The King of Food Service, Part 1
Seeing the utterly blank look on Geum Ho’s face, I continued my explanation. "It’s simple. The Outer Dining Hall and the Inner Dining Hall will each prepare a different dish. Whichever side gets more portions taken by the students wins."
"And how will we keep track?"
"The Inner Dining Hall will use black bowls, and the Outer Dining Hall will use white bowls. That makes it easy to tell them apart at a glance. Since we’re making single-bowl dishes, counting the empty bowls at the end will be a breeze."
Making a single-bowl dish with universal appeal for a massive, random crowd. Plus, since the winner is decided by the bowl count, the outcome will be clear as day—unless someone goes absolutely mental and starts smashing the crockery.
Geum Ho snorted, clearly finding my proposal laughable. "You seem awfully confident."
"When it comes to what the masses actually want to eat, I know way more than you do."
"Fine. I accept."
"Ha, look at this punk. Hey."
"Hmm?"
"Who the hell are you to 'accept' my proposal? Am I your lackey or something?"
"Well, since you proposed it, naturally I have to—"
"A duel is a matter of mutual agreement. If you start acting like you’re already my superior, we’re going to have a problem."
I channeled a bit of killing intent to deliver a subtle threat—no, wait, not a diva moment, just a healthy dose of menace. He flinched as if splashed with ice water. Good. Looks like his brain is finally online.
"I... I see. That seems like a reasonable way to go about it."
But now that we were doing this, a thought struck me. A proper match needed stakes, didn’t it?
"Also, how about the loser has to do whatever the winner wants?"
"Absolutely anything?"
"Anything. If the winner says lick their boots, the loser licks them. If they say crawl between their legs like a dog, they crawl."
At my extreme terms, Geum Ho’s tense expression melted into a smirk. Exactly. If the opponent is lukewarm, you’ve got to raise the stakes to get them hooked.
"Intriguing. I accept the—"
"If you say 'I accept' one more time, I’m actually going to punch you in the face."
He looked ready to spout more of his arrogant nonsense, so I raised a fist infused with the Hundred Medicine Fist Secrets (Baekyak-gwonkyeol). He flinched instantly.
"...I agree to those terms."
"Great. I’ll report this to the Northern Hall Master. Have fun researching your recipe."
I shooed him away with a flick of my wrist. Geum Ho scowled, opening his mouth to retort, but then hesitated. Did he finally realize that one more stupid word would earn him a verbal beatdown? He gave me a parting glare and scurried off.
I headed back inside the Northern Pavilion to find the Northern Hall Master, Oh Waja.
"A culinary duel, you say?"
"It somehow ended up that way, yes."
Oh Waja was lounging on his straw mat. When I explained that we were planning a competition with the entire academy serving as the judges, he propped his head up with one arm and looked at me.
"I set things up this way hoping the Outer and Inner Dining Halls would stop bickering so much. Do you two really want to tear into each other that badly?"
"Would a guy who’s been here for less than a month go out of his way to pick a fight with the Inner Dining Hall, or is their chef the one intentionally looking for trouble?"
"So you’re saying it’s their fault?"
"Strictly speaking, I suppose I’m at fault for losing my temper. But as the head of the Outer Dining Hall, it would be pretty pathetic of me not to stand up for my own kitchen."
"Protecting your kitchen... How amusing."
My explanation had been a bit brief, but Oh Waja caught on instantly. The rivalry between the Outer and Inner Dining Halls seemed to have deep roots.
"Reminds me of something that happened in the Beggars' Sect back in the day," Oh Waja said, drifting into reminiscence. "Two factions were locked in a fierce, endless debate. One side argued that if the Beggars' Sect wanted to grow, we needed to shed our filthy beggar image. The other side insisted on keeping the traditional beggar look."
Why is he suddenly taking a trip down memory lane? He’s probably not just lonely and looking for a surrogate grandson, so he must be setting up some kind of metaphor.
"Our Sect Leader back then was a peerless martial artist, but a terrible decision-maker. He just let both sides growl and snap at each other day after day. Eventually, the second-in-command—an elder of the sect—stepped in and settled it once and for all."
"How did he do that?"
"He yelled, 'Get the heads of both factions out here!' The moment they stepped forward, he told them, 'Alright, duel to the death.' They beat each other bloody until one of them couldn't stand. The leader of the traditionalist faction won."
"I see."
"And you can guess what happened after that, right?" Oh Waja pointed to his own grubby self. It meant the traditionalists had held sway ever since. Looking at his incredibly disheveled state, he certainly looked the part of a traditional Beggars' Sect elder.
"Sometimes, a clear hierarchy is better than a muddy, unresolved rivalry. Instead of bickering forever, a single, decisive clash can settle things once and for all." Oh Waja grinned. "So, go ahead. Make it happen."
Delivering his approval in a tone that sounded strangely like a movie line, he continued, "I’ll clear it with the other hall masters and the Headmaster. This clash between the dining halls was bound to boil over eventually anyway. Besides, wouldn’t a decisive victory make your job a lot easier?"
"True. It’s the tragic nature of men, after all." No matter who wins, one of us is going to walk away with their pride utterly shattered. Once that happens, the loser will have to keep their head down, and the friction between our kitchens will naturally fizzle out.
"By the way, aren’t you and Chef Geum both approaching thirty?"
"We’ve got a few years left, but yes, thirty is on the horizon."
"And you’re still eager to scrap like schoolboys?"
"Like I said... am I the one poking him, or is Chef Geum the one poking me?" Oh Waja clicked his tongue at my response. "Aigoo, men really are pitiful creatures. What is pride that they’ll risk everything to protect it?"
I’m not sure if a martial artist is in any position to talk, but then again, maybe they’re the most qualified. I’ve heard that Oh Waja himself has a fair share of blood feuds in the Murim born entirely of stubborn pride.
"It’s just the burden of being born a man, I suppose."
"Now that you’ve officially declared a duel, make sure there’s no underhanded business. I want a clean, fair competition from both you and Geum Ho."
"Of course. Who in their right mind dislikes a fair fight?"
"I’m serious. We’re all part of the same academy, after all." Oh Waja shot me a highly skeptical look. That’s weird. Do I really sound that untrustworthy?
"I’m dead serious too, Hall Master."
"Fine, I’ll take your word for it." Honestly, shouldn’t he be worrying about the Inner Dining Hall instead of me? If anyone’s going to play dirty, it’s definitely going to be Geum Ho.
"Ladies, what’s your absolute favorite dish?" I asked. I had just visited the academy headquarters to request the necessary ingredients and was heading straight back to the Outer Dining Hall. I posed the question to the three kitchen ladies who were waiting for me.
"Aigoo, Beijing roast duck is the absolute best, of course!"
"Maybe because my family is from Sichuan, but I’ve always loved diced chicken in sweet bean sauce."
"I prefer hot pot mutton. It’s so easy to adjust the seasoning to your liking."
Gyeongsa Roast Duck is what we commonly know as Beijing duck, a dish where crispy, thinly sliced duck skin is wrapped in wheat pancakes. Diced Chicken in Sweet Bean Sauce consists of cubed chicken stir-fried in a rich, savory black bean paste—a dish so incredibly appetizing it could easily be classified as a professional rice thief. Finally, Hot Pot Mutton is a dish similar to shabu-shabu, where paper-thin slices of mutton are quickly blanched in a boiling broth and dipped in a savory peanut sauce.
The three ladies had chosen completely different dishes, but they all shared one undeniable commonality. "I see none of you can live without meat."
"Of course! We’re not Shaolin monks. You’ve got to have meat!"
"Actually, I heard even the novice monks at Shaolin sneak some meat. They say kids need it to grow big and strong."
"The best part of working in a kitchen is that we get to eat meat to our heart’s content, hohoho!"
Exactly. Meat. Nobody dislikes meat—excluding those who can’t eat it due to religious or health reasons. Naturally, the dish I planned to showcase for the entrance ceremony was also a meat dish.
The problem was that there were hundreds, if not thousands, of meat dishes. Korean, Japanese, Chinese, Western... and if you factored in all the regional cuisines of the Central Plains, the list became endless. I had spent a long time agonizing over it. What is the single most delicious meat dish in the world?
The answer had actually come to me earlier, when I was walking from the Northern Pavilion to the academy headquarters. I had happened to overhear a conversation between two servants.
"What did you pack for lunch today?"
"The usual. Flatbread and pickled vegetables. But did you hear? Tomorrow, the Headmaster is giving two catties of meat to all the servants."
"Ah, you started working here after last year’s entrance ceremony, so you wouldn’t know. They always hand out meat to the servants before the ceremony to boost morale."
"Really? What should I make with it then? Maybe some savory Dongpo pork?"
"Hey, come on. The meat the Headmaster is handing out this time is top-grade stuff. You don’t waste top-grade meat on a heavy braise like that."
"Then what should I do with it?"
"You slice it thin and grill it, obviously! Do you know why the Wudang and Huashan Taoists avoid cooked food?"
"Why?"
"Because grilled meat is so mind-blowingly delicious that it ruins their spiritual cultivation. If they tasted it, they’d crave it every single day, so they avoid cooked food entirely just to stay on the path."
...Actually, that sounds oddly plausible. While the real reason Taoists avoided cooked food probably wasn’t because grilled meat was too delicious to resist, I had to agree with the core premise: top-grade meat tasted best when simply grilled.
It was the most primal cooking method in human history, one that existed in every single culture on Earth. Grilling was the answer.
Of course, I couldn’t just throw raw meat on a fire and call it a day. While thinly sliced, high-quality pork belly wrapped in fresh lettuce with a sliver of garlic was heavenly, this was a culinary duel. I needed to elevate it.
If I had to pick the most primal, satisfying meat dish from my past life, it would be steak. Slap a thick cut of meat onto a grill or a hot iron plate, baste it with butter and a few choice herbs, and it was game over. Unfortunately, most of the beef I’d encountered in the Central Plains was incredibly tough. The beef the commoners ate was so rubbery that, with only slight exaggeration, it felt like chewing on a dump truck tire.
I needed a way to make the beef tender without losing the essence of a thick steak. What were my options? I could use fruit enzymes to tenderize the meat and make soy-marinated short ribs, or slice it paper-thin to bypass the toughness entirely. But those options lacked punch. I wanted something that screamed, I am eating a massive chunk of meat!
Wait. Actually, there is a perfect method for that, isn’t there? But to pull it off, I was going to need a specific piece of equipment.
"Ladies, do we happen to have a large oven in the Outer Dining Hall? Not a tall, cylindrical one, but a wide, arched brick oven. The bigger, the better."
"An arched oven? I think we have one tucked away in the warehouse... What do you need that for?"
"How big is it?"
"Well, it was originally used for baking flatbread, so it’s massive. You could probably fit a whole person inside."
Byeong referred to a type of baked flatbread or pastry. A bread oven was perfect because it allowed for excellent heat retention and control. If my plan worked, I would be able to create a dish where rich juices exploded with the very first bite, and the meat itself melted away after only a few chews. All that was left was the spice rub. What should I use? I’ll have to give this some more thought.
That arrogant, insolent bastard...!
Back in his private office in the Inner Dining Hall, Geum Ho leaned heavily against his desk, clutching his head in his hands. His wide, bloodshot eyes burned with pure, unadulterated humiliation.
Geum Ho had never known failure or disrespect in his entire life. He had been born with a silver spoon in his mouth; his father was the grand leader of the Total Alliance, a powerful coalition of sects, and his mother was the daughter of a wealthy regional merchant group leader. Though he possessed zero talent for martial arts, his pampered upbringing had gifted him an incredibly refined palate. He had nagged his parents into letting him study culinary arts from a young age, and his career had been a series of effortless triumphs.
Even as a mere chef, he had lived like royalty, fueled by his own arrogance. Anyone who dared to cross him was crushed by the martial might of the Total Alliance, and any pesky rival was quietly bought out or ruined by his grandfather’s immense wealth.
But now, an anomaly had appeared.
Yoon Gomyung...!
A nobody country bumpkin who had scraped together a living selling cheap, low-grade pork noodle soup at some run-down mountain inn in Shandong. And that very bumpkin had just completely humiliated him.
It was mortifying enough that he had been utterly outtalked by a peasant from the sticks. What truly enraged him was that he had frozen up, completely paralyzed by the terrifying aura the man had exuded. And as if that humiliation wasn’t enough, the upstart had the audacity to propose a culinary duel.
He wasn’t afraid of the competition. In fact, he found it laughable. Yoon Gomyung was nothing more than a low-class cook who had spent his life slinging cheap grub to peasants. For someone like Geum Ho, who had never known defeat, letting this slide was absolutely out of the question.
He could accept losing to an imperial chef or a master from a legendary restaurant, but he would sooner die than lose to a nameless mountain peasant. I will crush him. I will show that arrogant bastard exactly where he belongs in the dirt.
Geum Ho’s mind raced, completely ignoring the actual cooking as he focused entirely on how to utterly ruin Yoon Gomyung.