Tasting with My Eyes (2)
Dokkaebi.
In Korean folklore, they were mythical spirits that appeared in many guises. There was a familiar tale told of them: in the dead of night, one would leap out and challenge an unsuspecting traveler to a match of ssireum wrestling. Entranced, the man would grapple with all his might until dawn, only to come to his senses and discover he had spent the entire night wrestling an ancient tree.
"Do you believe me now, my friend? Heh-heh-heh."
"W-Wait. Then are you really this brewery's...?"
"Call me Songha. True, I was born from the spirit of this brewery's grounds, but I don't care much for being addressed like a patch of dirt. Surely you wouldn't want people calling you a 'living sack of meat,' now would you?"
Songha knitted his brow slightly, looking somewhat disgruntled. When I pressed him for an explanation, however, he regained his composure and carried on smoothly.
"Ordinarily, a dokkaebi is born when an ancient object transforms over time."
"A plot of land isn't an object, though..."
"Tsk, call me Songha, will you? At any rate, you're right. I am not an object. But there are always exceptions in this world."
While dokkaebis typically manifested from weathered, time-worn relics, Songha explained that on rare occasions, a space imbued with boundless human love and devotion could also awaken its own sentience. He was one of those rare exceptions.
"I was truly happy brewing liquor alongside your grandfather. Though the old fellow could never see me, isn't it wonderful that my bond now carries over to his grandson? When you were little, I tried talking to you so many times, yet you never noticed... How is it your eyes have suddenly opened?"
"Haha... Well, you see..."
It didn't take long to explain what had happened to me. I wasn't the most eloquent speaker, so I stuck strictly to the essentials. Yet Songha's reaction was anything but simple.
"So, to put it plainly... that Lord directly intervened in the axis of time and sent you back into the past?"
"Right."
"And on top of that, he opened your eyes to behold our kind and commanded you to save our clan?"
"That's also true."
"What boundless benevolence!"
Songha's jaw dropped in sheer astonishment. When I asked what made it so extraordinary, he adjusted the brim of his fedora and spoke in a reverent hush.
"Few even among our dokkaebi kind possess such power. To twist time itself, to grant mortal eyes second sight, and to harbor such deep concern for our people..."
"Is he really that incredible?"
"Of course! Which means we must honor his will without question. We must set about brewing liquor at once."
"Does brewing liquor change anything?"
"Naturally. We dokkaebis are helplessly fond of spirits, after all."
Just as the old folk tales claimed, dokkaebis couldn't resist a good drink. More than that, Songha explained that when bathed in the spiritual energy of a place crafting supreme alcohol, even a dying dokkaebi could spring back to life. My hunch had been spot-on: to save the dokkaebi clan, I had to revive traditional breweries all across the country.
"That sounds like a daunting task."
"Yet it will benefit you just as much. Haven't you already experienced it?"
"Pardon? Experienced what?"
"You could see the scent and flavor with your own eyes, could you not? That is my power, and my gift to you—a blessing bestowed upon a mortal whose sight has awakened."
Whenever a dokkaebi regained its strength and granted its favor, an awakened human could channel that dokkaebi's unique ability. Songha's inherent gift was perceiving flavors and scents visually; other dokkaebis each held their own distinct powers.
"Of course, your sight was granted under the terms of a contract. If you fail to save our clan, your eyes will close once more—and you will lose every single ability you've received."
"I see."
"To prevent that, we must brew spirits of peerless excellence. Our kind loves great drink above all else."
I nodded firmly at Songha's words. My mind was already made up. Even without the dokkaebi's bet hanging over my head, I had zero intention of letting this second chance slip away.
Evidently pleased by my resolve, Songha beamed with genuine delight.
"Splendid! Then shall we get started right away? How about something like that American liquor we saw earlier?"
"Ah, that won't work."
"And why ever not?"
"That was whisky."
Whisky didn't just end with distillation. After completing the first and second distillations, the resulting clear spirit had to be poured into oak barrels and left to mature. It was during that long, slow sleep that the liquor evolved, deepening its rich aroma, complex flavors, and distinct character. It was the absolute core of what made whisky what it was. That was why Scotch whisky, by law, required a minimum of three years of barrel aging.
"Someday, maybe, but right now it's out of the question. Besides, our brewery doesn't even have a pot still right now."
"Mmm. So it was. It's coming back to me now. I only ever know how to drink the stuff, you see. Heh-heh."
"So for now, I intend to stick to what Songhadang has always done best."
"Ah, you speak of Nokpaju."
Nokpaju.
A heritage Korean yakju passed down since the Goryeo Dynasty, renowned as one of the finest spirits in history. It earned its name—'Green Wave Wine'—because when poured into a cup, its crystalline surface shimmered with the pristine brilliance of breaking emerald waves. It was so breathtakingly clear that it was also called Gyeongmyeon Nokpaju, the mirror-bright liquor. Throughout the Joseon Dynasty, it had been cherished by high-ranking noblemen as an emblem of a scholar's pure, unwavering integrity.
Though its authentic recipe had been lost during the Japanese colonial occupation, my grandfather had painstakingly restored it after years of relentless trial and error.
"Because that was the liquor Grandfather dedicated his life to brewing."
"I remember. It tasted magnificent indeed."
Grandfather had poured his soul into brewing Nokpaju here at Songhadang. Though he never gained nationwide fame, his liquor was so extraordinarily delicious that it had ignited my own lifelong passion for brewing. There was just one small hitch.
"May I speak frankly?" Songha asked.
"Go ahead."
"I wonder whether you can truly reproduce that flavor. Ahem."
Songha looked away casually, fidgeting with the brim of his fedora. Compared to my grandfather, who had reached the pinnacle of craftsmanship, I must have looked like nothing more than a wet-behind-the-ears novice.
"I know the method inside out, so you don't need to worry."
I hadn't spent those past ten years idling away in despair. The exact brewing process for Nokpaju was branded into my memory.
"Then all is well. Ah, and do drop the formalities, will you? When friends are this polite, it hurts my feelings."
"Uh... well..."
I cracked open the locked door and glanced up at Songha. Aside from his archaic phrasing and Enlightenment-era three-piece suit, he looked completely human. Yet he possessed a distinct spiritual presence that made it difficult to treat him lightly. In short, dropping honorifics right off the bat felt a bit awkward.
"Let's take it slowly."
"My, aren't you a shy fellow? Gwahaha!"
Leaving Songha chuckling behind me, I stepped out into the brewery. Crazy as the day had been, it was time to get down to business.
"Yeonwoo, are you sure you're okay? Shouldn't you go see a doctor or something?"
"I'm fine. In our position, we can't afford to sit on our hands."
"Well, if you say so. So what are we supposed to do first?"
Sejun, who obviously couldn't see Songha floating right behind me, scratched his head.
"We're making Nokpaju."
"It's not like that stuff just pops out of thin air."
"Even so, doing nothing won't get us anywhere."
Sejun grimaced slightly, clearly feeling the pressure of taking on such an ambitious brew for the first time. I couldn't very well tell him: 'Actually, I'm a regressor who brewed spirits for ten years, so just trust me.'
"First, we need to prepare the sulmit."
The recipe for Nokpaju appeared across several historical records—the Sallim Gyeongje, the Yangjubang, and the Eumsik Dimibang—each with slight variations. Generally, it followed the two-stage brewing method: preparing a primary starter mash, the sulmit, with non-glutinous rice, followed by a secondary mash, the deotsul, using glutinous rice.
Grandfather and I based our brew on the Sanga Yorok. According to this early Joseon culinary compendium, which compiled all the essential recipes for a traditional rural estate, our first step was clear.
"Let's bring out the non-glutinous rice first."
"Now the real work begins," Songha chimed in enthusiastically.
We hauled out sacks of non-glutinous rice from the warehouse and began washing and sieving the grains. Once thoroughly steamed, boiling water was poured over the rice to cook it into a soft porridge.
"Is this godubap?"
"Jiebab. Godubap is firm, properly steamed rice where the grains stay separate and dry."
Unlike godubap, which was steamed firm to preserve individual grains, jiebab was cooked soft and wet like porridge with added boiling water, specifically designed to accelerate rapid and complete fermentation. Once the porridge had cooled down entirely, we blended in crushed nuruk and wheat flour, mixing the mash thoroughly.
"Thank goodness we still have nuruk left in stock."
While most modern commercial breweries relied on cheap, standardized Japanese-style ipguk to guarantee uniform taste and low production costs, Grandfather had always insisted on handcrafting his own wild nuruk. Replicating that had been an agonizing ordeal; in my past life, it had taken me three grueling years of failure before I could even approach the quality of Grandfather's starter cakes.
"Why add wheat flour?" Sejun asked.
"It keeps harmful wild bacteria from taking over during fermentation and adds a subtle layer of savory umami."
Next, we transferred the mixture into sanitized earthenware onggi jars and left it to ferment for three days. In other words, all we could do now was wait.
That didn't mean our work was finished, however. Nokpaju was a two-stage brew, meaning we still had to prepare the deotsul, and we had no intention of stopping at just one batch. There was endless prep ahead.
"Whew, this is backbreaking."
"You knew it wouldn't be easy."
"Phew. Knowing it in your head and feeling it in your muscles are two completely different things."
Despite his grumbling, a satisfied grin tugged at the corners of Sejun's sweat-streaked mouth. He truly loved the craft of alcohol. That was why he had stayed by my side as my most dependable partner in my previous life.
"Ah... It's been far too long since the fragrance of brewing drifted through these halls," Songha murmured nostalgically.
With our unseen companion watching on, we poured every ounce of our energy into the brew.
A month flew by far faster than anticipated. Over those four weeks, we filled row after row of onggi jars with fermenting Nokpaju.
Of course, we hadn't just sat around twiddling our thumbs while the jars bubbled. Even now, we were just pulling back into the brewery after handling business outside.
"Good grief. There's no end to the chores. How on earth did your grandfather manage all this on his own?" Sejun shook his head in sheer disbelief.
It was a fair question. We had just returned from inspecting the rice needed for our upcoming production runs. Just as with fine cuisine, raw ingredients in brewing dictated the ultimate aroma and taste. No matter how brilliant an artisan might be, inferior grain could never yield superior liquor. Securing top-tier rice was paramount for Songhadang's survival.
"Without Grandfather's groundwork, we'd have been dead in the water."
"Tell me about it. His connections were incredible."
Fortunately, we didn't have to start from scratch. Grandfather had an established farm supplier, one with whom I had maintained a steady partnership in my previous life as well. Because Yeongwol was a mountainous region, paddy fields were scarce, but local farmers compensated by producing exceptionally high-grade specialty rice. The estate we visited was one of the finest.
"The quality was phenomenal."
Not only was it farmed completely chemical-free, but its low protein content made it tailor-made for brewing. How did I know? Remarkably, the faint visual essences of protein scent and flavor had hovered right before my eyes during the inspection. It was the perfect grain for Nokpaju, whose claim to fame was its crystalline, luminous clarity. Best of all, because the farm was nearby, we could procure freshly milled batches on demand.
"Still, I'm glad you came along."
"Me? You did all the inspecting. I don't know the first thing about rice quality."
"I can't haul this stuff by myself."
The truck bed was packed high with heavy sacks of rice. I had tried tugging at one earlier, but with my build, it barely budged. But when a towering mountain of a man like Sejun stepped in—built with zero body fat and pure, dense muscle—the story changed completely.
"Why would anyone struggle to lift this? Honestly."
Without so much as an exhale of effort, Sejun casually scooped up a forty-kilogram sack in one hand as if it were made of Styrofoam. Defying every known law of physics, he hoisted two sacks over each shoulder—four in total—and asked without breaking a sweat, "Straight to the storehouse?"
"Yeah. Wait, let me help—"
"Save it. I'll be done in a minute."
He practically jogged off toward the storage shed.
"Has that lad had an encounter with a dokkaebi as well?" Songha asked, his eyes wide with astonishment.
"From what I hear, it's just pure genetics."
"Ho... A born general, that one."
When an ancient dokkaebi shook his head in awe, there was really nothing left to say. True to his word, Sejun single-handedly hauled every last sack into the storehouse before walking back over and wiping his brow.
"Whew. Come to think of it, today's the day, right?"
"Yeah."
Today marked exactly thirty days—the day our very first batch of Nokpaju completed its maturation.
"Ugh, my stomach's doing somersaults."
A giant built to tackle wild boars bare-handed was shivering with nervous anticipation. In truth, I felt the exact same way. I had poured every ounce of knowledge and technique from my past life into that jar, but brewing was a living craft—there were never any guarantees.
"Shall we open it, then?"
Screeech.
The heavy earthenware lid slid back. Instantly, an aroma as pure and pristine as a mountain stream billowed outward. And rising from the mouth of the onggi, an elegant, graceful presence manifested from the fragrant mist—a spirit of pure scent, bearing a gentle, serene smile as it danced lightly in the air.
The moment my eyes locked onto it, I knew. It was an absolute triumph.
"Whoa... That smell is incredible! Come on, let's taste it already!"
All his earlier anxiety vanished in a heartbeat; true to his drinker's soul, Sejun begged to sample it right away. Eager as he was, I dipped the wooden ladle into the jar and poured the Nokpaju into a glass cup.
Trickle.
The liquor fell with a crisp, melodious splash. And the moment that crystal-clear liquor, shimmering with a delicate, verdant glow, touched my lips and washed across my palate...
"Ah..."
A breath of pure, breathless admiration escaped my lips.