Unlocking Delicious Spiciness
Creating a truly delicious spiciness had felt utterly daunting at first. Even as the top ramen researcher in my previous life, surpassing Maewul Sin—which had held the unchallenged number one spot for decades—was far harder than finding a needle in a sand dune. It wasn't just about reviewing tens of thousands of ingredients from around the world; I had to perfect the ratios, balance the aromas, and fine-tune how the noodles absorbed the broth. Only with flawless proportions did victory even become possible.
Countless knockoffs had tried to imitate Maewul Sin. But in people's memories, only the original endured. They proved that mere imitation could never topple the throne. Eventually, the companies chasing it all gave up. I decided to return to basics. After all, Maewul Sin was no enemy you could beat with ordinary methods.
My first step was scouring every ingredient on the planet. China's star anise and Sichuan peppercorns, India's black cardamom and cumin, Thailand's lemongrass, Vietnam's fish sauce, Japan's bonito flakes and kelp, Mexico's chipotle peppers, Turkey's sun-dried tomatoes, Italy's porcini mushrooms, France's truffle oil, Russia's dill herb. Just the spices for heat numbered in the hundreds. Umami-rich dried seafood and mushrooms ran into the thousands. Then there were the oils for depth and weight, the oils and vegetable powders for the aftertaste—pushing the total under review to tens of thousands.
I classified them by country, aroma family, volatility rate, and heat reaction. Some burst with fragrance the moment they hit boiling water. Others revealed deep flavors after three minutes. Some left a lingering echo on the tongue. Others rose back through the nose after a sip of broth. Delicious recipes aren't born from tossing good ingredients together at random.
For example, too much chili powder just makes it burn. Overdo the garlic powder, and it gets cloying. Onion powder adds sweetness, but excess turns it cheap and artificial. Shrimp powder brings superb umami, but cross the line and it turns fishy. So I redrew the blending chart down to the gram. It was like restarting my old research life right here in the present.
"Phew..."
Cold sweat beaded on my forehead. The new department staff had just tasted the ramen I'd handed them, one after another. They all shook their heads. It was inevitable. Even as a ramen expert, Maewul Sin was the toughest to replicate. Nongwon would surely bring it out. It might even taste better than the one from my past life.
"Somehow, the spicy kick feels a bit lacking," said Jin-su oppa, the fifth Haeguri winner, glancing at me cautiously. He didn't need to hold back. Did he worry about getting on the company's bad side for honest feedback?
"It's fine, Jin-su oppa. Here, one blunt word spotting the flaw is worth more than a dozen compliments."
"W-well, then..."
Jin-su oppa hesitated before spilling his thoughts. "It is spicy... but it doesn't make you crave seconds. Like, your tongue's on fire, but your heart isn't racing?"
My eyes flashed. Yes. That was the exact flaw that doomed my past life's sole failure. Maewul Sin somehow delivered a delicious spiciness. Spicy flavor that's actually tasty. What a bizarre marvel.
Normally, spiciness is agony stimulating the tongue. The first bite hits hard, but boredom sets in fast, and by the second slurp, you're reaching for water. Maewul Sin was different—wildly so. Undeniably hot. Your first encounter left lips numb and sweat beading. Yet people kept chopsticking away. Why? Because the spice was delicious.
Delicious spiciness... How did Nongwon ever find this flavor?
[Ramen isn't food. It's culture!] Someone said that. Ramen as culture. Why the metaphor? Researching ramen recipes forces you to delve into global food cultures. Even now, I was studying the spicy-loving nations' cuisines.
This country favored bold, refreshing heat. Gulp down that hearty broth, sweat it out, mix in rice for satisfaction. They'd even sprinkle chili powder on jjajangmyeon or into spicy clam knife-cut noodles. Why add chili to dishes that didn't need it?
Huh?
A thunderclap exploded in my mind. Eyes wide, I rifled back through the blending chart. A grin crept across my face. Like Archimedes spotting the overflowing bath and grasping buoyancy and volume. One month into research, and I'd struck gold.
***
Jin-su flopped onto his bed the moment he got home. "Hooah, it was delicious..."
If there was a goddess of ramen in this world, it'd be Han Seoyeun of the Hansung family. How could a seven-year-old girl wield such vast knowledge? Jin-su stared at his still-trembling hands in a daze. He loved ramen more than anyone, yet her insight made one pack's world feel profoundly grand.
I want more already...
Even after tasting, his stomach growled. Hansung Food shamed his old workplace—it cherished employees in every way. Little President Seoyeun had declared: if you want to learn something, she'd back it 100%. She'd invest without hesitation for delicious ramen.
Thanks to her, Jin-su's last month overflowed with life's richest thrills and changes. Just one month into the new job, and the excitement outdid years at the old one. Mornings greeted him with beloved ramen scents. Unlike the old place—where you just followed orders—here they puzzled out the why together.
In meetings, even a newbie's wild idea got the little president's ear. Ask who the world's best boss is? Jin-su would point to Han Seoyeun without hesitation—he'd become her ardent fan.
Eating your favorite food and getting paid for it. Anyone would envy this dream job.
His pay had soared too. Average workers earned around 300,000 won monthly. But the new department's salaries blew past that—nearly 600,000 won. Jin-su knew that was manager-level pay, hard to even glimpse at his old firm. Because that's what he'd earned there.
"Heh-heh, heh-heh-heh-heh!"
Laughter bubbled out. Snapping to, Jin-su bolted upright. No time to waste. He craved deeper ramen knowledge. Before Hansung, he'd thought ramen just magically appeared. But joining development showed his ignorance's depth.
Noodle perfection meant tweaking flour blends and aging times. One broth sip demanded dozens of prototypes. A spoonful more chili shifted the whole profile. Veggie chunk size alone transformed texture.
Jin-su grabbed his bag from the corner and slung it over his shoulder. Work ended at the office, but his day didn't. He'd never had a girlfriend, never dated like others. Life once felt pointless—endless drudgery. Wake, commute, collapse, repeat.
Then instant ramen from a mundane supermarket sparked change. I want to help the company. If he was doing this, he'd dive in professionally. With firm steps, Jin-su headed to cooking school. To master ramen, grasp cooking's world first. At last, he faced his true dream.
***
"Young miss, everything's ready."
Dr. Lee poked his head through the door crack, reporting politely. I scanned the recipe on my desk one last time, then spoke slowly. "Is the tasting ramen all set?"
"Yes. The team's assembled."
"Hehe~ Great. Let's go."
Hot anticipation bubbled quietly in my chest. Endless failures and revisions felt sure to bear fruit today. No regrets—I'd given it all. My mind brimmed with just one bowl: the one to surpass Maewul Sin.
The meeting room buzzed like it was about to taste history. Two bowls per team member: one the classic Maewul Sin, the other my prototype.
"Begin tasting."
Chopsticks flew at Dr. Lee's words. They sipped the familiar Maewul Sin broth first, then switched to the prototype. The room filled only with slurps and careful breathy sips.
Months had flown. Sleep cut short, I'd poured every sense into crafting delicious spiciness amid a world flipped by grams.
Soon, chopsticks clattered down. They exchanged silent glances.
"Young miss."
I gripped Dr. Lee's hand tight. Their faces gave nothing away. Thump-thump-thump! My heart pounded.
Then Jin-su oppa spoke for the team. "Hooah! Incredible."
"...?"
"Never dreamed it'd top the last one. Haha! The kind of spice that makes you crave more!"
"!"
Elation welled from deep within. Months of fatigue, anxiety, endless failures melted away. I bit my lip, steadying my breath and quivering gaze. Tears welled up.
"Waaah! The little president's crying. What do we do!"
The second winner, the elder like a grandpa to me, panicked. Cry then laugh, and horns sprout on your butt? Whatever. No room for proverbs now. Horns or tears—it all felt right.
I burst into my brightest laugh ever. I'd found it. My delicious spiciness.