Chapter 543: Unexpected Twist (23)
Chapter 543: Unexpected Twist (23)
Of course, it was fine for Minjoon to rely on his initial impressions and feelings of June’s dishes when he first tasted them before judging them later. Still, rather than depending solely on memory, she thought it better to stimulate his appetite further.
Minjoon focused all his feelings, hunger, and concentration on the knife as he sliced. Using the sharp blade, he cut octopus legs, then raw yellowtails marinated in soy sauce, and shrimp, placing each piece methodically atop a perilla cream paste resembling miniature coastal rocks. He added green vegetables, then finished with a fish-broth foam, like waves rushing ashore.
Everything was set on a glass plate, but not an ordinary one. The glass covered a box showing grains of sand from a New York beach beneath. Alongside each plate was a large conch shell—not an ordinary shell, but one with tiny speakers inside, playing the gentle sound of ocean waves.
The chefs couldn’t help but admire June’s plating direction. When it came to presentation, she might be the best in the field. Unlike many restaurants where perfectionist plating disappoints diners, hers never did.
At some point, reporters focused more on salivating than reporting, feeling it a tragedy to watch chefs gently break perilla paste and place seafood topped in foam into their mouths.
But the main course was just beginning. After leading them through imagined picnics and beaches, June took them deeper—into the sea—with salmon boiled in liquid jelly, vanilla mayonnaise, grapefruit, and trout wolf served together.
The plating was typical, but the taste was not. Who said a chef who cooked seafood well was truly talented? Still, none could fault June’s mastery of seafood cuisine.
Minjoon was anxious to taste it himself. Though he’d assumed he wouldn’t sample much from June personally, now he could experience all her creations firsthand.
While tasting June’s dishes, Rachel remained silent in evaluation. She wanted to give feedback to Minjoon without influencing his own opinions before he had tried the food.
It wasn’t only Minjoon who was eager. Apart from the head chefs tasting June’s dishes, everyone else wanted to know how they tasted.
Yet the main course wasn’t finished. Minjoon’s attention fixed on lamb grilling in a pan, hypnotised. Minutes ago, it was tough raw meat; now, it ripened into an alluring colour. Thinly sliced and grilled crisp, the fat placed atop would delicately stimulate the tongue. The cucumber on the side would cut through richness, and the accompanying heart, liver, and jellied consommé would add complexity, making the dish far from simple.
That ended the main courses; Minjoon no longer needed to manage the rest, including dessert. He looked at June with a strange, relieved expression, as though finishing a long journey. She glanced back at Rachel and the chefs consuming her dishes with an inscrutable expression.
Minjoon didn’t know exactly how June felt, but he could somewhat understand. Rachel’s and his evaluation of the cuisine that consumed her life was nearing its conclusion. She would likely have to repeat the process for Minjoon’s sake as a judge.
“You can step out and take a seat,” June said.
“Are you sure?” he replied.
“The patissier will handle the rest. Take a break. If you try my dish tired, you won’t enjoy it fully. Just whet your appetite for now.”
“I’ll cheer for you, Chef June.”
He said calmly and turned away.
She stopped him. “Minjoon!”
“Yeah?”
“I can only tell you this now, but when you told me to beat Dave by cooking better, I felt bad about your attitude.”
“Oh, really?”
“But I made it because of you.”
Their eyes met.
“Now it’s your turn to judge my dishes. Hope I’m in good hands.”
He smiled instead of answering. He didn’t need to favour her; his job was to judge honestly. Their relationship wouldn’t affect that.
He sat beside Rachel in the judges’ area. She was sipping tea. Cameras turned towards his face, as did the chefs sampling her food.
He felt overwhelmed by their intense gazes. Everyone watched, conscious that Minjoon’s evaluation could sway opinions about June’s dishes.
He glanced at Rachel, who avoided eye contact. He wanted to ask why she made him a judge but didn’t feel up for her answer.
While lost in thought, a plate of beet meringues was presented. Slowly, he picked one up and tasted it. He heard a crunch but nothing to chew—just meringue melting like cream, unleashing horseradish’s bitter, sweet, and salty flavours.
When a familiar server asked him to choose an accompaniment, he picked tequila and grapefruit.
Then the real journey began. Alcohol spreading subtly through his bloodstream, he savoured each dish more seriously. He began to understand why June distinguished her cuisine from Dave’s through sheer effort.
“I’m almost choked with tears…”
He ate parfait and truffle toast followed by grain mustard ice cream with red cabbage gazpacho. Watching dry ice’s smoke spill over the moss-filled box, he felt tears welling.
“I see how much Chef June has tried. I understand why you weren’t satisfied when everyone said your food was delicious. When you seek perfection, it’s because you believe someone is better.”
That ‘someone’ could be Daniel, Dave, or perhaps Rachel. All were giants she couldn’t catch. She had to strive endlessly. Imagining her difficult pursuit, Minjoon felt suffocated.
“So, I can only say this now, after tasting most of your dishes: June, I respect you. No matter the outcome, my respect remains.”
June made an unreadable face. Rachel frowned, worried childishly that June might replace her as Minjoon’s teacher.
She looked to June and said sullenly, “June, why don’t you respond when he praises you like this?”
June sighed reluctantly. “Well, he makes me want to throw up.”
“Oh my… How could you say that after I summoned the courage to compliment you?”
“I thought you lacked courage because your comments were so natural,” June replied nonchalantly.
He sighed. He wasn’t surprised people might feel like retching when he spoke. Early on, he thought it was poor English; now, he accepted his idiosyncratic speech as part of himself.
“It doesn’t change my opinion if you want to throw up. Thanks for your good food.”
At first, he’d worried. Knowing her cooking, he feared he’d find it dull since he’d already reviewed the dishes during preparation.
Now, he realised his worries were unfounded. His low expectations made her dishes all the more surprising.
He was now eating snail porridge. Thin snail slices clung to oats; the herbal scent was strong, almost harsh. Though this broke balance deliberately, he accepted it. Snails should taste like snails; beef like beef. It was controversial, but most chefs agreed.
Yet June now used mainly snail texture. On the plate, the difference between oats and snails was subtle.
How can she make the taste so appealing?