Chapter 607: How To Be Somebody’s Friend (3)
Chapter 607: How To Be Somebody’s Friend (3)
It was strange. Even though Kaya had given her the recipe, Gwen couldn’t replicate the same taste when making Six Meats herself.
While Gwen agonised over the flavours of Six Meats, Peter struggled to master the shape of the pomegranate toppings. Initially, he couldn’t even blow air inside properly and had to remake the toppings repeatedly.
“You’ve got a long way to go to get it right.”
She looked away, sighing. Life was said to be an endless journey, and thinking of it, she had no choice but to sigh first.
Peter glanced at her furtively. He somewhat knew what she was thinking—better than anyone else. He sensed she might be thinking in extremes.
He wanted to help. At the same time, he doubted if he could, given he struggled with his own life. What would she think if he reached out?
“Gwen.”
“Uh?”
“… Nothing.”
“Come on. You’re making me curious.”
“I just forgot what I wanted to tell you.”
She stared blankly, dumbfounded by his odd behaviour, then turned towards the kitchen island. It was no time for gossip. Yet Peter spoke again.
“What will you do if you fail this competition?”
“If you want to distract me, congrats—you already have!”
“I’m sorry—that’s not what I mean…”
“Well, I applied to Lotus Bridge.”
“Lotus Bridge?”
“If I fail here… I don’t know. I’ll think about it later.”
Peter bit his lip. After all, after the competition ended, they would part ways. He felt unqualified to work at Lotus Bridge; dealing daily with Minjoon and Kaya as supervisors intimidated him.
She was going to walk a different path, win or lose. Whatever relationship they had now would dissolve after this.
He suddenly felt empty.
… Minjoon, you really have achieved it all.
Minjoon succeeded as a chef and won Kaya’s heart. He had everything he wanted. Meanwhile, Peter struggled struggling with shaping pomegranate toppings, staying up all night trying to catch up with Minjoon’s greatness.
The judges awoke first the next morning—odd, since participants should rise earlier. But it was absurd to compare judges who rested easy with participants working through the night on cooking strategies.
Joseph glanced over the cluttered kitchen islands assigned to Gwen, Michael, and Peter. They were strewn with ingredients—no time to tidy up. Perhaps they were still deeply asleep.
Looking at the pantry, Kaya asked, “What do you want to eat?”
“I’m not really hungry.”
“Then let me cook something for you.”
It wasn’t hard for her to stimulate an appetite. She went alone to the pantry. Familiar blended smells of ingredients greeted her. She’d smelled the same years ago during a Grand Chef competition.
I feel like I’m back home.
She thought so, remembering New York where she spent her childhood with more scars than joyful memories. This place, full of memories, was what she truly missed—and her feelings for it would never change.
Quickly, she returned with ingredients to make a simple soup of boiled tomatoes and eggs, accompanied by a few slices of bread. Simple for a famous chef like her.
Joseph and Minjoon didn’t complain. Though simple, it wasn’t dull.
In fact, Joseph—who said he had no appetite—couldn’t stop spooning. The tomato’s mild acidity mixed with soft eggs created a magical flavour, making Joseph forget his earlier words.
Kaya put a little soup on a crispy butter roll and said, “I don’t know how long those three will sleep. They don’t have much time left.”
“Did we make things too hard by giving only 24 hours?”
“What’s so bad about a tough challenge? Two will survive. It shows their competence.”
That was true.
“No matter how well they do, it’s hard to impress us. We created the dishes, so it’s easier to find flaws in their versions.”
“Exactly.”
The mission’s key was avoiding marked flaws, not chasing high praise. Less criticism meant a better chance of winning. Meeting such picky judges was never easy.
Minjoon asked softly, “Will you be lenient with them?”
“How about you?” Kaya replied.
They smiled knowingly.
Gwen and Peter arrived first and watched the judges having breakfast, frowning in dissatisfaction.
They knew judges hadn’t done wrong but couldn’t help feeling angry watching them eat peacefully while they’d stayed up all night perfecting recipes.
“Want some?”
“No, I’ll starve so I can eat more later.”
Gwen was on the warpath. She weakly replied then went to her kitchen island. Her hands moved slower now because she was tired.
She glanced at Peter. He was inflating pomegranate toppings with an inscrutable expression.
Still at it.
Gwen tasted Peter’s pomegranate dessert. It was close to Minjoon’s — good due to the recipe’s nature, not Peter’s skill. Minjoon’s precise ingredient measurements and cooking directions kept the dish consistent.
Maybe that’s why Peter obsessed over it—the shape of the pomegranate topping was the real test.
It was funny. Gwen doubted shaped toppings affected the dish’s perfection. After all, the judge would break the topping anyway, tasting crushed jam and ice cream.
Does this make sense?
Watching Peter busy, Gwen empathised. She knew how he had lived and what he felt while cooking. Because of that, she couldn’t understand how his fate could hinge on such minute handiwork that, to her, didn’t feel like cooking.
Funny, Peter entered to prove his skills but was nearly eliminated over a task that barely seemed like cooking.
“Oops!”
Suddenly, Gwen shouted—she’d cut her finger.
She quickly rinsed it and put it in her mouth.
Peter approached, worry overtaking his face — more than hers. She noticed immediately.
“Are you okay?”
“Uh, yes…”
“Wait, I’ll get some medicine.”
“No, it’s not deep…”
Before she finished, he headed for the staff. Soon he returned with a bandage and ointment, carefully tending her injury. She didn’t resist.
Quietly, she asked, “Don’t you regret it?”
“What do you mean?” Peter asked.