Three Pieces of Meat Per Chopstick Is Crossing the Line
Three Pieces of Meat Per Chopstick Is Crossing the Line
I wasn't exactly thrilled about someone crashing my meal, but I couldn't just throw them out either. I set my food aside and headed for the dining hall.
"Who are you?"
The man standing there was middle-aged, with a gentle face.
"Oh, someone is here. I saw the light only in the kitchen and assumed you'd closed for the night."
If you thought we were closed, maybe just... not come in? I let the thought slide. Running a local business means being polite, even to a single customer. Though calling this guy a "customer" when he showed up after closing felt like a stretch.
I gave him a careful once-over.
Dark brown hair, a well-groomed mustache, that soft face—and a body that contradicted every bit of it. Broad, powerful shoulders, a back that spread wide and solid, and a stance so precise his every movement carried discipline. The armor, smeared with dirt and the day's road dust, was unmistakably good iron.
'He's the real deal.'
Seven years of knightly service had sharpened my eye for this sort of thing. This man was on the same level as Commander Luke, my old superior in the Princess's Knight Order.
Had there always been a knight this strong posted out here? This was a region the novel barely even named. I'd been told there were five knights stationed in the territory, nothing more.
Then it clicked. Counting Heimer, the knights who'd visited earlier today had numbered only four.
'This one's the fifth.'
He was probably the real protector of the viscountcy. The other four—Heimer included—were his students.
Which meant one thing.
I had to be more careful around him than anyone else.
A genuine, high-level knight.
If I left a bad impression, I'd get dragged somewhere.
Where?
The capital.
Maybe not right away. First he'd say something like, "Good sir, have you considered lending your talents to my order?" He'd butter me up, and then some business would call us to the capital, and my supposedly exceptional skills would catch some other knight's eye, and then—
"What would you say to joining the Imperial Knight Order?"
Something like that. And once Luke got wind of it?
"Didn't we agree you'd never join another order?"
He'd grab me by the collar. And the next thing I knew, I'd be swept right back into the Princess's Knight Order.
This man represented the most dangerous landmine in my path.
"I was only passing through, but the smell was so inviting I wandered in before I knew what I was doing."
"We're closed. You should leave."
"But doesn't it smell wonderful?"
"I have nothing to serve a man who arrives unannounced and doesn't even give his name."
"Hm. Is this establishment normally so harsh with its guests?"
I'd let my tone get rougher than I intended.
Sorry. I'm only like this with people who aren't paying customers.
"It's outside business hours."
"Yet the aroma of food hung in the air, didn't it? A house that smells this good, and its door closed—what a sorrow. I've just returned from a campaign, you see, and my belly's been aching with hunger. Can you not find it in your heart to understand my situation?"
He showed absolutely no sign of backing down.
"Heimer told me this was a knight restaurant. Is it really proper to turn away a knight who's taken pains to find his way here?"
Even as we argued, the samgyeopsal was going cold.
Damn it.
Time wasn't on my side.
If this kept up, I'd send him on his way only to sit down to a plate of stone-cold pork belly and a glass of lukewarm soju.
That, I could not allow.
Not after how long I'd been looking forward to tonight.
Samgyeopsal and soju after a hard day's labor.
There's nothing better in this world.
Even now, as we traded words, the meat was lying on its cooling griddle, waiting for me, slowly surrendering to the hardening fat.
Why aren't you coming? It'll be flavorless once it cools. When the fat and lean stiffen like this, they can't deliver that perfect taste anymore.
Ah, it was already getting tough.
'No.'
Absolutely not.
Is this how a hostage negotiator feels, talking down a bank robber while the clock ticks? The window closing, everyone's patience fraying...
That was exactly where I stood.
Now I get it, Detective. How did you live like this?
Nothing for it.
I had too much to lose. This was my defeat.
"I have no food to serve a guest, but I was eating something myself. If that'll do..."
"It'll do. A true knight doesn't pick and choose his fare."
That's not a knight, that's a beggar...
The words didn't quite make it out of my mouth.
I wasn't so far gone I'd insult knighthood to the face of a man who practically bled chivalry, the same way Commander Luke did.
"Oh-ho, you had a spot like this tucked away. A splendid view."
The middle-aged knight settled into the chair I'd set up beneath the tree, and I handed him a pair of chopsticks.
"Oh-ho. These are the famous... from the capital..."
"Eat slowly. We don't have much."
"Pog belly, the cut used for bacon."
"Samgyeopsal. It'll be much better than bacon."
Still, there are times when eating together beats eating alone, and samgyeopsal is one of them. It tastes better with someone across from you, tipping glasses and trading words, rather than demolishing it all by yourself. The sizzle of the meat gives you a backdrop for conversation. Add a bottle of soju to the mix? You've already forgotten you have work the next morning and you're riding the nostalgia train straight through the night. Cursing out people you hate makes a fine side dish, too.
That manager's a son of a bitch, always on my case... Fucking hell, life is shit. Ughhh.
The memory of drinking soju with my coworkers after clocking out surfaced for a moment.
I reached for a piece of meat that had, mercifully, not yet gone cold.
Sssssizzle.
The moment I turned the heat back up, the meat started cooking fast again.
One bite: a leaf, a dab of ssamjang, the meat folded in.
And a shot of soju to chase it.
Kkeuh.
"Ah-ha. I see how it's eaten."
And then the knight grabbed two pieces with his chopsticks in one go.
Now that's a bit...
Well. Fine. Knights do have big appetites.
My own chopsticks sped up to match his.
Another shot of soju, chasing a mouth crammed full of samgyeopsal. Isn't this exact moment—your mouth stuffed to bursting with meat—the whole reason you eat it?
"Ohh? This really is delicious! Samgyeopsal, you called it? Heh-heh. I never imagined Pog belly could taste like this. The meat melts away on the tongue, and yet the deep savor of the fat clings to the whole mouth... while the lean still keeps its chew. It's nothing like a steak. Remarkable. Has this cut always been so fine?"
The knight laughed heartily and put his chopsticks back to work.
The man could eat.
Once we'd put away about half, I laid down fresh raw meat.
Crackle-hissss!
"Oh-ho. No separate seasoning—you simply grill it as is?"
"Yes. Grilling is everything. The taste comes down to how good the meat is. It's mostly a cut you can't really ruin."
"Heh-heh, I'm broadening my horizons tonight."
The knight let out another booming laugh—and this time, he scooped up three pieces at once.
Okay, I'd let it slide, but the man had been grabbing two, three pieces at a time since we sat down.
Two I could understand. That's fair. Knights have big appetites.
But three? That's a different conversation.
That crosses a line.
Three pieces on one set of chopsticks—when you're eating someone else's food, no less!
That's a violation of the universal rules. Back home in Korea, they'd throw you in prison for that. What would the charge even be? Excessive Meat Consumption?
"Aren't you being a little greedy?"
"Ha-ha, the chef's food is so good I forgot my manners."
"My food is good, yes. But this isn't a customer portion, so eat in moderation."
I usually hate gatekeeping my own cooking like this. It feels petty. But three pieces in one chopstick-grab is too much. What is this, basketball?
"Understood. I'll restrain myself."
Uninvited guest or not, the samgyeopsal itself was fantastic. Every bite delivered the true flavor of Pog meat. Was it because the animal fed on mana, or because I'd used mana while slicing it? The taste was deeper, the texture more alive. Firm and springy, with a pleasing chew, while the fat melted silkily away the instant it hit the tongue. An exquisite balance.
I chased it with another shot of soju, and my irritation at the knight began to ebb.
Ah, bliss.
"Is that liquor? I detect the scent of alcohol."
"Soju. A spirit we sell here."
"Hoh... May I try some?"
"Well, go ahead. At this point, how could I stop you?"
We had no spare glass, so I emptied my own, shook it out, and passed it over.
"Sharing a cup. A gesture finer than any knight could offer."
"Just drink. That's not what it means."
The alcohol had loosened me up enough to stamp out the misunderstanding before it could grow.
"Is that so..."
But the knight, whatever was going through his mind, simply accepted the cup with composure.
"It's good. The bitterness at the finish suits a knight."
He smacked his lips, emptied the cup, and extended it toward me.
"Here. I'd like to pour one for you as well."
"Thank you."
We passed the cup between us, waiting for the rest of the meat to finish cooking. No conversation passed. We were still too much strangers for that. Still, having someone beside me somehow made the food taste just a little better than eating alone.
And then, at last, only one piece remained.
Sssssizzle.
The final slice of samgyeopsal lay alone on the griddle, sizzling mournfully in the last faint heat.
"One piece left. Still, a pity to end it here..."
"We've finished everything. There's nothing left."
Licking his lips, the knight raised his chopsticks and made for that last bit of meat.
Oh?
Look at this guy.
I knocked his chopsticks aside and clamped mine down on the meat.
"The last piece naturally belongs to the owner of the restaurant."
Unwilling to yield, the knight locked his own chopsticks onto the meat as well.
"But am I not the guest? Surely the final piece should go to the guest."
He wanted a chopstick duel? Against someone raised in the homeland of chopsticks? He was out of his depth.
I batted his chopsticks aside and reasserted my grip.
"That logic doesn't hold when the guest is an uninvited one."
"Heh-heh, you mean to treat me so coldly? A guest should be properly hosted."
"Where I come from, we call this saving a drowning man only to have him demand your baggage."
The knight burst out laughing.
"Well, since it's already come to this, I may as well take the baggage too."
"So you're just a bandit."
His mouth smiled, but his eyes didn't. We kept the tension strung between us, both pinning that single final piece with our chopsticks.
"I've never fixated on a piece of meat like this before."
"'A piece of meat'—that's telling. You haven't yet grasped the true aesthetics of samgyeopsal. I can't yield to someone who doesn't understand."
"I spoke carelessly. Grilled like this, it's no mere 'piece of meat.' Gourmet cuisine. Yes. This is what you'd call gourmet."
Fwip! Tik-tak!
Every time I tried to pull the meat free, the knight countered, deflecting my chopsticks. It was relentless, almost like two knights sparring—our chopsticks swords, our wrists darting and weaving.
Parry! Strike! Clack-clack-clack!
We exchanged a dozen feints and counters in the space of a heartbeat.
"...You're serious about this."
"I told you. I'm fixated."
"A man's fixation isn't a good look."
"It isn't directed at you."
"Who do you think cooked that meat?"
"Didn't you just say you disliked a man's fixation?"
This bastard wouldn't give an inch in conversation either.
Clack-a-clack!
The contest grew fierce enough to bead sweat on my forehead. One lapse of concentration and I'd lose. I threw everything I had into it.
He might have more years as a knight, but when it came to chopstick skill, my foundation ran deeper. I couldn't let the pride of the homeland collapse here.
His chopsticks darted, aiming to dislodge my grip on the meat.
In that instant, I released my hold—and flicked my chopsticks sharply upward against his.
Tak!
"Uh-oh?"
His chopsticks spun into the air. He snatched at them a beat too late.
"Hrrrm."
By then, the last piece had already entered my mouth.
Ahh, the taste of victory.
That bite of samgyeopsal was more than just the final piece of meat. It was the pride of a Korean—a descendant of the people who invented chopsticks. The rightful trophy of the one who'd done the grilling. A knight's honor. And a deeply satisfying act of revenge against the man across from me who'd been double-fisting meat all evening.
Meat still in my mouth, I drained the last of the soju from my glass in one refreshing pull.
Kkeuh!
Now that hits the spot!
"Heh-heh. I've been beaten."
The middle-aged knight, his face slicked with sweat, stared at me with astonishment.
"Kwa-ha-ha-ha!"
Then he abruptly started cackling.
What the hell? Had losing the last piece of samgyeopsal driven him insane?
"It's been so long since a spar made my heart pound like that."
Spar? This was a struggle for flavor. A fight for the ultimate taste!
He set his chopsticks down and extended a hand toward me.
"What's your name?"
"When asking for a name, isn't it proper to give your own first?"
"Ah, forgive me. I keep committing breaches of etiquette tonight. I am the knight who serves Viscount Britten. My name is Lancelot."
Lancelot?
I hadn't even swallowed the meat I was chewing. I just stared at the middle-aged knight with his hand outstretched.
Wait.
What was Lancelot—the mentor of the male lead from that romance fantasy novel—doing here?