Chapter 76: Unexpected Collaboration (4)
Chapter 76: Unexpected Collaboration (4)
Jo Minjoon swallowed. Honestly, he did not think there was much chance of him being eliminated, but that did nothing to stop his heart from pounding.
He glanced at Marco. He did not look well at all, and Hugo, standing beside him, silently patted him on the back.
Emily spoke calmly. “Once we announce the results, you’ll be divided into two groups: those who survive, and those who don’t. Does anyone here think they’ll be eliminated?”
No one answered. None of them wanted to show a lack of confidence. Emily nodded, unsurprised by the silence, and was just about to turn away when Marco cautiously raised his hand.
Emily looked at him. There was not even the slightest trace of a smile on his face. Marco hesitated before speaking in a voice so low it was almost a whisper.
“I think I’m going to be eliminated.”
“…Marco. It’s true that fewer people ate your dish, but the votes still haven’t been counted. Why are you giving up already?”
“It’s not that I don’t have confidence in my tiramisu. But everyone else is a good chef too. I don’t think I got more votes than they did. More importantly…” Marco gave a bitter smile and forced himself to continue calmly. “I don’t think even half the people who came here ate my dish. And if you exclude the ones who went back for seconds, it probably wasn’t even half of that. I can’t convince myself that I somehow got more votes than everyone else from such a small group.”
It would have been easy to tell him to have more confidence, but his pessimism was grounded in something too obvious to dismiss.
The light in Emily’s eyes dimmed. Her voice became softer than usual.
“I understand why you’re feeling discouraged. But if you do survive, how will you feel?”
“First, I’d be happy. And…”
Marco stopped for a moment and looked at the other contestants. Kaya, Jo Minjoon, Anderson… Only after looking at them one by one did he finally speak.
“I want to stay with them. They’ve been really good people to have in my life.”
“…I hope you can too.”
With Emily’s regretful reply, the conversation ended.
Joseph cleared his throat and looked at Alan. Alan glanced down at the card in his hand.
“Before we announce the number of votes and how many servings each of you sold, we’ll first tell you who the three of us voted for. I’ll go first.”
Alan hesitated.
For a moment, Jo Minjoon thought their eyes had met, but the name Alan called was not his.
“Kaya. You.”
Kaya raised her eyebrows and looked at Alan as though she had not expected it.
Alan continued calmly. “I’m Italian. I know better than most what a frittata is supposed to taste like. Kaya, you made me think of home despite being this far away. Honestly, I’m surprised. You weren’t taught by an Italian chef… No, now that I think about it, you probably haven’t even been to an Italian restaurant. I’m simply amazed that you understand what an ideal frittata should taste like.”
Kaya listened in silence before asking, “You talked for so long that I lost track. You were complimenting me, right?”
“…One hundred per cent.”
“Then thanks.”
The corner of her mouth lifted in a provocative smile.
Teenagers these days are difficult.
Alan sighed inwardly. It made him remember his own childhood. Had the adults around him looked at him the same way?
The atmosphere grew awkward for a moment before Joseph spoke.
“I suppose it’s my turn. I went back and forth between two people: Sasha and Marco.”
A faint smile appeared on Marco’s lips.
Joseph smiled warmly and continued. “Both of you made very good dishes, and both suited my tastes. As I’ve got older, I’ve found myself preferring food that doesn’t make my jaw work too hard. Sasha’s strawberry chiffon cake and Marco’s tiramisu were both wonderfully soft. The flavour balance was also excellent, and neither felt excessive. Honestly, it’s difficult to say which was better. They aren’t even the same kind of dessert.”
Jo Minjoon nodded without realising it. Both dishes had scored 8 points. There were small differences between them, but overall, they were clearly on a similar level.
Joseph continued.
“However, Marco, your tiramisu was less refreshing than Sasha’s dish. Her strawberry chiffon cake had lemon juice in the cream, and the acidity of the strawberries themselves cleaned the palate. Your tiramisu, on the other hand, was predominantly sweet. Of course, for a tiramisu, there wasn’t much I could actually criticise… Sorry. My vote went to Sasha.”
“Thank you.” Sasha replied evenly. She was not tactless enough to sound openly delighted while Marco stood beside her with such a dark expression.
Emily cleared her throat and glanced towards Jo Minjoon and Chloe. “I’ll say this first: this is simply my personal taste. I’m speaking as a customer rather than a judge. Recently, I’ve become more interested in Asian food. Foreign flavours, unfamiliar aromas. I’ve been wanting something with a different colour.”
She pointed towards her tongue with one finger.
“And this tongue told me that both of your dishes gave it the kind of stimulation it hadn’t felt in a long time. Of course, I’ve eaten dak-galbi and mapo tofu before, but I can say this with certainty: both were among the most delicious versions I’ve ever tasted.”
“Thank you.” Jo Minjoon answered with a faint smile.
Chloe looked uncertain, as though wondering whether she should respond as well, but Emily continued before she had the chance.
“Chloe, I was worried when I saw you adding peanut butter to your mapo tofu… but that turned out to be your trump card. It softened the sharpness of the spice beautifully. And Minjoon, your dak-galbi felt somewhere between ginger pork and dak-galbi. I suppose you could call it fusion.”
Jo Minjoon and Chloe simply looked at her.
Perhaps finding their attention burdensome, Emily laughed awkwardly before continuing.
“It feels strange to praise both of you this much and then choose only one, so I’m sorry. Still, I wanted you both to know that I really enjoyed your food. And… the person I chose is Minjoon.”
For an instant, Chloe’s expression trembled. She quickly suppressed her disappointment and applauded with a smile.
Jo Minjoon almost bowed instinctively, but instead said, “Thank you for enjoying it.”
“I don’t enjoy just anything. Minjoon, you’ve grown so much during this competition that we can see it with our own eyes. At the beginning, your food wasn’t this good…”
Jo Minjoon smiled back.
Emily looked at him almost like an older cousin watching a younger relative grow up.
“Keep going like this. If you continue cooking the way you did today, you might really win. Of course, then my plans to recruit you as an food critic would fall apart… but I’ll keep cheering for you.”
“…Can you really say that so openly on television?”
“What is there to hide? You’ll probably become the most promising food critic in this country. No, perhaps in history.”
Being praised that heavily was embarrassing in its own way.
Jo Minjoon stepped back with an awkward smile.
Alan raised his voice. “The judges’ votes are worth no more than a single customer vote each. There’s no need to be too disappointed if none of us chose you. First, I’ll announce how many portions of each dish were served. Well, I suspect most of you have already roughly guessed the results.”
One batch usually produced around twenty servings. Hugo, who had refilled his tray five times, had probably served at least a hundred portions. Jo Minjoon, who had refilled his four times, had served somewhere between eighty and a hundred. Marco had been the only contestant to refill his dish just twice.
Alan opened his mouth.
“The lowest number belongs to Marco. You prepared fifty servings, and fifty-two were taken in total. What do you think caused your poor result?”
“…Just what you told me. It was too sweet. Of course, there are people who want that kind of dessert, but I didn’t think enough about how many people prefer something refreshing or acidic after eating a lot. That was my mistake.”
“It’s good that you understand. Still, Marco, there was nothing wrong with the tiramisu itself. Don’t let this discourage you too much.”
The announcements continued.
Hugo came first in servings with 113. Kaya was second with 93.
Then came the next result.
“Minjoon, you’re third. Ninety-two servings.”
Jo Minjoon smiled faintly and nudged Kaya with his elbow.
Kaya narrowed her eyes at him as if asking why he was bothering her.
He whispered, “Only one serving apart.”
“You’ll never close that gap in your entire life.”
“If it’s only one, there’s nothing to close. We’re basically tied.”
“When Usain Belt runs, he wins by tiny differences too, but he’s still at the top of the world.”
(Translator’s Note: Usain Bolt —Jamaican sprinter born in 1986 and one of the most successful Olympic sprinters in history. He set the 100-metre world-record time of 9.58 seconds and the 200-metre record of 19.19 seconds at the 2009 World Championships in Berlin.)
“I don’t know about that. More importantly, there’s no athlete named Usain Belt.”
“Hmph. Then you just don’t know him. Idiot. How can you be so ignorant about world culture?”
Jo Minjoon wanted to tell her that the name was Bolt, not Belt, but held himself back. The judges were already looking at them with expressions telling them to stop talking.
It reminded him of being scolded by teachers back in school.
Kaya muttered something too quietly to hear and lowered her head.
The serving results finished without much reaction. They were almost exactly what everyone had expected.
The important part was the voting. Depending on how many votes each person had received, the rankings could change completely.
Alan spoke calmly. “We’ll announce the votes immediately. I’ll go in order of the serving results. Hugo, seven votes. Kaya, seventeen.”
A murmur of surprise spread through the room.
Including the judges’ votes, there were only 103 votes in total. Seventeen was almost twice the average. Kaya might even have come first in voting.
Jo Minjoon was still admiring the number when Alan continued.
“Minjoon…”
Despite having just said that he would not waste any time, Alan fell silent.
When he finally continued, his voice was unmistakably shaken.
“…Twenty-four votes.”
“Fucking crazy.”
Someone swore.
No one blamed them.
They were all thinking the same thing.
Twenty-four votes?
How could one person receive that many?
Alan’s eyes sharpened. He did not think it was simply because Jo Minjoon’s dish had tasted good.
Star quality. Fandom. Those are probably the biggest reasons.
It was unavoidable.
Not even a quarter of the customers who visited famous restaurants were genuine food critics. Most people heard that somewhere was famous, heard that others said the food was delicious, and went in already expecting to enjoy it. The same thing happened when a well-known critic praised a restaurant. Even if the exact same dish was served, people could perceive it as more delicious—or sometimes more unpleasant—depending on what they had already been told.
That was why branding mattered so much.
A chef like Dave did not refrain from opening his own restaurant and instead work as a head chef at one of Rose Island’s branches because he lacked the money to go independent.
Even if Jo Minjoon opened a restaurant while his skills were still rough, customers would probably flock to it. His absolute sense of taste alone would inspire confidence, almost like a Michelin three-star rating.
And it was not only food critics who would value him.
The restaurant industry itself would look at the name Jo Minjoon as an extremely valuable asset. Put him on a menu-development team, or simply advertise something as a “Jo Minjoon menu”, and it would draw customers.
“Alan?” Emily’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.
Alan continued somewhat awkwardly. “I was just too surprised to speak. I’ll continue. Chloe, ten votes. Anderson, twelve. Sasha, nine. Ivanna, six. Olivia, five. Joanne, six. And… Marco, seven.”
Seven votes.
Considering that fewer than fifty people had taken Marco’s dish, that was an excellent result.
While the contestants mentally calculated the scores, Joseph spoke calmly.
“I’ll announce first place for this mission. The winner earned a total of 332 points: ninety-two from servings and two hundred and forty from votes.” He paused and looked around. “…Well, judging by your faces, you already know. That’s right. Minjoon. You’re first. You’ll receive a special advantage in the next mission.”
“…Thank you.” Jo Minjoon answered with a bewildered expression.
He was happy to win, but twenty-four votes?
Had his dish really deserved such an overwhelming victory?
He could not help wondering.
Kaya placed second. She had not received as many votes as Jo Minjoon, but her total was still overwhelming compared with the others.
The remaining rankings were not announced individually. There was little point.
What mattered now was the bottom.
Joseph’s expression grew serious.
“I’ll announce the lowest score. One hundred and twenty-one points. This contestant received five votes and served seventy-one portions. You did well. Olivia, please leave the Grand Chef house.”
Olivia immediately began to cry.
Jo Minjoon simply watched her.
They had never become particularly close, but she was a Hispanic girl who had occasionally brought him food and asked him to check its cooking score.
Chloe embraced her, looking almost as upset as Olivia herself.
Once Olivia left the kitchen, the tension rose again.
Two people were being eliminated in this mission.
Jo Minjoon deliberately refused to calculate who the other person would be.
He did not want to know.
“The second eliminated contestant served fifty-two portions and received seven votes. Considering the number of servings, the vote count was actually quite good.”
Joseph looked towards him.
“Marco.”
An awful silence fell over the room.
Joseph did not falter beneath it. He continued in the same calm voice.
“Your tiramisu was genuinely good. You did well. Keep cooking. Your bread and desserts were excellent enough that I would gladly serve them in my own restaurant.”
“…Thank you.”
Unlike Olivia, Marco did not cry.
His voice was wet, but perhaps he was determined not to let his eyes follow.
Everyone watched Marco’s back as he walked towards the kitchen exit.
No one spoke.
Just before leaving, Marco stopped and turned around.
No one could tell exactly whom he was looking at. Perhaps all of them felt that his eyes were directed at them.
“Win! No matter what!”
No one could bring themselves to answer that they would.