Chapter 563: Cogwheels (10)
Chapter 563: Cogwheels (10)
Hugo wasn’t dissatisfied with his situation—he believed the chance to become head chef at a major restaurant was slim. Though recognized as a top contender from Grand Chef, he remained an amateur compared to elite chefs at renowned establishments.
Yet Hugo chose the small restaurant for freedom. He knew he wasn’t perfect and wanted to fix his flaws gradually. He longed to introduce new menus, engage continually with customers—his dream job.
But reality hit fast.
“Do you want to change the menu? No, customers have been satisfied lately. Why risk change now?”
“Paul, you promised I’d control the menu and kitchen—that’s my domain. Don’t you respect that?”
“It’s my right to change the head chef. This isn’t criticism, Hugo. It’s business. I invest heavily. Will you consider my concerns if I must consider yours?”
Despite protests, Hugo met the owner halfway several times. Unable to persuade him, Hugo was ultimately fired.
Grand Chef was a poison—not a blessing—for Hugo. There he followed themed cooking freely; at the restaurant, freedom vanished. He thought he’d reached a meadow but found himself trapped in a zoo.
“This is the dish I wanted to make at the restaurant,” Hugo said, gazing at his plate. Despite impressions, it wasn’t extravagant—just apple slices baked in butter alongside perfectly cooked mackerel, stripped of bones and intestines. A pale cream sauce of boiled fresh cream and cider vinegar mingled on one side, whetting the appetite.
“I made this Normandy style. What do you think?”
Minjoon chuckled, “Sometimes I think you’re Mediterranean, not from Mississippi.”
Hugo smiled quietly.
Minjoon was first to taste, anticipation high.
Used to grilled mackerel from Korea, Minjoon enjoyed the perfectly baked fish best. He liked Peter’s tandoori, Michael’s variant, and Gwen’s, but Hugo’s was the most familiar—the fish baked thoroughly, preserving fat and served with the sauce.
His fork pierced the crispy skin and tender flesh; juice dripped like roasted chicken. He dipped it in cream sauce and savoured it.
“Great!”
He uttered this for the first time that day.
It awakened a long-hidden taste in his memory.
The cream sauce was brilliant.
Without it, the grilled fish might have been ordinary; the sauce coated his tongue with sweet, sour notes, instantly soothing fatigue.
Kaya and Joseph echoed his praise.
Smiling warmly, Minjoon told Hugo, “You’re as good as ever.”
Hugo didn’t want empty praise—he wanted acknowledgment of change. Still, Minjoon’s words soothed him.
Twenty-three remained out of over a hundred. Neither Minjoon nor Kaya wished to advance unqualified participants just for TV segments. They believed opportunities should be equal and merit-based.
Normally, participants left promptly after evaluation with brief interviews. But it was the first day of camping together. Judges and contestants shared stories.
Some asked about the lives of top chefs; others sought advice for their futures. Many wondered about judges’ challenges.
Gwen stood out most.
“Do you sympathize with me?” she asked Minjoon suddenly.
It was near the party’s end; Kaya, slightly drunk, had gone to cook. Gwen faced Minjoon.
Watching her, he felt déjà vu—once Kaya had asked him something just like this.
“Why do you ask?”
“Are you helping me out of sympathy or because you see potential? It will affect your evaluation.”
“I don’t think it matters much, but here’s my answer. I sympathize, and I see your potential. Did I answer?”
Gwen wasn’t enjoying the party—she avoided drinking, fearing relapse.
“Have you ever done drugs?” she asked, reading his mind.
“I take vitamins.”
“I loved cocaine.”
She began confessing, and Minjoon didn’t interrupt.
“At first, I took drugs at clubs. Friends gave me drinks; I felt better. Later, I learned it contained cocaine. I saw no addiction symptoms, so I thought it wasn’t serious. I convinced myself I was different, just having fun. So I did it often.”
Minjoon listened quietly.
“When drunk in clubs, every beat coursed through me. Music became me—I was music. I danced endlessly; days passed in seconds. I went to clubs and parties nonstop, then passed out, waking only to return.”
Joy was intense, but when it peaked, happiness faded. I realized taking drugs was borrowing future happiness, leading to growing unhappiness without them. Without drugs, lethargy consumed me.
Then, drugs no longer produced happiness—I had no happiness left.
Her voice calmed as if surrendering.
Minjoon saw her desperate plea for help.
“I’m no longer drunk, even if I drink.”
Her words confused him but he grasped the meaning.
“Well, let the past be. I’ll do my best to help you find love for cooking.”
Gwen bowed her head. “Please help me.”