next favourite was the sausage. Its cooking score was 7, although of course a high score was not the only reason it tasted good.
His old impression of handmade sausages as coarse, dense things changed instantly. The crisp casing shattered almost like a sugar shell, and the moment his teeth sank through it, juices flooded from the soft meat inside. When the smoky charcoal aroma blended with the saltiness, what he felt was not heaviness but something bright and exhilarating.
Was this what it meant to be overwhelmed by flavour?
Jo Minjoon smiled happily. “This place is going to do well.”
“Is it that good?”
“Yes. Really.”
“Lucky you.” Emily bit the edge of her spoon.
Just then, the carver approached again.
He sliced a piece of sirloin coated in garlic sauce onto Jo Minjoon’s plate, then turned towards Emily and asked whether she wanted some as well.
Emily nodded instinctively, then quickly shook her head.
“I-I want some, but I didn’t order the buffet.”
“On the house. You’re pretty.”
At the word pretty, Emily smiled reflexively before glancing towards Martin.
Martin nodded with an expression that clearly said, I’ll allow this one.
Emily turned back towards the carver as though she had just found a piece of gold. “Give me some!”
The carver laughed and cut her a generously thick slice.
It was thick enough to make someone wonder whether the centre could possibly be cooked through, but perhaps professionals were professionals.
Even the newly exposed interior was cooked perfectly.
Martin watched the scene with a faint smile.
When someone who had been unable to eat properly finally got something good, viewers would feel satisfaction almost as though they were eating it themselves.
She’d really explode if she found out we originally planned to make the minimum ten reais instead of fifty.
Still, Emily had a relatively mild temperament.
When the other participants arrived and he played the same trick on them, how would they react……?
It’s about time the tongue of English literature showed itself.
A passing carver caught sight of Martin licking his lips and gave him a strange look before walking away.