Chapter 57: Travelling, Cooking and Business (3)
Chapter 57: Travelling, Cooking and Business (3)
Truthfully, Jo Minjoon did not feel particularly attached to Korean cuisine. There were several reasons for that. His mother’s cooking had never been particularly good, and there had not been any decent restaurants near his home either. Perhaps he would have felt differently if he had eaten at an expensive Korean restaurant.
Looking back, most of the Korean food he had encountered had been salty, sweet, or spicy. The dishes that suited his palate best were things like the miyeokguk or bibimbap he had made during a previous mission. He also liked mild, unseasoned white kimchi.
(Translator’s Note: White kimchi — A chilli-free or minimally spicy variety of Korean kimchi fermented in a seasoned brine. White forms of kimchi preserve older Korean fermentation traditions predating the widespread use of red chilli peppers, which entered Korean cuisine after the Columbian Exchange in the late sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.)
Modern people chased stimulation, and Korea was no exception. It was difficult to find a restaurant that did not use MSG, and even when they did not, they often relied on strongly flavoured ingredients to compensate. There were restaurants that succeeded with restrained, simple flavours, such as those serving Pyongyang naengmyeon, but how many people who were not gourmets actually thought such food was delicious?
In that sense, kimbap was an excellent dish. The seasoning was not excessive, and the flavour was simple. Even so, people liked it, and as long as one did not put anything strange inside, almost anyone could make it taste good.
That was why Jo Minjoon had been able to recommend kimbap to his teammates with confidence. Of course, what they themselves were thinking of was closer to norimaki.
Still, the fact that they had immediately associated it with norimaki gave Jo Minjoon a certain amount of confidence in the idea. Before joining Grand Chef, he had once eaten kimbap-like rolls at a sushi restaurant he had happened across.
He had gone in intending to eat sushi and had been surprised by how crowded the place was. What surprised him even more was that the display case had been filled less with ordinary sushi than with rolled sushi and norimaki. He had always heard that many Westerners disliked seaweed, yet fewer than half the customers there had even been Asian.
Sushi—and norimaki as one of its forms—had already succeeded internationally.
That was why Jo Minjoon felt increasingly reassured as he made kimbap in front of his teammates. It did not particularly matter what went inside. Everyone had already accepted the basic idea of norimaki, and the overall concept of their menu seemed to be taking shape.
What he made for them first was ordinary Korean kimbap: cucumber, pickled radish, egg, carrot, ham, and burdock root. He used canned ham, but that was not much of a problem. He was not trying to present this exact version as their final product. He simply wanted to show them the characteristics of Korean kimbap.
Anderson chewed a few times before frowning. “What was the oil you said you used on this?”
“Sesame oil.”
“The aroma is too strong. I think it would be better either to use less or to mix it with another oil. I do like that there’s no vinegar or kombu stock in the rice. Because the rice keeps its plain, fresh flavour, it goes well with the other ingredients. But we need to make sure the rice itself doesn’t develop any unpleasant smell.”
(Translator’s Note: Kombu dashi —A Japanese stock made by extracting flavour from dried kombu kelp. Kombu has been traded and used in Japanese cooking for many centuries, with records extending back to Japan’s early historical periods. Kombu dashi later became one of the fundamental stocks of Japanese cuisine because of its naturally high concentration of glutamate, which provides umami)
“What about the seaweed? Doesn’t that smell strange to you?”
“If I ate it by itself, maybe. But with rice, it’s fine. I don’t get much of a fishy smell. I’m just judging it objectively. There’s nothing particularly wrong with the combination of ingredients either. At least, the texture in my mouth was good.”
At Anderson’s answer, Jo Minjoon finally relaxed a little.
Seaweed was not especially familiar to many Westerners, yet norimaki had still become successful. One reason was that the seasoned sushi rice helped soften the distinctive smell of nori. Korean kimbap generally did not use vinegar in the same way, so Jo Minjoon had worried that the laver might stand out too strongly.
“Could the sesame oil be covering it?”
“I don’t know. We’d have to compare them later. Why don’t you taste it yourself? Aren’t you supposed to have an absolute sense of taste?”
“……It’s harder to judge your own food.”
“So absolute taste isn’t all that useful after all.” Anderson smirked.
Joanne looked over the different rolls they had prepared. “What were all the fillings again? Karaage, hamburger steak, sea urchin roe, tuna, fried prawn with avocado, smoked salmon, vegetables and assorted egg, and…… I ate the other one already. What was it? I think there were more. Ah, Minjoon, there are too many to remember. Anyway, there was that Korean-style norimaki too.”
(Translator’s Note: Karaage —A Japanese frying technique in which meat or other ingredients are seasoned, lightly coated with starch or flour, and deep-fried. Chicken karaage became especially widespread in Japan during the twentieth century, although the broader frying technique has older roots)
“The others were tandoori chicken, pork barbecue, and the basic kimbap I just made. And for the Korean one…… we can probably just write ‘Korean Norimaki’ on the menu. First, though, I think we should either mix sesame oil with olive oil or just use olive oil. And it might be better to serve them in thin slices, like the ones you tried earlier.”
“Instead of that, why don’t we cut the norimaki into one-inch pieces and leave the ordinary rolls in longer pieces about the size of a finger? What do you think? The slices you made were really easy to eat, but some people might prefer something larger.”
“That works. Still, I think we should prepare most of them in one-inch slices beforehand. People are probably more used to eating them that way.”
As they talked, Jo Minjoon ate a piece filled with avocado and smoked tuna. The richness of the avocado, the saltiness of the tuna, and the aroma of chilli blended together. The heat was pleasant, sharp enough to make the tip of his nose feel cool, and he narrowed his eyes as if he had eaten something sour.
It was delicious.
The Cooking Score was only six, but that could not really be helped. The roll consisted of smoked tuna, avocado, and chilli wrapped together with rice and seaweed. If anything, reaching six points with such a simple preparation was impressive.
“Who made this?”
“Me.” Anderson answered.
Jo Minjoon’s eyes widened. “This is really good. The smoked salmon is especially soft.”
“Of course it is. Who do you think made it?”
“It didn’t taste good to me.” Peter spoke bluntly.
Anderson’s eyes immediately sharpened.
Peter hurriedly raised his hands. “I’m not saying your cooking was bad. I just keep getting the taste of the seaweed at the back of my tongue. Does the seaweed absolutely have to be there? Would it really be a problem to leave it out?”
“……There’s something similar. Rice sandwiches. But do you dislike seaweed that much?”
“It’s just unfamiliar to me. I think there’ll be customers like me too, so wouldn’t it be better to put a few items on the menu that don’t use seaweed? Like that rice sandwich you mentioned.”
Peter’s suggestion was reasonable enough that Jo Minjoon seriously considered it, but Anderson shook his head. “No restaurant can satisfy every possible preference. Otherwise, why would anyone sell beef when Indians don’t eat it? That matters even less in a small operation like a food truck. You sell what you’re selling. If this were a stationary restaurant, your suggestion would make more sense. Someone who absolutely couldn’t tolerate seaweed might walk in, see nothing suitable, and leave. But this is a food truck. We don’t need to build the entire menu around every possible customer.”
Anderson’s reasoning sounded convincing.
Joanne looked at him with admiration. “You thought through all of that that quickly? You’re surprisingly clever.”
“I grew up in a chef’s household. This is common sense. And yes, I am clever.”
“……And just like most clever people, you’re also insufferable.”
Anderson merely snorted. “Anyway, there probably aren’t many people left who have never tried norimaki. I think it would be better to write ‘Norimaki Sushi’ instead of just ‘Norimaki’ on the menu. There are plenty of people who are more willing to try something the moment they see the word sushi.”
“That actually makes sense.”
Joanne lifted her mobile phone and showed them the online community she had been browsing. “And once they announce where we are, won’t viewers come flocking over? If they mention that Minjoon is the team leader and that norimaki is the main menu, even more people will probably show up. ‘Norimaki made by an Asian team leader’ gives a different impression from ‘norimaki made by a Westerner’. Besides, Minjoon has a lot of fans.”
“………I have a lot of fans? That’s the first I’ve heard of it.”
Joanne silently mouthed, Kaya.
Jo Minjoon sighed and changed the subject. “……I did hear they’re going to publicise our locations on the Grand Chef main page.”
“We’ll definitely sell out on the first day. The problem comes after that. Once bad reviews start appearing, fewer customers will come.”
“What if people leave nasty comments without even eating the food?”
“Worrying won’t make them disappear. Ignore them.” Anderson answered coldly.
Watching him, Jo Minjoon once again had the strong impression that Anderson really had grown up in a chef’s family. He had probably already encountered problems like these through his parents, sharing in their difficulties just as much as he had shared in the good times.
“What? Why are you staring at me like that?”
“………I really did pick you well.”
Anderson snorted. “Best decision you’ve ever made.”
The Grand Chef house was located in Chicago, Illinois, and the rental car company was also within the city. Even so, they had barely had any chance to experience Chicago itself.
Now they were eating their first proper Chicago meal in the most casual way possible.
Chicago-style pepperoni pizza.
There was so much tomato sauce and pepperoni that the surface was almost entirely red, and a heavy layer of toppings sat over a crust nearly as thick as a finger. Jo Minjoon slowly cut the pizza into pieces because each slice was too thick to fit comfortably into his mouth.
The cheese flavour was strong, but the dense, chewy crust mellowed it. In spite of the excess, the result was surprisingly harmonious.
Anderson frowned. “It’s fine to be generous, but food still needs to be edible. Why would they serve something you can’t even fit into your mouth?”
“What’s the problem? Just cut it.”
“Real pizza is eaten with your hands.”
In matters like this, Anderson could be ridiculously particular.
Ivanna, chewing her pizza, asked, “Minjoon, what score is this?”
“………Can you stop asking me to score everything? I’m not scoring the food itself. I’m evaluating the cooking process.”
“Wouldn’t that still let you evaluate the food?”
“It’s relative. It’s difficult to make an objective judgement. What I’m really judging is how complex the flavours are and how well the cooking itself was executed.”
“……So what score is it?”
In the end, she simply wanted the number.
Jo Minjoon swallowed the pizza in his mouth and answered, “Seven points. The dough was handled really well. About what you’d expect from one of the most popular places in the city.”
“Hmm. I thought it would be an eight.”
“Like I said, seven doesn’t mean the flavour itself is only worth seven. You don’t have to use highly advanced techniques to make excellent food. The norimaki we’re making is the same. The method itself is simple, but the result is stable.”
That was the biggest reason he had suggested norimaki in the first place, and it was also why his teammates had accepted the idea so readily. With a simple base of rice and seaweed, they could produce a wide variety of fillings while still giving customers something familiar enough to feel safe trying.
More importantly, it had nearly everything a food truck required: flexibility, low ingredient cost, and little need for expensive equipment. The ingredients for one roll cost less than a dollar, while a normal selling price could be two or three dollars. The rolls were also compact and easy to store inside the truck, so their expectations were naturally high.
It was already approaching nine o’clock.
Jo Minjoon spoke. “Let’s finish eating and start preparing. We need to open by at least eleven-thirty.”
Norimaki was not merely a snack. It could serve as a meal. If they missed the lunch rush, the consequences could be severe.
Jo Minjoon stood up first and checked his mobile phone. There were already numerous posts online about the Grand Chef food trucks. Judging from the reactions, the mission had attracted the attention of at least thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of people, although naturally only a fraction of them would actually live in Chicago.
The rice they had chosen was Koshihikari.
(Translator’s Note: Koshihikari — A Japanese short-grain rice cultivar developed through post-war breeding programmes. It was officially named and released in 1956 in Fukui Prefecture. It became one of Japan’s most highly regarded table-rice varieties because of its gloss, sweetness, aroma, and cohesive texture)
Compared with Korean short-grain rice, Koshihikari was not necessarily dramatically superior. Other East Asian short-grain varieties could also work perfectly well for kimbap or norimaki.
Jo Minjoon did not mix in any other grains. He had no idea how much healthier mixed grains actually were, but as far as flavour was concerned, he disliked them intensely. Especially for norimaki, there was no reason to use them. People who came to a food truck were looking for something delicious, not for a lecture on healthy eating.
Their rice cooker was large enough to prepare portions for roughly one hundred and fifty people. One roll used about three spoonfuls of rice, which meant they could make at least three hundred rolls from a full batch. Since another batch of rice would only take twenty or thirty minutes to cook, Jo Minjoon did not think rice supply would be as much of a problem as he had first feared.
After setting the rice to cook, he checked the rest of the ingredients. Everything was fresh.
The others got up from their seats as well and began working on their assigned tasks. Peter took the tandoori chicken they had prepared out of the refrigerator.
They were not each designing completely separate menus. Instead, every member was primarily responsible for one variety, and whenever someone had free time, they were expected to help wherever needed.
The first filling Jo Minjoon worked on was hamburger steak.
It was one of the recipes he himself had proposed, designed as a Korean-style norimaki resembling kimbap. He could still vividly remember the hamburger steak he had eaten at Lucas’s house when he first arrived in New York: the strong aroma, the texture beneath his teeth, and the bite of pepper. Of all the foods he had eaten in America, it had felt the most unmistakably American.
Of course, reproducing that exact texture would be difficult. To roll the meat inside kimbap, he had to cut it into thin strips. For that reason, he focused more on flavour than texture.
Once the exterior of the hamburger steak had browned, he simmered it briefly in soy sauce, mirin, and lemon. It was actually a fairly common Japanese-style seasoning method.
(Translator’s Note: Mirin —A sweet Japanese rice-based alcoholic seasoning used to add sweetness, aroma, and gloss to sauces, simmered dishes, and glazes. Mirin developed from sweet alcoholic beverages and became increasingly used as a culinary seasoning during the Edo period (1603–1868))
The atmosphere inside the truck remained calm.
It was not that every member of the team was naturally quiet. Jo Minjoon himself simply did not like raising his voice without reason. If he needed to say something, he spoke loudly enough to be heard. Even when they were pressed for time, he did not shout.
Perhaps because of that, the hours seemed to pass quickly.
Soon it was after eleven. The fryers and pans had been switched off, and the main cooking was complete. All that remained was to roll the norimaki and let them cool slightly.
Kimbap could be eaten warm or cold without much issue, but norimaki was generally served closer to room temperature or cool.
“Anderson. Check the tea.”
“After I finish rolling this one.”
They had prepared three varieties: ginger tea, green tea, and lemon tea.
Anderson checked the pots and nodded. “Perfect. We only need to serve them.”
“The rolls are done too.”
Jo Minjoon said that after finishing the final smoked salmon norimaki.
The rest of the team looked towards him.
Jo Minjoon could hear his own heartbeat. He extended one hand towards the centre.
“Let’s go. We’re going to devour this mission.”
“……Fine, but do we really have to do this?”
Anderson grumbled even as he placed his hand over Jo Minjoon’s.
All five hands stacked together, and a loud cheer followed.
Jo Minjoon opened the rear door of the truck and stepped outside.
Then he froze.
“Huh? It’s Minjoon.”
There was no single explosive cheer, only countless voices talking among themselves.
But when so many voices overlapped at once, they sounded almost like a roar.
Customers were already lined up outside.
The queue stretched so far that Jo Minjoon could not even count them.