Chapter 17
Chapter 17
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 17
Chapter Title: Incident at Babsang (2)
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Michael's single remark instantly turned the atmosphere inside the restaurant ice-cold.
The table that had been enjoying a lively meal froze. Lucas, the man known as the boss of the Hells Angels, wore a baffled expression.
They were known to belong to the Crips gang, one of America's most notorious.
Most were Black, but there were also white, Hispanic, and Asian members scattered throughout.
"...That... you're talking to us?"
Lucas looked at the white guy across from him with utter disbelief and asked his crew.
They had come here out of curiosity for Korean food, having heard it was the hottest spot in Berkeley.
The friendly owner, the generous free side dishes, and above all, the delicious flavors.
It had been a truly satisfying meal after a long time.
But then this white kid had to ruin the mood.
Taking insults lying down wasn't the gang way.
He must think we're just local punks picking a fight. Time to show him some bitter reality.
He looked pretty built, like an athlete, but street fights were a whole different ballgame.
At Lucas's signal, his crew smirked and started slowly rising from their seats—right then.
"Michael! What the hell do you think you're doing?!"
A thunderous shout echoed through the restaurant.
It was the owner, Ji-hoon, glaring at Michael with blazing eyes.
Seeing this, Lucas gestured to his men to stand down.
A signal to hold off.
His eyes narrowed with interest.
As a Black man, racism was everyday life for him.
Something he'd dealt with since birth.
Most people pretended not to see or even joined in.
Lucas never let guys like that slide.
But this Asian owner was different.
He decided to watch and see.
"You got a personality problem? What the hell are you doing?"
Ji-hoon's voice was cold as ice.
He couldn't understand Michael's behavior.
He wouldn't know the Korean proverb that even dogs don't bother folks while they're eating, but interrupting someone's meal is rude anywhere.
How did the usually fun Michael say something like that?
Was it American culture where even elders don't get respect? Or was Michael just rude?
At Ji-hoon's sharp reaction, Michael looked a bit flustered.
"Why... why are you so mad, Hoon? Did I say something wrong? There are Black guys in here looking like gangsters—what's wrong with that?!"
Ji-hoon was dumbfounded by the response.
So what if they're gangsters? Can't they eat?
"Michael! Don't say rude shit. They're precious customers here to eat. Are you discriminating right now? Huh? Then deep down, you're calling me—a yellow monkey—too, right? Say it!"
As Ji-hoon pressed with a pissed-off face, Michael waved his hands in real panic.
"N-No! How'd it go there?!"
"Who cares if they're gangsters or Black while they're eating?!"
Ji-hoon yelled straight toward the kitchen.
"Amy! Come out here a sec!"
The kitchen door opened, and out came Amy with her reggae dreads and sturdy build, in her chef's whites.
"I'm swamped here, boss—what now?"
Pointing at Amy, Ji-hoon said,
"What's wrong with Black people? The guy making your food is Black, and I'm Asian. What you just said is straight-up racism! I don't serve people who insult other customers in my shop. Get out."
Ji-hoon issued the eviction.
"S-Sorry, Hoon. I messed up. Please cool off."
"What's there for me to cool off about? To you, I'm just some yellow monkey throwing a tantrum anyway, right?"
"No, that's not it! I've never thought that!"
Toward the desperately pleading Michael, Ji-hoon laid down his final condition.
"If you wanna eat here, go apologize properly to those guys over there. If they don't accept it, you're no longer welcome."
Michael let out a deep sigh and trudged heavily to Lucas's table.
"Hey, guys. I went too far. Sorry. Can you accept my apology?"
Lucas, who had just finished eating, watched him.
He stood, patting Michael's shoulder a couple times.
"The owner saved your ass today. Apology accepted. Be polite wherever you go next time, white boy."
With that, Lucas and his crew brushed past Michael toward the counter.
As Ji-hoon hurried over for the bill, Lucas spoke first with an apology.
"Really sorry for interrupting your meal. On the house today as my apology."
Lucas grinned and said,
"Hey, man. This was fun. You've got guts for an Asian. Real entertaining guy."
Ji-hoon shot back without missing a beat.
"And you're discriminating now? Stereotyping Asians as gutless? Disappointing."
"What? Hahahaha!"
Lucas burst into hearty laughter, like it was the funniest thing.
"Hey, Jason, hear that? This guy's calling me racist! Haha!"
After laughing his fill, he said,
"Nah, nah. Ring me up. I don't do free meals anywhere. But show me more drama next time."
"I don't want events like this in my restaurant. Same rules apply if you're rude—no entry."
"Haha, got it. Hey, what's your name?"
"Just call me Hoon."
"Alright, Hoon. I'm Lucas. See you around."
As Lucas extended his hand, Ji-hoon shook it lightly.
"Always welcome as a customer. That's $60. Have a good one."
Outside, Lucas and his crew chatted animatedly as they left.
"Man, it's been forever since I had this much fun. Right?"
"Owner's a riot. No fear."
"Looked like a fresh-off-the-boat newbie. Haha."
"Everyone enjoy the food? I loved it. Belly full, and Korean food's better than I thought. Let's come back."
After they were gone, Ji-hoon approached Michael with a warning.
"One more stunt like this, and I won't hold back."
Michael nodded frantically, begging him to calm down.
There weren't many proper Korean spots near Berkeley, so Babsang was precious to him too.
That night, after closing, Ji-hoon posted a big notice on the wall.
[Welcome all: White, Black, Hispanic, Asian, everyone. But respect each other regardless of race, gender, or age inside. Violators will be warned once, then ejected and banned. (No fighting)]
And so, a restaurant with very special rules appeared in downtown Berkeley.
After that day, Lucas really became a regular.
Though he said that, he seemed to care enough to only come during slow hours.
Before long, he was a full-on Korean food lover.
Next time, he saw the warning sign on the wall and laughed his ass off for a good while.
He tried every dish on the menu.
His absolute favorite was stir-fried pork.
'Guess real man's food transcends borders.'
Now he even knew how to wrap it in lettuce like a pro.
Luckily, lettuce was dirt cheap in America, so he got it unlimited.
Today too, Lucas finished his leisurely meal.
I brought over a glass of shikhye with floating shaved ice and sat across from him briefly.
The place was empty anyway.
"You come too often these days, Lucas."
He took a big swig of the shikhye and let out a satisfied "Kkuu~" like some old uncle.
"Hoon's shikhye is the best. Feels like the meal's not done without it. Tried the canned stuff from the Korean mart 'cause I missed it—nope, not the same."
He really loved the refreshing iced shikhye.
I smiled and said,
"New menu item next month. Gotta come try it."
"Ooh, really? New menu? Count me in."
He patted his belly contentedly.
"Weirdly, eating here always settles my stomach. You put a spell on it or something, Hoon?"
Beef bulgogi, pork bulgogi, stir-fried pork.
All meat dishes, but not greasy like American food.
With calorie-obsessed Americans' eating habits, what could you do.
"Korean food's healthy by nature, Lucas. Come often if you wanna stay healthy long-term. No clogged arteries here."
He laughed heartily at my words.
"Hahaha! You make 'come often and buy more' sound so fancy."
"Special for regulars. Swing by on a rainy evening sometime. I'll treat you to special Korean food I only eat in the rain. Korean traditional booze too."
His eyes sparkled with curiosity.
"Ooh, for real? Something to look forward to?"
"Yup. You'll crawl home on all fours."
I said confidently with a grin.
Since coming to America, I'd picked up a new hobby.
Brewing makgeolli myself.
Sure, I drank soju sometimes, but my true love was always makgeolli.
As a rice joint, rice was plentiful, and with specially imported Geumjeongsanseong Nuruk and yeast from Korea, I could make top-tier fresh makgeolli in a week.
Stirring it daily was a bit of a chore, though.
I'd scorched the inside of a big imported earthenware crock to sterilize it.
Mixed in steamed glutinous rice, nuruk, and yeast, wrapped the mouth in clean cheesecloth, sealed the lid, and stashed it lovingly in a corner of the storage room.
Now, stirring it once a day before closing was my new routine.
Today too, I stopped by the storage before heading out.
Opening the crock lid released a pungent, sweet aroma of fermenting makgeolli.
"Kkuu~ Ripen nice and tasty, my baby."
Looking good—three more days, and it'd be perfect.
I eyed the plastic bottles I'd prepped.
The crock was huge, so the batch looked bigger than expected.
'Hmm~ Share some with the staff?'
No additives in real fresh makgeolli meant it spoiled fast—had to drink it quick once done.
Weather forecast said rain in California right when it'd finish.
Rain falling in April California.
I smiled smugly at the frying mix on the kitchen shelf.
After a year, crispy seafood pancake with freshly brewed makgeolli.
Just thinking about it made my mouth water.