Sunset Grill and the Garlic Conspiracy
The sun had dipped toward the west, sunset hues beginning to settle in—a scene any Korean would kill for. With the gentle murmur of the valley stream in the background, I finished pitching the tent and started prepping dinner.
"Alright, shall we get this going?"
"Yeah! I'm starving already!"
I kicked things off by setting up the BBQ grill. Just imagining the rockfish that would soon hit those grates had my mouth watering. My stomach was rumbling too, and since we wanted something quick tonight, I figured I'd break out that.
I hauled an unfamiliar cylindrical gadget out of the trunk, and Im Nana—who was sorting ingredients nearby—sidled over, eyes wide with curiosity.
"Areum, what's that? Never seen it before."
"Oh, this? It's called a starter. Official name's 'chimney starter.'"
I held up the cylinder for Nana and the camera. Definitely niche gear—most folks aren't campers.
"Normally, lighting charcoal with a torch takes forever, right? But light the bottom of this, and the air circulates, spreading the fire evenly and crazy fast through the whole batch."
I packed it with a mix of charcoal and shell charcoal, shoved a fire starter in the bottom, then lit it with the torch in the space below. Flames roared up, the heat racing from bottom to top.
"Whoa... flames shooting straight up means it lights everything at once?"
"Yep. With the starter, give it 3 to 5 minutes till the coals go white. Dump 'em in the grill, spread, and boom—cooking time."
"Cuts the wait huge... Last time we let it spread slow from the starter, lidded it, and still hung out forever."
"Truth is, for meat, lighting right in the grill keeps the fire going longer. But fish tonight—no long burn needed, so why not?"
"Looks so easy! Gotta snag one!"
Hmm, solid sales pitch. Camping gear hits different when you see it in action. You start collecting bits here and there, build your setlist, assemble your masterpieces—and bam, you're a real camper.
Masterpieces... Wait, speaking of—whatever happened with Rakgurakgu? President Kim Manho grabbed the proposal ages ago... Business means cash, so I knew it wouldn't be instant, but this long?
"Areum, coals are ready!"
"Oh, yeah. Grill time?"
Lost in thought for a sec, but the coals had gone perfectly white. I dumped them with a clatter into the waiting BBQ grill.
Then, from the icebox stocked at the ingredients mart, out came tonight's star: a rockfish block plump with flesh. Haaah. Eye candy alone was satisfying.
"Body for grilling, head for stew."
Rockfish on the board, knife in hand. Prime condition—no real prep needed. Just score it lightly?
Head for stewing, thick body for the grill.
"Score the head, simmer in the copol later. Body gets simple salt, pepper, herbs—grill-ready."
"Grill... stew..."
Gulp. That telltale sound from the side. Hey, you gonna just spectate? Don't you have your own dish?
Scored the head, dumped it in the copel with teriyaki sauce, mirin, and minced ginger from my camping sauce stash. Now just low heat.
Body got coarse salt, fresh-ground pepper, a rosemary sprig for scent.
"Stew and grill on the heat... Now the rest..."
Last up: field mushrooms. Bigger than my palms—I tore each into quarters, laid on foil, butter pat per piece, wrapped tight.
Nothing else needed. Mushroom juices plus butter soaking in? Sweet, nutty perfection.
"Mushrooms go farthest from the fire, residual heat slow-cooks 'em—no fails."
"Why slow for shrooms?"
"Direct grill's tasty, but foil-wrapped? Low and slow. Juices steam it inside—chewy heaven."
I ping-ponged looks between Nana and camera, wrapping the explanation.
My side done-ish, Nana geared up. Portable burner out, pasta stuff lined, mentally sequencing.
"Hmm... like so... Alright! My turn!"
Pan on burner, glug of olive oil. Thin-sliced garlic cloves tossed in.
...That's it? Garlic skimpy AF.
My cast-iron—fits two steaks—made those slices look orphaned. Quartered cloves? Count 'em: one, two... five whole cloves max? Jaw-drop.
Aglio e olio with five pieces? Two servings?
Won't even smell garlicky...
Itch to hurl a bulb in. But her first camp cook—can't meddle...
Then: "Ack! Forgot the chicken stock! Areum, pan duty—quick!"
Nana yelped, bolted to the car. Key ingredient brain-fart.
Alone with the pan, lonely garlics sizzled slow.
"...Do it? Nah?"
Inner angel vs. devil.
Go! She's gone—prime time!
Yes! Aglio e olio is garlic!
Who was who? Didn't matter—teamwork. Seize the day.
Maybe 1 min tops. No dawdle.
Snatched table garlic handful, sliced like possessed. Glanced—Nana trunk-diving—dumped ten-ish cloves more.
Sizzle!
No orphans now. Garlic slices frolicked in oil.
Yeah... proper.
Back to coals like nothing happened.
Minutes later, stock in hand, Nana eyed the pan. Head-tilt.
"Huh... off?"
"......"
"...Areum?"
"Yeah?"
"...You add garlic? Looks like they multiplied..."
Eyes elsewhere, poke coals, fake whistle.
"...Whi~ whi~"
Tense wheeze, no tune. Nana cracked up.
Smack!
Playful arm-tap.
"Busted!"
"H-hey, needs tons for flavor! Korean garlic love ignored?!"
"Way too much! Pasta won't fit!"
"N-no—this screams 'Aha, aglio e olio!' Trust once!"
"Sucks? You solo it!"
Ugh, but it's delish! I do ten-plus per solo serving... Four-five? Foreign nonsense! Even takeout packs it!
Lame defense, but Nana threw in the towel on my garlic obsession. Spill done—damage control.
Grudgingly finished the garlic bomb pasta.
"Pe-peperoncino heavy too..."
Sizzle. ...Mine separate later. Dodged disaster.
Post-commotion, cook time peaked.
Grill lid up: golden rockfish grill, perfectly simmered teriyaki head in copel. Shrooms needed more...
Sun gone, lanterns glowing—done.
Table spread: pure temptation.
"Whoa, photo op!"
"Looks killer..."
"Pasta? Jury out?"
"...Trust—it'll slap."
Finale: snuck peperoncino into mine despite veto. Oil pasta demands heat!
Now—devour!
We plunged into table paradise.