Chapter 32: A Well-Made Dish and Good Food (3)
Chapter 32: A Well-Made Dish and Good Food (3)
Jo Minjoon could not fall asleep. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, only to open them again. When he checked his phone, it was already midnight. He buried his face in the pillow for a while before finally getting up. Lying there any longer felt like a waste of time.
The reason he could not sleep was simple: the low score. More precisely, it was not really the score itself that bothered him, but the limits of cooking. Chloe’s potato soup had been complete as it was. If she added anything more to it, it would become a different dish entirely. But did that mean the potato soup would forever remain a mediocre 6-point dish?
“…Stats window.”
[Jo Minjoon]
Cooking Level: 6
Baking Level: 4
Tasting Level: 7
Decoration Level: 5
Jo Minjoon stared at his stats window. Aside from his Decoration Level having risen by one when he teamed up with Kaya, nothing had changed.
“Level 7… When will I reach it?” he muttered, then suddenly froze. Since when had he started caring this much about his level? At some point, it felt as though the dishes he made were no longer for the sake of cooking, but for the sake of raising his Cooking Level.
But he could hardly help it. He was different from Chloe or Kaya. He could not simply ignore the scores that appeared before his eyes.
Even so, that potato soup…
He recalled the flavour. It had been thick and comforting. The potatoes had been cooked properly, without even a trace of their unpleasant raw smell, and there had been the aroma of buttercup greens as well. It had not been spectacular, but it had been delicious. It had been enjoyable.
And Kaya, whose Tasting Level had reached the maximum of 10, had not found anything wrong with it. Was that because the potato soup had already reached the best version of itself? Or was it simply because potato soup, in itself, was good food?
The cooking score was perfectly suited to the system. It took into account how much creativity had gone into the dish, how steadily the techniques had been executed, how harmoniously the ingredients worked together, and so on. A dish with a high cooking score was certainly a good dish. But did that mean a dish with a low cooking score was bad?
Jo Minjoon could not stop thinking about it. He sighed as his head began to ache. The way he dealt with stress was simple: he ate.
He opened the door and stepped into the pitch-dark hallway. Using the flashlight on his phone to guide him, he walked towards the pantry and kitchen. When he reached the kitchen, however, he found an unexpected guest there.
It was Anderson. He appeared to be making stock, with onions, pumpkin, and various other ingredients simmering in boiling water. When he noticed Jo Minjoon, he looked over.
Jo Minjoon raised a hand without much expression. “Hi.”
“…What are you doing here?”
“What do you mean? I came to cook.”
Jo Minjoon answered as though Anderson had asked something obvious. Anderson did not particularly like Jo Minjoon, and the feeling was mutual. Jo Minjoon still remembered what Anderson had said after the first broadcast, when Jo Minjoon had predicted that Kaya would win. Anderson had spoken indirectly, but his meaning had been obvious enough: if Jo Minjoon wanted to talk like that, he should first have the skills to back it up.
Of course, Jo Minjoon had understood the implication. He was not the sort of person who liked someone who openly disliked him.
Their conversation ended there. Jo Minjoon entered the pantry and began searching for ingredients. Rather than saying he wanted to practise cooking, what he really needed was something to fill his stomach. He wanted to make kimchi jjigae with pork neck, but there was no kimchi in the pantry.
Should I ask them to get some later?
The thought occurred to him, but it seemed pointless. Kimchi might be one of Korea’s representative foods, but internationally, its appeal was more limited. More precisely, it only worked half the time. The lingering fermented and fishy aroma made it a difficult ingredient to use in a competition like this.
Even if he asked for kimchi, he would probably end up using it only to make the food he personally wanted to eat. Asking the production staff to procure it solely for his own meals would be a nuisance.
Since kimchi jjigae was impossible, the next thing that came to mind was doenjang jjigae. The pantry contained condiments from all over the world, so naturally, there was doenjang as well. It was commercially produced, of course, but the flavour was not bad. In fact, Jo Minjoon preferred commercial doenjang. Compared with homemade varieties, its colour was lighter and its flavour milder.
(Translator’s Note: Doenjang jjigae —A Korean stew based on doenjang, fermented soybean paste, usually cooked with vegetables, tofu, and sometimes meat or seafood. Fermented soybean pastes have been part of Korean cuisine for many centuries, with historical references to soybean fermentation appearing as early as Korea’s ancient and medieval periods.)
There was only one disadvantage to making doenjang jjigae with commercial doenjang: the longer it boiled, the more flavour it lost. But that was hardly something he needed to worry about when he intended to eat it immediately.
Jo Minjoon began preparing the anchovies. Calling it preparation was perhaps an exaggeration. All he had to do was remove the heads and innards. Whether or not that step was done made a considerable difference to the bitterness and off-flavours of the stock, and Jo Minjoon was not the type to be careless with food he intended to eat himself.
Once the anchovies were prepared, the rest was simple. He added the anchovies and kelp to water and brought it to a boil to make stock. Some people browned meat first and used that as the base, but Jo Minjoon disliked the combination of meat and doenjang jjigae. He did not like the oil from the meat muddying the flavour of the doenjang. His personal philosophy was that doenjang jjigae should taste clean and refreshing.
He diced radish, onions, potatoes, pumpkin, mushrooms, and tofu. Anderson glanced at him and asked, “What are you making?”
“Doenjang jjigae. Do you know it?”
“No. Looking at the ingredients, it resembles Japanese miso soup. Is it good?”
(Translator’s Note: Miso —A Japanese fermented seasoning made chiefly from soybeans, salt, and kōji, often using rice or barley. Fermented soybean preparations reached Japan from continental Asia in ancient times, with related foods documented by the Nara period (710–794). Miso later became a fundamental seasoning in Japanese cuisine.)
“I don’t know. I don’t think it’ll suit your tastes.”
Jo Minjoon answered somewhat curtly. Koreans themselves often failed to notice it, but foreigners tended to find the flavour of fermented soybean paste quite strong. That was true even of the sweeter and milder Japanese miso. So would Anderson enjoy Korean doenjang jjigae? Jo Minjoon had his doubts.
Anderson did not continue the conversation. Jo Minjoon removed the anchovies and kelp from the stock, then dissolved doenjang and chilli powder into it. Once the broth had developed enough flavour, he added the chopped vegetables. After boiling them for a while, he finished the stew with tofu and sliced green chilli.
The doenjang jjigae was complete. Its score was 6 points, but Jo Minjoon did not care. He had never made it hoping for a high score in the first place. Besides, it was difficult to achieve a high cooking score when making doenjang jjigae with commercial paste. If anything, 6 points was already good enough.
He had just placed a packet of instant rice into the microwave when Anderson approached him.
“Let’s share.”
“…What?”
“You shared that catfish dish with Kaya. Why? You don’t want to share with me?”
“It’s not that I don’t want to… You don’t exactly like me.” Jo Minjoon did not bother beating around the bush.
Anderson shrugged. “It’s true that I don’t like you. But that doesn’t mean I have to dislike your food. That doenjang jjigae or whatever—it’s my first time seeing it. And when I see something for the first time, I need to taste it to satisfy my curiosity.”
“…If you put it that way, fine. Bring yours too.”
At those words, Anderson laughed. “Mine’s going to taste better. Aren’t you worried you’ll get discouraged?”
“You won’t know until we try.” Jo Minjoon snorted as he answered.
In truth, he had every right to be confident. Anderson’s dish, tomato chicken stew, was only worth 6 points as well.
Jo Minjoon and Anderson sat opposite each other at the table. The first thing Jo Minjoon ate was his doenjang jjigae. It had been a while since he last tasted it, and the flavour was exceptional. The chilli powder and green chilli gave it a pleasant heat, while the anchovy stock left a clean, refreshing sensation as it passed down his throat.
Eating the tofu, pumpkin, and broth together with rice was perfect. Truthfully, compared with this, Chloe’s and Kaya’s dishes did not even enter his mind.
Then Jo Minjoon tried the tomato chicken stew. The aroma of butter permeated the broth, along with the sweetness of the tomatoes. The key to a tomato chicken stew was bringing out that sweetness, and this one had done so remarkably well.
Even so, to Jo Minjoon, it could not compare with the doenjang jjigae he had just eaten. Anderson seemed to feel something similar in reverse.
After tasting the doenjang jjigae, he frowned “It doesn’t taste fresh.”
“That’s just the kind of dish it is.”
“It’d be difficult to use something like this in a mission.”
“…About that.” Jo Minjoon opened his mouth.
Anderson flinched slightly when he saw how serious Jo Minjoon suddenly looked.
“The dishes served at top restaurants—the ones made with the best techniques and ingredients—and ordinary home cooking. Do you think you can properly evaluate both? No, let me ask more directly. Which one has more value, and which one has less?”
“What are you talking about all of a sudden?”
“I was just thinking. Most of the food people normally eat isn’t made using professional techniques or with careful consideration for the harmony of every ingredient. But does that mean it has no value? I’m curious.”
Anderson did not answer immediately. He simply stared at Jo Minjoon.
Jo Minjoon took another spoonful of doenjang jjigae and looked down at it before speaking quietly. “My head’s suddenly a mess. If a well-made dish is good food… No, that’s not exactly it. More precisely, food made without outstanding technique can still be good food. That’s what’s confusing me.”
Anderson fell silent and thought. It did not appear to be an easy question for him either. However, when he finally spoke, his answer was surprisingly thoughtful.
“If it tastes good to the person eating it, then isn’t it good food?”
“…Huh?”
“Take a hot dog from a street stall. If the person eating it says it’s delicious, then it’s good food. Of course, I understand that what you’re asking is a little different. You’re not talking about the idea of good food, but about quality. Still, I think that’s the foundation. Look at this.” Anderson gestured towards the table in front of them. Tomato chicken stew and doenjang jjigae. A simple meal. “We’re capable of making dishes far more luxurious and elaborate than these. But right now, we’re eating simple food like this. And it wouldn’t be any different for a gourmet. Someone who spends dinner examining whether a steak was seared perfectly at a top restaurant could still go home, eat frozen pizza, and think it tastes good.”
“…But you couldn’t serve that frozen pizza on a restaurant plate.”
“Of course not.”
“This afternoon, I had Chloe’s potato soup. It was delicious. But I thought it was the kind of dish that couldn’t be served in a top-class restaurant because it lacked splendour. It felt more suited to something you’d cook and eat with your family. It was a good dish. But even so, it couldn’t be served in a top restaurant. …Isn’t that strange? It’s delicious. It really is good food…”
“Wait.” Anderson raised a hand and interrupted him. Jo Minjoon looked at him, and Anderson spoke with his usual calm expression. “Aren’t you misunderstanding something?”
“What?”
“Taste isn’t everything in cooking. It’s only one part of it. Appearance, ingredients, sometimes even the cost of the ingredients, the chef’s reputation, the restaurant’s interior—all of that is part of what customers are paying for. But if you serve them the same potato soup they can eat at home, do you think they’ll be satisfied?”
Jo Minjoon could not answer.
Anderson continued. “It has to be something they can’t easily reproduce at home. And the better the quality of the ingredients, the better. That’s why restaurant cooking is different from home cooking. Home cooking is something almost anyone can make with enough practice.”
“Then what determines flavour?”
“Isn’t that something you can answer just by looking at this table?”
At those words, Jo Minjoon looked down at the doenjang jjigae and tomato chicken stew. He stared at them for a while, then slowly, a bright smile spread across his face.
“Yes. That’s it! A well-made dish and good food are completely different things!”
Countless memories began surfacing in his mind: the naengmyeon he had eaten after finishing his final exams, the tonkatsu he had eaten when he enlisted in the army, and the jelly Jessie had made.
(Translator’s Note: Naengmyeon —Korean cold noodles historically associated particularly with the northern Korean Peninsula, including Pyongyang and Hamhung. References to cold noodle dishes occur during the Joseon Dynasty (1392–1910). Modern varieties are commonly served either in chilled broth or mixed with a spicy sauce.)
(Translator’s Note:Tonkatsu — A Japanese breaded and deep-fried pork cutlet derived from European-style cutlets. It developed as part of yōshoku, Japanese adaptations of Western cuisine that became widespread from the Meiji era (1868–1912) into the early twentieth century.)
It was not that he had only just realised this. He had known it all along; he simply had not been conscious of it. By focusing too much on the system’s scores, he had forgotten what cooking was and what food meant.
The cooking score was, in the end, a measure of the techniques used to make the dish. Naturally, if better techniques were used, then both the quality and sophistication of the food tended to rise as well. That was why cooking score and food quality often seemed almost identical. Only now did Jo Minjoon understand the distinction.
His circumstances had not changed. This was still Grand Chef. It was still a place where contestants demonstrated their skills, and dishes with high cooking scores were naturally more likely to receive praise.
But Jo Minjoon’s way of thinking had changed. A low cooking score did not automatically mean the food was bad. Of course, the higher the cooking score, the more complex and refined the flavour was likely to become. Cooking techniques existed for precisely that reason.
But food did not become bad simply because it was not complex or refined. Just as Jo Minjoon had craved doenjang jjigae tonight, sometimes simplicity reached far deeper than sophistication ever could. Perhaps there were times when a 5-point dish could taste better than a 10-point dish.
Jo Minjoon stood, walked over to Anderson, and held out his hand.
Anderson stared at him in bewilderment.
“Thank you, Anderson. Really. Thank you. That was good counselling.”
“W-What? Why all of a sudden…?”
“I think I’ll finally be able to sleep properly. I’ll say it again. Thank you. I won’t forget tonight.”
With that, Jo Minjoon left the kitchen. Anderson stared blankly at his retreating back for a while before his gaze finally dropped to the table.
“At least wash the dishes, you crazy bastard…”