Chapter 99: The Mirror Recipe (2)
Chapter 99: The Mirror Recipe (2)
“...A mirror?”
Chloe murmured in confusion. It was understandable. Instead of an ingredient, there was a mirror inside the box.
Joseph smiled brightly.
“Yes. A mirror. Pick it up. What do you see?”
“Myself.”
“That will be the theme of this mission. Yourselves. It can be your signature dish, a dish that contains your life, or simply the thing you love most. You can also make whatever you’re most confident in. Of course, whatever you make still has to amaze all of us.”
“The theme is really vague.”
“Problems in life are more often vague than straightforward. You’ll have thirty minutes to cook and twenty minutes to design your recipe. Use that time to decide what you’re going to make.”
At Joseph’s answer, Chloe simply stared at herself in the mirror. Her face did not even have any cream on it. Just what was she supposed to cook...? Had she become too accustomed to cooking whatever other people asked of her? This moment felt strangely unfamiliar.
While Chloe merely felt lost, a crossroads appeared in Jo Minjoon’s mind.
Actually, he had already made food that reflected who he was during the vegetarian mission, when he had prepared a Korean-style meal. He had chosen it because he wanted to express his Korean roots through the mission, and because of the stimulus he had received from Chloe. Her potato soup had only scored six points, something he had found strange at the time, yet everyone else had eaten it happily.
That had made him think.
There was no need to pursue the cooking score alone. Even familiar food could be perfectly delicious.
But what had been the result?
The judges had told him it was good cooking, but that it did not suit the mission.
Will it be different this time?
The answer that echoed inside his head was no.
Something that had failed then would not suddenly work now. Of course, he could prepare a Korean meal with a higher score, but in the end, it would simply become a luxurious dish disguised as familiar food.
Jo Minjoon resisted the temptation and continued designing his recipe. He did not even consider any of the lower-scoring possibilities. His survival was on the line. He could not afford to present a careless dish now.
Warmth and comfort.
He already knew this competition did not reward those things by themselves. This was not Grand Housewife. It was Grand Chef. Naturally, he needed to make something that would satisfy the judges.
But what kind of food is like me? Korean? Italian?
Jo Minjoon could not answer that simple question.
He had eaten Korean food more than anything else throughout his life, but what he had cooked most often was Western food, particularly Italian. Japanese cuisine came after that. He had not actually cooked that many Korean dishes. Only relatively simple things such as bulgogi, jeyuk-bokkeum, and fish braised in soy sauce. Proper Korean meals honestly took far too much effort to prepare at home.
(Translator’s Note: Bulgogi — Korean marinated, grilled or stir-fried thinly sliced beef, known for its sweet and savory flavour profile. Considered one of Korea’s most iconic barbecue dishes, with origins tracing back to the Goguryeo era (c. 37 BC–668 AD) though modern form popularized in the 20th century.)
“Have you decided yet?”
“Not yet.” At Chloe’s question, Jo Minjoon shrugged.
When he glanced to the side, he saw Anderson and Kaya watching them. Seeing the two of them wearing such serious expressions somehow made him relax.
What dishes did everyone like most?
There were four dishes with which Jo Minjoon had managed to score eight points: dak-galbi, pork ribs, risotto, and jelly with curd. There was no clear similarity between them, nor even any common nationality. The pork ribs had carried a mixture of Korean and Japanese influences, the risotto was Italian, while the jelly and curd were European-style. Of course, drawing statistics from only four dishes was ridiculous in the first place.
“The thing I like most... what I’m most confident in...”
Jo Minjoon continued murmuring to himself.
There was no single dish in the world that he could call his absolute favourite. Of course, if he had to choose the most delicious thing he had ever eaten, it would be the ten-point veal cheek, but that did not mean he particularly loved veal cheek. That dish had simply been overwhelmingly perfect.
If I ever open a restaurant, what kind of restaurant would it be?
The other three had already asked him that question. He had answered that he wanted to work at a luxury restaurant.
But that was an extremely vague answer.
A restaurant without any identity could not become a luxury restaurant.
If identity was the issue, then Jo Minjoon could only be described as a mixture of everything. This dish, that dish. He had spent plenty of time cooking like that. But if he had to name something that suited his own particular strengths...
It would have to be food where the harmony of every ingredient mattered.
Even when the system predicted a relatively low cooking score, his ability gave him an absolute advantage when it came to balancing and harmonising a recipe.
...Fruit. A dish served with fruit sauce.
The moment he thought of it, something clicked.
When he had first encountered Western cuisine, one of the things that had surprised him most was the way fruit sauces or purées could accompany main dishes. Sauces made from fruit itself, sometimes combined with herbs or pesto-like elements. Korean cooking did use things such as zest or pear juice, but those ingredients were usually mixed into something else rather than presented as the main flavour of the sauce.
(Translator’s Note: Pesto —A sauce particularly associated with Genoa and Liguria, traditionally made from basil, garlic, pine nuts, hard cheese, and olive oil. The modern form known as pesto alla Genovese is documented from the nineteenth century.)
A sauce that allowed the fruit itself to stand at the centre still felt fresh to him.
He thought for a while about what ingredient should accompany it.
In the end, he settled on duck.
Duck seemed easy enough to handle, but making it truly delicious was surprisingly difficult. Cook it even slightly too long and it became tough, while its distinctive smell could become unpleasant. But what chef at this level would not know at least that much?
Now that he had decided on a direction, his thoughts moved faster.
He considered several fruit sauces, changed the method of cooking the duck again and again, and finally arrived at an answer.
Eight points.
If Chloe brought out everything she was capable of, like she had before, and produced a nine-point dish, he would lose.
But there was nothing he could do about that.
If it happened, it would simply mean he was not as good as Chloe.
He was not expecting a nine-point dish from himself. Even producing an eight-point dish still required his full concentration.
“Start!”
Alan’s blunt shout rang out, and both Chloe and Jo Minjoon hurried towards the pantry.
Jo Minjoon gathered fresh basil, oranges, orange marmalade, duck breast, corn flour, chicken gravy, and paprika.
As he did, Chloe approached him. “Are you confident?”
“I don’t know. I just have to do it.”
“...Right. Good luck.”
The brief exchange left an uncomfortable aftertaste.
Jo Minjoon hurried back to his workstation, set a pan over the heat, and began working. He combined orange, orange marmalade, and chicken gravy in carefully measured proportions, then brought them to a simmer.
At first glance, the process seemed far too simple for a recipe capable of earning eight points. The ingredients themselves were simple too.
But Jo Minjoon had recently realised something.
Even when you used exactly the same ingredients, the proportions could make the difference between heaven and earth. A single teaspoon could completely change a flavour. A tiny imbalance could ruin the whole thing.
Whenever Jo Minjoon made an eight-point dish, he had to focus to the utmost.
Without that concentration, he could not reach that score.
He stirred the sauce carefully. While it was still thin and bubbling, he added a small amount of corn flour. It contributed a faint corn flavour while also thickening the sauce into something with a rough, almost muddy texture.
Keeping the sauce warm, Jo Minjoon moved on to roasting the duck and paprika.
The juices from the paprika mingled with the duck fat and began sizzling together, while the skin gradually turned golden. He did not add any extra oil. Too much fat would weaken the fragrance of the orange sauce.
His lips remained tightly closed. His nostrils flared slightly.
His eyes were calm and focused.
He could hear nothing but the sizzling oil.
Jo Minjoon turned over the duck breast. The beautifully seared exterior gleamed beneath a thin coating of fat.
Once the breast was cooked, he placed it on the plate. Then he drew a gentle S-shaped line of orange sauce with his spoon and arranged the duck and paprika around it.
At least visually, it seemed successful.
“Ah...”
A groan escaped Jo Minjoon’s mouth.
[Roasted Duck Breast with Orange Sauce and Paprika]
Freshness: 89%
Origins: (Too many ingredients to display)
Quality: High
Cooking Score: 7/10
Not everything could turn out the way he wanted.
But now that it had happened, he felt as though something inside him might break.
What had gone wrong?
Had he simmered the sauce too long?
Had he failed to roast the duck properly?
He did not know.
If he had known, he would not have made the mistake in the first place.
There were still thirty seconds left.
But there was nothing he could do in thirty seconds.
Then an ugly thought surfaced inside him.
So ugly that he could hardly believe it had come from his own mind.
Maybe Chloe also...
He felt like vomiting.
Until now, he had talked about a chef’s mentality, about friendship, about affection.
And yet the instant his own survival was threatened, this was what he thought?
If his skills were insufficient, then he should simply be eliminated. He did not want to survive because someone else performed poorly.
Especially not when that someone was Chloe.
But even after thinking that, he could not stop himself from feeling relieved the moment he saw Chloe’s dish.
Her dish was seven points too.
Chilli japchae.
(Translator’s Note: Chilli japchae — A Korean-Chinese stir-fried dish generally consisting of finely sliced chilli or green peppers with similarly shredded meat and vegetables. Despite containing japchae in its Korean name, it normally does not contain the glass noodles characteristic of standard Korean japchae. It belongs to Korea’s broader Korean-Chinese restaurant tradition, which developed substantially from Chinese immigrant communities from the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries onward; unlike older Korean japchae, chilli japchae is commonly served with steamed flower buns.)
Even without looking at the score, he could have guessed. The chilli japchae served with flower buns was an ordinary, familiar dish. Compared with what might be served at a Chinese restaurant, the ingredients were relatively modest, and she had added nothing particularly distinctive to the sauce.
(Translator’s Note: Flower buns — Soft steamed wheat buns shaped into layered or twisted forms resembling flowers. They derive from the wider Chinese steamed-bread tradition and are particularly familiar in Korean-Chinese restaurants as an accompaniment to dishes such as gochu-japchae. Diners typically tear the buns apart and eat them with portions of the stir-fried meat and vegetables. There is no securely established single year of origin for the Korean restaurant form.)
Ordinary.
That single word suited it perfectly.
It was not seven points because Chloe lacked skill.
It was seven points because the dish itself showed no desire to reach any higher.
...Why? Chloe. Why did you choose this?
He wanted to ask her.
But he could not.
The judges were calling them forward.
Their dishes were placed on the table, and Sergei spoke casually.
“Neither of them looks particularly impressive.”
“Something looking impressive doesn’t guarantee that it tastes good, and something simple doesn’t automatically taste bad.”
“Even so, what you see before eating can affect how it tastes. Even delicious food will feel like dog shit if you serve it like dog shit. Well, neither of these is quite that bad...”
“Let’s eat first.”
The judges began tasting calmly.
They started with Jo Minjoon’s dish. If they ate the chilli japchae first, its stronger flavours might overwhelm the duck.
The sweetness of the orange, with the corn flour hidden beneath it. The duck breast between those flavours was quite good.
But that was all.
Rachel spoke without hesitation.
“You made the sauce well. But the duck is disappointing. It seems you tried to preserve as much fat as possible, but fundamentally, duck breast doesn’t contain that much fat throughout the meat. Naturally, the flesh itself is drier than the fatty skin. You crisped the skin well... but the fat rendered from the skin wasn’t enough to keep the entire breast moist.”
“I agree with Chef Rachel. Of course, if you served this to an ordinary diner, they would probably simply say it was delicious. But a true food critic would notice even the smallest shortcomings. Minjoon, have you cooked duck breast many times?”
“...I thought I had, but now that I think about it, probably not compared with other ingredients.”
“That shows in this dish. It feels a little like you followed something from a famous cookbook without fully mastering it yourself. I can still sense your inexperience.”
Put more simply, the idea had been good, but he had failed to reproduce it properly.
Jo Minjoon shut his mouth and squeezed his eyes closed until it hurt.
Joseph watched him for a moment before asking, “We gave you a mirror as the theme. We asked you to put yourself into your dish. Why did you make this?”
“Because this kind of cooking is the most fun for me.”
“What part of it?”
“Making fruit sauces and roasting things in a frying pan. Those were some of the first things I tried when I started cooking. They felt more fun and surprising than anything else. Maybe I only feel that strongly because of the memories attached to them... but if you ask me to put myself into a dish, then I think going back to where I started is the best answer. This is that.”
“That part was good. But I think it would be better if you left behind the clumsiness you had when you first discovered that passion...” Joseph sighed.
By the time his sigh faded, the judges were already wrapping Chloe’s chilli japchae in the flower buns and placing them into their mouths.
It was delicious.
The flower buns were warm and soft, while the plentiful vegetables, the fat from the meat, and the chilli oil in the japchae created a deep richness reminiscent of well-rendered pork fat.
But...
It had disappointments of its own.
Complicated expressions appeared on every judge’s face.
Jo Minjoon understood why.
There was nothing technically wrong with the cooking. The recipe itself remained faithful to what chilli japchae should be.
But fundamentally, it was a very basic dish.
People sometimes said that half the work in Chinese cooking was completed at the cutting board, and chilli japchae was a good example. Once the vegetables and meat were sliced properly, much of what remained was simply stir-frying them in oil.
“Why chilli japchae?” Joseph asked. “I’m fairly certain that when we announced this mission, we told you to make something capable of astonishing us. To be honest, chilli japchae is delicious almost regardless of who makes it. And it’s extremely familiar. Do you really think you can amaze us with this alone?”
Chloe hesitated.
She carefully looked at each of the five judges before cautiously opening her mouth.
“Actually... I’m a little tired.”
“...Of the competition?”
“Uh... something like that, but not exactly. You always have to make something new. Something special. Something magnificent. I like cooking, but I also like making the same things again. I like noticing the little differences that appear even when you cook the same dish. Something like an egg roll isn’t special at all, but I like food that’s delicious precisely because it’s familiar. Familiar food? I don’t know. I’m not even sure there’s a need to separate it into that kind of category. And sometimes I wonder whether luxury restaurants really need to create a luxurious feeling just by serving tiny portions on huge plates.”
Perhaps she had been storing those thoughts for a long time, because even as she spoke at length, Chloe never stumbled once.
She bit her lip, her expression pained. “Of course, I liked my time here too. I learned things I didn’t know, and I didn’t hate the feeling of pushing my creativity harder than ever and putting myself on a stage to be judged. But the theme was a mirror. And fundamentally, this is the kind of person I am. Rather than extravagant, enormous things, simple, ordinary, easy things reach me more deeply. That dish is me.”
Jo Minjoon listened quietly.
He remembered the potato soup Chloe had made.
He remembered all the dishes she had prepared until now.
Her voice sounded close to tears, yet her expression remained dignified as she continued.
“I’m not ashamed of that kind of food. And I don’t think there’s any reason I should be.”
“But customers might be.” Alan answered calmly.
He understood how Chloe felt.
Reality, however, was usually different from what people hoped.
“If you open your own modest restaurant, perhaps that can work. But a chef’s ambition naturally drives them towards creating more perfect dishes with better ingredients. That day may come for you too. And when it does, you may no longer be satisfied with this kind of dish. Don’t tell me you will be. I’ve seen countless chefs like that. At first, they only want to make something delicious at an affordable price. They ask whether food really needs to be exceptionally delicious. There is certainly value in a restaurant that simply allows customers to fill their stomachs.”
Alan paused.
He slowly exhaled before continuing in a heavier voice.
“Yes. There is value in that. But the way people treat it is different. The way you treat your own cooking will be different too. Go to an expensive restaurant. Unless the food tastes genuinely bad, diners rarely leave much behind. But in ordinary restaurants, that happens all the time. Because the food is cheap. Throwing away a little doesn’t feel like a waste. And the respect shown towards the chef who made that food can only fall with it.”
Alan looked directly at Chloe.
“If you can continue working in that environment without being hurt by it... then perhaps there is nothing wrong with that path. But there will not be many people who call you the best. Luxury does not become luxury for no reason. And Grand Chef, as its name suggests, is a competition meant to choose the best chef in the world. It is a competition meant to produce the kind of chef other chefs aspire to become and follow.”
Chloe could not answer.
She merely stared at her chilli japchae with powerless eyes.
Rachel spoke calmly. “What you’re trying to express is gentle and warm. There was no ambition in your dish, while there was ambition in Jo Minjoon’s. Chloe, Alan isn’t saying that your dish has no value. He’s saying that the path you’re describing is lonely and difficult.”
“...Yes.”
“This food itself isn’t lacking. The flavour was good, and you expressed your philosophy clearly. It simply failed to align completely with the fundamental nature of this competition.”
Chloe closed her mouth.
The judges exchanged opinions for a moment before finally nodding in agreement.
Emily opened her mouth.
“The contestant to be eliminated has been decided.”