100 Restaurant (5)
Me...?
"Fighting!"
Han Da-sol wore the expression of a child sent on her first errand. It was utterly pitiful, yet all Woo Dan-wol did was chuckle and take one more step back.
"For real? Is it really...?"
"Yes."
Her gaze swam. Still, she knew she had to do it. Turning away from Woo Dan-wol, she looked at the price tag. Letters that resembled English but weren't English filled her vision. Women in the typical butcher aprons, knives in hand, greeted her warmly.
Han Da-sol's mind went completely blank. She was sure she had studied the basic words, yet the moment she faced actual locals, she froze.
At least back at the restaurant the lines she needed to say were fixed, so it hadn't mattered. What was beef again? Which cut? That was when Woo Dan-wol began feeding her the words.
"Carne!"
"Ah, ah! Carne!"
A laugh natural to the situation slipped out. The pair who had been flirting cutely only moments ago had transformed into something ridiculous. Perhaps this was what variety shows were all about. The words "contrived" and "variety" were rarely far apart; after all, a writer crafted the script and everyone followed the outline. In that sense, a moment like this felt even more special.
It wasn't manufactured for laughs. It was simply... that everyday life itself was funny. Using every hand gesture and bit of body language they could muster, they bought the beef. Yet a question arose. The two of them were speaking entirely different languages, yet the meaning still got across.
"Ah! Aah! Yes, yes! That. That one."
"That one?"
The butcher woman echoed the end of Han Da-sol's sentence. Surprisingly, the conversation worked. Their goal gradually aligned. Beef, specifically brisket. Cut into large chunks.
Korean and Spanish. The speech of two different countries was merging under the single task of running an errand. Professional terms and body language certainly helped.
"Ah..."
It was hard. Why was it so hard? Because she was walking, that was why.
The autumn breeze brushed pleasantly against her skin, but it could not soothe the stabbing pain in her calves. Obvious as that was. The woman who had been striding forward let out a sigh of relief.
Escape. Flight. Worn down and exhausted by reality, she had chosen to run from it.
When a person is suffering, their vision narrows. A Korean who had lived earnestly and been wounded by others had turned toward the pilgrimage route. She wasn't religious. She held no particular convictions.
Coincidence. It had been nothing but coincidence. When she was so tired she wanted to die, when death had seemed like an option, she had seen the pilgrimage route on a travel YouTube video. Scraping together every won she could find, she had flown to Spain.
Twenty kilometers a day. She had already been walking for over three weeks. Blisters covered her feet, and her exhausted muscles screamed with every step. Marching without a single thought in her head had brought a flood of emotions, yet she refused to dredge up the feelings buried deepest in her heart.
She didn't want to, and this wasn't the place for it.
She clung to the tiny hope a human being could carry. The village was almost in sight. That meant the end of the day's journey. The setting sun made her uneasy, but this was the pilgrimage route.
Even as she summoned her final spurt of energy, she could not hide her hesitant expression. It was a little late; the dinner hour had already passed, so they might not serve her a meal. Since she was staying the night anyway, maybe it would be fine to simply sleep? The thought crossed her mind. Yet having the itinerary she had planned over hours of walking thrown off felt like enormous stress.
"Ah..."
There it was again. A bad habit, the chief culprit that made life so difficult. Self-destructive thinking.
She exhaled a thin sigh and stepped outside. No matter how she tried to think positively, she couldn't. The situation was bad, and once negative emotions had taken hold, hopeful thoughts did not come easily.
She wandered the streets without direction. Pasta. Bread. Meat. And wine.
Pilgrim food was defined by frugality rather than luxury. Simple pasta and bread. She had grown so sick of it that merely thinking about it brought waves of irritation.
"Ah...?"
Then a familiar sign greeted the woman weary of life. A word she had never dreamed she would see in Spain.
KOREAN SET MEAL HOUSE
She rubbed her eyes. Thinking she had seen wrong, she looked again, but the familiar Korean characters welcomed her. While walking the pilgrimage she had seen many foreigners and travelers. She had even encountered Koreans by chance, though she remembered treating them sharply because she had been so exhausted. The sun had set, darkness had fallen, and the chill in the air pushed at her back. The smell of rice drifting out, the warm glow spilling from the restaurant—both were more than enough to draw her inside.
"Ah..."
She didn't speak Spanish well, but she could understand the poster well enough. Was it for a program? The restaurant was clearly being filmed; she saw several cameras. Of course there wouldn't be a Korean running a business all the way out here. Living the pessimistic life she did, she would normally have turned away.
My face on television? Just imagining it was horrifying. Yet for a woman who had endured weeks of hardship, change arrived from an unexpected place.
"Oh, a Korean?"
"Ah..."
"Welcome. You are Korean, right?"
"Yes."
It was late. The tables were moderately full. The man greeting her was incredibly handsome. He looked familiar... She sat down at the seat he indicated.
The aroma already made her mouth water. The menu she was given listed water and wine, simple drinks, and...
"Set meal course...?"
She knew it. Even though the words were in Spanish, the attached photograph revealed exactly what it was. Any Korean would recognize the dish.
"One of these, please."
"Certainly."
Woo Dan-wol took the order and began to work. The woman weary from her journey kept stealing glances at him. Word that a Korean had arrived must have spread; in the kitchen she caught sight of a familiar figure.
"Huh?"
"Hehe, you really did come! Nice to meet you."
"Ms. Baek Ju-yeon?"
She was famous. That was why the woman recognized her. The sight of her made the woman rise from her seat without thinking. Even though she wore a sanitary mask and her apron was covered in stains, the woman extended her hand for a handshake.
"Oh my, you've walked all the way here?"
"Y-yes..."
"You must have gone through so much..."
One sentence. The words from a woman in her fifties carried tremendous power. The age gap of nearly two decades brought enormous comfort. Or perhaps it was simply that no one had told her she had worked hard, and that was why it had been so difficult.
Even so, tears did not fall. A resonance stirred deep in her heart, yet the thrill of meeting a celebrity came first.
They exchanged many words. Woo Dan-wol marveled that she was the first Korean to visit, while she answered hesitantly but fully. His gentle smile seemed to smooth down her bristling nerves.
And then.
"Mackerel set meal, ready."
"Th-thank you..."
Her gaze locked onto the tray. After three weeks of foreign food, everything she had been craving was there. Steaming white rice and kimchi. Bright red bean-sprout salad. Grilled mackerel, rolled omelette, and the crowning beef radish soup. Even neatly arranged seaweed.
Her mouth watered instinctively. She lifted the spoon, scooped a large mouthful of rice, and put it in. No particular taste registered, yet the rising sense of satisfaction made her smile.
With chopsticks she peeled flesh from the grilled mackerel. The fish, free of small bones and leaving only the large skeleton, looked incredibly appetizing. The rice grains left in her mouth met the golden fish. Salty, yet perfectly harmonious.
The bean sprouts that followed felt crisp and refreshing. She placed a sheet of seaweed on the rice, rolled it with her chopsticks, and ate it. She popped the thumb-sized rolled omelette into her mouth, then crammed in another huge bite until her cheeks bulged.
"Slurp..."
The warm beef radish soup filled her mouth. A pleasant aroma of meat and radish spread, and the delicious broth cleared her clogged throat.
"Ah..."
The hot soup warmed her body. After wandering in circles through a life of exhaustion and finally reaching distant Spain, she felt a small, precious joy.
Warm rice and soup. The side dishes were not so different from what she ate every day, yet they contained genuine care. A single serving. She could hardly believe it cost only seven euros. In truth, the price did not matter.
When the sincerity in the cooking arrived as comfort and began to melt her heart—
"The boss says it's on the house. Because you're eating so well."
"Ah..."
Red meat. It was jeyuk. They could have charged her for it, yet the spicy stir-fried pork on the side plate was no small portion.
"Thank... you..."
She bowed her head deeply. Then she frantically stuffed her mouth with rice. She added meat, added side dishes until her cheeks were puffed out. It was a desperate struggle to push back down the emotions rising inside her.
A warm, kindness-filled struggle. It was her precious meal.