Chapter 608: How To Be Somebody’s Friend (4)
Chapter 608: How To Be Somebody’s Friend (4)
“Well, I wonder if it really comes down to your cooking skills whether you can get the shape of the pomegranate toffee right. I don’t think so,” she said.
He replied, “That’s not a matter for discussion.”
“Yes, it is. You know what? Each part of this mission determines our fate. If the mission goes wrong, so can our fate. Don’t you see?”
She got upset, but he rather enjoyed it. He felt lighter when she shouted at him—though he was mistaken to think she liked him. Strictly speaking, he wasn’t handsome enough to catch her attention, nor had he done anything to please her. It was more accurate to say she got angry as a friend.
He suppressed his excitement coldly and said quietly, “My life has been battered by things like this, so I’m not embarrassed. Maybe it’ll be the same going forward.”
To him, this challenge was nothing compared with the obstacles he’d face in life. She looked at him with a dissatisfied expression for a moment but said nothing further.
He wrapped the bandage on her cut finger and returned to shaping the pomegranate toffee. At first, he couldn’t even inflate it properly, but now he had it partially mastered. The toffee balloon was quite well-formed.
Around that time, Michael entered the kitchen, looking particularly haggard. He stood blankly before the kitchen island for a while, knowing that careless knife work would yield the same failed dish from yesterday.
“Joseph,” he called softly.
Joseph, washing dishes with Minjoon, looked over.
Michael said quietly, “I don’t know what I’m lacking.”
“Sorry, I can’t give you an answer.”
“I know, but I wanted to share my anguish. It’s not as I expected.”
“You can’t cook just by thinking,” Joseph said softly.
It sounded simple but was the best advice for Michael.
Michael pondered in silence, then sighed and grabbed a knife.
It was unusual to see Michael so troubled. His detached attitude suggested he might behave as usual, but now he was clearly frustrated at being unable to replicate Joseph’s dish.
Minjoon seemed to understand why.
“It’s the first time you can’t cook how you want,” he said.
Michael said nothing, too drained to reply. However hard he tried, he couldn’t match Joseph’s taste.
Cooking was a science; Michael’s theory was sound. Yet no theory mattered if experimental tools were poor.
A huge gap in skill separated Michael and Joseph. For Michael, this was disastrous.
He had succeeded academically but cooking was different. The more he challenged, the more the gap widened. This mission felt burdensome—especially the possibility of losing.
“I was arrogant…” Michael muttered bitterly.
He had to admit his arrogance. Standing out as a rookie among Grand Chef participants, he mistakenly believed he was a genius cook, as in physics. Now, he faced limits; he was no better than any other rookie.
Cooking skills depended on heat control and cutting technique—not intelligence—and such mastery couldn't come overnight.
There was a misconception about Michael: saying he came to Grand Chef to make memories led some to think his attitude to cooking was casual. But that wasn’t true. Michael loved cooking; it was one of his passions. He wanted to stand out as much here as in physics.
But the competition revealed his limits.
He had nothing to regret as an amateur—he hadn’t spent time cooking like the judges. His desire to catch up was, arguably, greed.
Still, he regretted much.
Eventually, the three finalists finished cooking and approached the judges with their dishes.
This was the moment to prove how much they’d caught up—not just how well they cooked.
It was also the moment some would pack and leave.
‘Fake monsters’ faced ‘real monsters.’
Six would become five soon.
The first to present was Michael, who remade Joseph’s appetizer.
He stepped forward with Joseph’s mullet carpaccio dish, less confident than before.
Seeing the regret on Michael’s face, Joseph asked quietly, “It seems you didn’t cook as well as you wanted.”
“Well, I couldn’t.”
“I understand. Someone who’s spent decades mastering cutting can make it overnight.”
“But I made the best dish I could.”
Michael placed the plates before the judges with determination.
Minjoon watched with interest—Michael’s serious and dissatisfied attitude was strange, given his usual relaxed air.
Slowly, Minjoon tasted the mullet carpaccio salad. Chewing the young leaf stems revealed a chewy texture in the curled mullet flesh. The subtle scent of vinegar and lime in the mullet made his mouth fragrant.
The dish was good. There was little difference from Joseph’s, but Minjoon understood why Michael lacked confidence.
The pineapple...
Something was off with the pineapple’s taste. It didn’t seem fresh.
Minjoon looked at Kaya, who frowned similarly while tasting—a bad sign for Michael.
Pineapple was part of Joseph’s sauce replacing tomato juice. Joseph crushed pineapple finely to maintain its original sweetness and juicy flavour.
Michael didn’t.
Minjoon took it for granted: in most kitchens, cooks handle cutting, sometimes demi-chefs do to perfect a dish’s flavour. Cutting might seem minor but can entirely determine a dish’s taste.
Though smart, Michael’s cutting wasn’t perfect. Still better than most, but not enough to bring out Joseph’s dish.
In sushi, a chef’s skill is judged by how precisely they cut fish and press rice, often in a moment.