Chapter 165: The Friendly Judge (1)
Chapter 165: The Friendly Judge (1)
[So, in this container we have emulsifiers and nitrous oxide. If you put strawberry juice into the container like this, see what happens? You get strawberry foam.]
(Translator’s Note: Nitrous oxide (N₂O) — A colourless gas discovered by English chemist Joseph Priestley in 1772. In modern cookery, food-grade nitrous oxide is commonly used in pressurised cream whippers and siphons to aerate cream, sauces, and culinary foams. It became especially visible in modernist restaurant cooking because it allows light foams and espumas to be produced quickly.)
“…Hmm. If you put foam sauce on top of a dish, wouldn’t the flavour become too dispersed and harder to taste?”
Jo Minjoon, who had been watching a video on his smartphone for quite some time, asked with a puzzled expression. It was a popular programme about molecular gastronomy. He agreed that most dishes made using molecular gastronomy were innovative and offered stylish eating experiences and interesting flavours, but he was not entirely convinced about foam sauces.
Food critics might be able to detect the subtle flavour they contributed, but he doubted ordinary customers would notice much. Jo Minjoon turned towards Anderson.
“Are you interested in molecular gastronomy?”
“Why are you suddenly asking about that?”
“Because I don’t know much about it. That makes me curious, but at the same time, I’m reluctant to learn it.”
“It’s not like we’ll be using it anytime soon. Molecular gastronomy only really became popular in restaurants after Teacher Rachel retired.”
Strictly speaking, even something like candyfloss could be considered a form of molecular gastronomy, but as Anderson had said, restaurants had only begun seriously incorporating molecular gastronomy after Rachel retired.
Jo Minjoon shrugged.
“You never know. She might have spent the last ten years researching it.”
“Do you really think she needed to? She became one of the best chefs in the world using traditional cooking alone.”
Jo Minjoon merely shrugged again. Anderson changed the subject.
“How do you think the audition will go?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you think a lot of people will show up? Applicants, I mean.”
“I’m not sure. At the very least, I think there’ll be more than the number of people who were camping outside the restaurant.”
The thought gave him a strange feeling. Only a few months ago, he had been the one standing in front of judges, having his skills and potential evaluated. Now he was going to be the judge deciding someone else’s future.
“Does this mean we’ve succeeded, in a way?”
“Success is when your name is in the Michelin Guide and you own a house in Beverly Hills or Hollywood. All we’ve done is barely earn the title of demi-chef.”
“But at least we’ve taken off the training wheels.”
“That much is true.”
For the first time in a while, Anderson smiled.
At that moment, Rachel appeared at the kitchen doorway, gestured for them to come, and disappeared again. Jo Minjoon and Anderson exchanged glances before following her into the dining room.
Rachel was not alone. Isaac, Lisa, and Ella were there as well.
“The auditions begin tomorrow. Isaac, could you explain the details to them?”
“Of course. There are forty-nine applicants in total. Fifteen applied for prep cook positions, twenty-seven applied for demi-chef positions, and the remaining seven applied as apprentices. Separately, nine applicants applied for the baking division, and we will select two of them to assist Lisa. For the kitchen, we’ll choose two demi-chefs, four prep cooks, and one apprentice.”
“…Teacher, may I ask something?”
“Of course.”
“How should we set the evaluation criteria?”
Rachel answered calmly.
“However you want.”
“…Is it really all right for us to decide however we want?”
The day of the audition had arrived.
Jo Minjoon muttered as he looked through the window at the line of applicants gathered outside the restaurant. Even from a distance, he could clearly see the anxiety and anticipation written across their faces.
He would be deciding their futures, yet Rachel had simply told him to judge however he pleased.
Anderson, however, did not appear burdened in the slightest. Wearing his usual cool, slightly cold expression, he looked out at the applicants.
“Our standards won’t be much different from those of other chefs. There’s no reason to be this tense. You look more nervous now than you did during Grand Chef.”
“…Maybe. But the situation is different. Back then, my decisions only affected my own life. Now they can affect someone else’s.”
“Don’t hesitate. If they can’t impress us, then that’s simply as far as they go. Whether it’s talent or effort, if they have even one of those, they should be able to catch our attention.”
Instead of answering, Jo Minjoon continued looking outside.
He could see family members and friends standing nearby, encouraging the applicants.
But most of the people waiting outside would have to drink the bitter wine of rejection today.
And Jo Minjoon would have to be one of the people handing them the cup.
Anderson quietly watched him from the side.
Jo Minjoon was surprisingly difficult to read. At first glance, his gentle smile made him appear innocent and open, but the longer someone spent with him, the more they realised that he did not easily let others into his own heart. He could step into other people’s hearts without hesitation, yet seemed strangely reluctant to allow them into his.
There had even been a time when Anderson had wondered whether Jo Minjoon truly considered him a friend.
He no longer worried about something so stupid.
By now, Anderson understood what kind of person Jo Minjoon was.
He had a deep heart and showed plenty of affection, but when necessary, he could become stricter than almost anyone.
That was exactly what was happening now.
The gentle light in Jo Minjoon’s eyes gradually faded. A moment later, not a trace of softness remained in his expression.
He had already sorted out his emotions.
Anderson spoke in a slightly unnerved voice.
“…You’re scary.”
“Why am I scary?”
“Nothing. Forget it.”
Anderson turned away, clearly unwilling to explain.
Jo Minjoon looked in the mirror and adjusted the scarf around his chef’s coat.
A white coat with a black scarf.
The sous-chefs would wear yellow scarves, the prep cooks grey, and the apprentice white. Rachel’s scarf was red.
The relationship between scarf colour and rank differed from restaurant to restaurant. Some restaurants had the head chef wear black, while others used the chef’s hat rather than a scarf to indicate position.
Black looks pretty good.
He had no complaints.
Seeing Jo Minjoon smiling at himself in the mirror, Anderson spoke incredulously.
“A moment ago, you were agonising over having to crush someone’s dream, and now you’re smiling.”
“It’s not like I can cry. Besides, as sad as I am about it, I’m also excited.”
“Excited about what?”
Jo Minjoon smiled.
“I need to let my tongue loose every now and then too.”
“Release your tongue later and come to the kitchen first. We need to do a final inspection.”
Lisa interrupted them with a sleeping Ella on her back.
Jo Minjoon followed her into the kitchen with an awkward expression.
The inspection itself was simple. First, check the frying pans, burners, and knives. Then check the freshness of the ingredients. Finally, make sure the floor was not slippery.
That was all.
“No problems here. What about the ovens?”
“Everything’s fine here too. Oh, could you hold Ella for a moment?”
“Ah, yes.”
Lisa turned her back towards him.
Jo Minjoon carefully lifted Ella off her. Even asleep, her instincts seemed to recognise warmth, because she immediately settled against him and wrapped her arms around his neck.
Lisa rolled her shoulders before taking Ella back and laying her on the sofa in the office.
Feeling strangely disappointed when the warmth left his arms, Jo Minjoon spoke.
“At least Ella’s a good girl. It must be boring coming to the restaurant like this, but she never complains.”
“How could she be bored when the Mr. Fairy of her dreams is right in front of her? Of course, I’m not saying our Ella isn’t a good girl. She is. She’s a wonderful daughter too.”
“…I think you’re a good mum too, Lisa.”
Jo Minjoon said it while watching Lisa smile down at Ella.
But his words made sorrow pass across Lisa’s face.
“A good mum wouldn’t make her daughter grow up without a father.”
“…I know someone who grew up in circumstances similar to Ella’s. She also grew up without a father, living alone with her mother. And she says without the slightest hesitation that her mother was a good mum. I’m sure Ella will feel the same about you.”
Lisa silently looked at Jo Minjoon.
She was about to answer when Isaac’s voice came from outside.
“The head chef has asked everyone to gather in the dining room.”
“I suppose we’re about to start.”
When they entered the dining room, Rachel was already waiting for them, neatly dressed in her chef’s coat.
She smiled gently.
“You all look as though you’re preparing to go to war. There’s no need for that. Relax. You have no reason to be nervous.”
As Rachel spoke, Jo Minjoon glanced at his watch.
9:55.
Five minutes remained.
Rachel continued.
“Today is an important day for the applicants, but it’s also an important day for us. This is the first official business conducted by Rose Island’s flagship restaurant since its return. I’m glad all of you are here with me for it. All right, Isaac.”
“Yes, Chef.”
“Let’s begin.”
Isaac nodded firmly and opened the doors.
A mixture of voices and footsteps could be heard from outside, and soon the applicants entered the dining room wearing tense expressions.
Jo Minjoon quietly looked them over.
Cooking Level 5. Four. Four. Five… Two? What are they planning to do with that level of skill?
Cooking level represented their overall skill.
There were exceptions, of course. Yamamoto, whom they had met in Japan, had only been cooking level seven like Jo Minjoon, yet could produce flavours with far greater depth because he had devoted himself almost entirely to one speciality.
But that kind of exception only existed when someone had focused obsessively on a single field.
With cooking levels this low, it was difficult to expect such specialisation.
Jo Minjoon’s brow furrowed instinctively.
He assumed the applicants with the lowest levels were probably applying as apprentices, but even then, he could hardly believe people who appeared to have barely cooked before were trying to enter a professional kitchen.
Cooking was not something that could only be learned in an expensive restaurant.
If someone spent even a little time practising at home, their cooking level would rise.
But to be below level five—below even level four—suggested they had hardly put in any effort at all.
It was only natural that Jo Minjoon’s expression grew colder.
Cooking was something precious enough to him that he was willing to devote his entire life to it. Seeing people here who had apparently never shown even the slightest sincerity towards cooking irritated him.
More than that, it felt disrespectful to the other applicants who had genuinely worked to be here.
Still, whatever he felt inside, his expression remained professionally composed as he welcomed them.
Near the back stood a white man with curly black hair. He leaned towards the woman beside him and whispered in a thick Spanish accent.
“Eh, Jo was always smiling on television, so I thought he’d seem gentler in person. Guess not. He looks incredibly cold. Television and reality really are different.”
The woman beside him had long black hair woven into braids. She glanced sideways with such a sharp, focused gaze that the man briefly felt a chill.
Yet when she spoke, her voice was unexpectedly calm and beautiful.
“Maybe he’s deliberately trying to pressure us.”
“Well, it’s working. I’m Javier Diego, by the way.”
“Janet Pei.”
Janet answered simply.
Javier smiled.
“Nice to meet you. I hope we both get selected. Ah, I’m applying for demi-chef. What about you?”
Janet never got the chance to answer.
Rachel’s voice echoed throughout the dining room.
“First, I want to thank all of you for coming today. The fact that you want to become part of my family tells me that you have placed a great deal of trust in me. Unfortunately, I cannot accept all of you. We will select one apprentice, two demi-chefs, four prep cooks, and two bakers. That is all. Of the fifty-eight applicants, forty-eight will—”
Jo Minjoon quickly whispered,
“Forty-nine.”
Rachel paused.
“…Cough. Forty-nine will have to leave empty-handed. The rules are simple. We’ll begin with the apprentice applicants. Their test has already been prepared in the kitchen. Everyone else, please remain in the dining room. You’re free to watch what happens in the kitchen. It is an open kitchen, after all. All right. Let’s begin.”
Rachel turned around.
Anderson raised his voice.
“Apprentice applicants, please come into the kitchen.”
Seven people responded and followed them inside.
The equipment waiting for them was simple.
A chopping board.
Garlic.
A knife.
Rachel spoke calmly.
“The first test is straightforward. Slice the garlic to be used in aglio e olio. Minjoon, please demonstrate.”
“Of course.”
Jo Minjoon picked up the kitchen knife.
With each movement of his hand, the garlic rapidly became thin, even slices. He did not appear particularly focused, yet every stroke produced pieces so consistent that it was difficult to see any difference in thickness.
Jo Minjoon picked up one slice and held it out.
“The slices should be neither thicker nor thinner than this. All right. Begin.”
The moment he finished speaking, the apprentice applicants began their battle with the garlic.
A few displayed reasonably competent knife skills.
Most did not.
That was understandable. Among the apprentice applicants, only one had a cooking level above four.
There was hardly any need to discuss those with cooking level two.
Jo Minjoon silently walked over and stopped in front of one young man.
Was he mixed-race?
The young man had dark, ashen-toned skin and was struggling to slice the garlic as thinly as possible.
Garlic was not easy to slice.
Green onions would have been another matter, but garlic cloves were small and difficult to stabilise against a chopping board. If someone gripped the knife too tightly and could not feel the movement of the blade, making consistently thin slices became difficult.
Still, it was hardly an advanced technique.
Anyone genuinely interested in cooking could learn to slice garlic at this level with ordinary practice.
This young man clearly had not.
Putting aside the inconsistent thickness of the slices, the way he gripped the knife as though it were a metal rod revealed how little experience he had.
Jo Minjoon sighed and glanced behind him.
Rachel, Anderson, and Lisa were all watching the young man with grim expressions.
…I suppose I have to pull the trigger.
The decision came quickly.
“Mr. Ben?”
“Yes!”
“Do you like cooking?”
“Yes. Yes, I do.”
“You’re lying.”
“…What?”
Ben stared at him in confusion.
Jo Minjoon took the knife from his hand and deliberately copied the way Ben had been holding it.
“Does this look like the grip of someone who likes cooking? Do you normally cook at all?”
“…I don’t get many opportunities to cook. But I do want to.”
“There are plenty of people in the world who want to do things. What matters is whether they actually spend time and effort on what they want, whether they show any passion for it. Looking at you right now, Mr. Ben, it feels as though you came here without taking this seriously.”
“That’s why I applied as an apprentice. I came here so I could put in the effort you’re talking about. Isn’t an apprentice supposed to be here to learn?”
Perhaps he had taken offence at being told he was not serious, because Ben’s voice had become challenging and hostile.
Jo Minjoon sighed and shook his head.
“Effort isn’t something that suddenly appears depending on where you stand. If you were truly sincere about cooking, you would have tried cooking by yourself before ever coming here. How does it make sense to say you want to become a chef when you’ve barely cooked?”
“I didn’t have time…”
“That is the phrase I hate most.”
Jo Minjoon’s voice remained calm, but its edge sharpened.
“No matter how busy you are, you still have to eat at home. One meal, two meals—at some point, you eat. You also sleep. There is almost no one in the world so busy that they cannot touch a knife even once. If necessary, you could sleep one minute less and use that minute to practise. Of course, I would understand if you were so busy that you literally couldn’t spare even one minute from sleep every night. Were you that busy?”
Ben could not answer.
There was no way he had been.
Jo Minjoon picked up the garlic Ben had sliced.
“You said an apprentice is here to learn. But don’t you need to know the alphabet before you can learn English? Among everyone here, Mr. Ben, I think you’re the only person who hasn’t even learned the alphabet.”
Whispers spread through the kitchen.
Jo Minjoon’s tone was polite and measured, but the content was merciless.
Ben bit his lip and lowered his head.
Jo Minjoon looked at him sharply.
“It’s difficult for me to believe that the passion you never showed in your own kitchen will suddenly appear simply because you’re standing in a restaurant kitchen. There are too many fundamental things missing for us to work together.”
Ben’s hands were completely dry, without even the slightest sign of sweat, almost as though mocking the effort of the other apprentice applicants.
Jo Minjoon looked towards Rachel.
She nodded.
The decision had been made.
“Thank you for your time. Please leave.”