VIP
“Ah, wait a moment!”
I followed the server carrying the tenth steak.
“What's the matter?”
And when the server turned around toward me.
Glug-glug-glug-glug.
I drizzled golden maple syrup over the steak. No, to be exact, I just poured it on.
Then the fluorescent line I'd seen before my eyes brightly drew a perfect circle, then disappeared.
“What are you doing all of a sudden?”
The server asked, startled by what I'd done.
Um... well, you see, a fluorescent line suddenly appears in front of my eyes. And if I do this, it gets really delicious... If I said that, it was obvious I'd be treated like a madman.
“I'll take responsibility. Just bring it out like this, please.”
I said it as calmly as possible, but firmly.
“I cannot do that.”
The server was firm too.
“I'll take full responsibility. Just this once, please bring it out exactly like this.”
“This is food that will go on a guest's table. I cannot bring out something a kitchen assistant carelessly tampered with as it is.”
He was right. A kitchen assistant must never touch food going to a guest's table.
But I really wanted to show them this taste. So I started trying to persuade him.
“This steak will probably go best with that sweet champagne the VIP is drinking. Just bring it out like this once. It'll definitely be the taste the VIP wants.”
Honestly, I didn't know where this confidence had come from.
“How exactly is a kitchen assistant going to take responsibility?”
“If this causes a problem, I'll leave this restaurant.”
If I did nothing, I'd be fired in a month anyway. So I decided to stake everything on this.
“......”
The server stared hard into my eyes. I deliberately didn't look away. Then.
“...If things go wrong, you take all the responsibility.”
“Yep. I'll take responsibility for everything, so please take this steak out.”
In the end, the server took the steak I'd poured maple syrup all over to where that VIP was.
Five minutes passed like that. The server didn't come to the kitchen.
Another ten minutes passed. The server still didn't come to the kitchen.
In the end, only after twenty minutes had passed were all the cooks in the kitchen convinced that VIP's complaints were over.
“Is it over like this?”
“Aw, already? Doesn't he usually go fifteen times?”
“Guess it's because it's Kim Jun-ho? It ended earlier than I thought.”
The seniors began chattering, and Kim Jun-ho suddenly became triumphant.
“See that? I ended it in ten.”
The other seniors, regretting that the fun show had ended so soon, began focusing on other guests' courses. And so, the kitchen found peace again.
But that peace made me a little uneasy. Like the calm before the storm, I guess? I even felt a slight twinge of regret, wondering if I should've just not done it.
But the fluorescent line before my eyes had shone far too unrealistically. And above all, I had my own grounds for thinking the maple syrup was needed to make the taste that VIP wanted.
Then, that server came back.
“The VIP says he would like to see the face of the cook who grilled the steak.”
“The steak? Then, Kim Jun-ho?”
One senior asked the server.
“Yes. He says he wants to meet the person who cooked the steak.”
Kim Jun-ho grinned at that.
“Aww, our VIP must've loved my steak so much, maybe he's going to give me a tip?”
He left the kitchen with a light step.
When another five minutes had passed, the server came back again. And only to me, very carefully. The server whispered to me very quietly.
“The VIP isn't looking for the person who grilled the steak, but the person who poured maple syrup all over it.”
“Pardon?”
I was a little flustered, but the server, unshaken, calmly continued.
“You definitely said you'd take responsibility. Hurry and follow me.”
***
The place we arrived at was the VIP room at the very back of the restaurant.
When the door opened, I saw a cleanly emptied steak plate, an empty wine bottle, and a white envelope on the table. And an old man with a flushed red face. It was the notorious VIP himself.
Next to him, Kim Jun-ho stood still with his hands clasped together. His face, completely different from when he'd been showing off in the kitchen, had frozen cold.
“Why on earth did you do this to my steak?”
The VIP shouted at me as soon as I stepped into the room. The atmosphere was ominous. So, first things first, I groveled.
“I have been rude. I am truly sorry.”
Wrong was wrong. I lowered my head.
“Did you do it by mistake?”
The VIP asked loudly.
A mistake. Should I just say I did it by mistake?
For a moment, that thought crossed my mind, but I didn't want to.
“It was not a mistake.”
“Then you deliberately sprinkled maple syrup on my steak?”
The VIP looked at me in disbelief and asked.
“Then why on earth did you do that to my steak?”
To that question, I slowly gave the answer I'd prepared.
“I am truly sorry, but I tasted the steaks you left, from the fourth plate to the ninth plate.”
“You ate those?”
“Yes. But... you called a steak that wasn't salty at all salty, and you changed the sauce four times in total because you didn't like it. Only when it was changed to the sweetest one, the Madras sauce, did you mention complex flavor rather than sweetness.”
“So you poured syrup on my steak?”
He was still looking at me with sharp eyes.
Without avoiding his gaze, I slowly and calmly explained my own reasons for believing that the kick I'd seen before my eyes was really a kick.
“Decisively, I felt it when I learned you were drinking a strongly sweet champagne instead of Château Margaux, that is, a dry red wine.”
“Why is that a decisive reason?”
“I don't know much about wine, but from what I read in books, I learned that if the wine is sweet, the food should match that sweetness. So I thought it needed something sweeter, and I added maple syrup.”
He mulled over my words for a moment.
“But why maple syrup, of all things?”
“I heard from the server that the champagne you are drinking now is Piper-Heidsieck. That champagne is characterized by a prominent vanilla aroma. So among syrups, I chose maple syrup, which pairs well with vanilla.”
“Where did you learn that sort of thing?”
“...I looked it up on the internet.”
When I finished my prepared answer, I heard Kim Jun-ho snort. But the VIP didn't laugh. Only silence flowed through the VIP room.
The VIP thought a little longer than before. Then he asked abruptly.
“What is your position?”
He looked at me.
“Kitchen... assistant.”
“What? Kitchen assistant? How dare a kitchen assistant lay hands on a guest's food?!”
The VIP shouted at me again.
“I am truly sorry.......”
“No, you did very well.”
“...Pardon?”
For a moment, I doubted my ears.
“Of all the steaks I have eaten at this restaurant, the steak you poured maple syrup on went best with this champagne today.”
His voice softened noticeably.
“It even made the steak that cook sloppily grilled taste delicious.”
At his words, Kim Jun-ho flinched.
“As you said, the sauce you poured on at the end... no, should I call it syrup? The maple aroma that rises up at the end of that sweetness paired remarkably well with the vanilla aroma of this Piper-Heidsieck champagne.”
The VIP nodded once more.
“Your boldness made the best bite. But are you really still a kitchen assistant?”
He asked me once more.
“Yes. I am a kitchen assistant.”
“Hmm.... Your skill is wasted on a kitchen assistant. It was truly delicious.”
“Thank you so much.”
I bowed my head to him. It was the first time. The first time I'd been told something was delicious since I'd started working at this restaurant.
“Here is a tip.”
He picked up the thick envelope that had been on the table and held it out to me.
“It is payment for giving me a very interesting experience. Do not refuse it; take it.”
I carefully took the envelope. It felt quite heavy.
Just then, the door of the VIP room opened and Head Chef Yang Geon-ung came in. His face still bore heavy makeup, as if he'd just finished filming. So his air was subtly different from his usual sharp self in the kitchen.
“My apologies, Chairman. The recording ran long.”
Yang Geon-ung bowed at the waist to the VIP as he spoke. At his words, the VIP waved his hand.
“No, it was actually good that you were not here.”
“Pardon? What do you mean by that......?”
Yang Geon-ung's eyebrows twitched slightly.
“Because you were not here, I got to taste a very interesting dish.”
The VIP glanced at me and smiled meaningfully.
“Well. Now that our head chef is back, you two may go.”
“Yes.”
And as we were about to walk toward the door, the VIP called me again.
“Ah, what is your name?”
I turned around, looked at him, and said.
“It is Do Eun-seong.”
The VIP nodded.
“Do Eun-seong.... I will remember it.”
Yang Geon-ung watched me and the VIP closely.
***
When I returned to the kitchen, only a suffocating silence awaited me. All the seniors were looking at me. Kim Jun-ho went back to his station with a stiff face without saying a word. I couldn't read his expression.
About ten minutes passed like that. Head Chef Yang Geon-ung came into the kitchen. All eyes were drawn to him.
“Chef!”
Kim Jun-ho approached Yang Geon-ung as if he'd been waiting.
“Chef! Shouldn't you fire that assistant? He carelessly laid hands on someone else's plate! And a kitchen assistant, at that! This is a clear violation of the rules!”
Yang Geon-ung heard him out, then looked at me. And then-
“That's what he's saying, though?”
That was all he said.
“Pardon?”
I asked, surprised at his words.
“Tell me yourself. Why someone who's just an assistant laid hands on someone else's food.”
Unlike the agitated Kim Jun-ho, Yang Geon-ung was calm. Very frighteningly so.
“I......”
Right, why did I do it? Truth was, I could've just not done anything at all.
I don't know. I just hated Kim Jun-ho saying he'd sloppily grill it and send it out. Even if it was just one plate, I wanted to give the guest the most delicious food I could, with all my best effort.
But.
“It was all my fault, Chef.”
There was a lot inside me that I wanted to say, but I just lowered my head. Whatever the reason, wrong was wrong.
“Is that it?”
“Yes, Chef. I was wrong.”
“Then. How are you going to take responsibility for acting on your own?”
Yang Geon-ung still looked at me with an expressionless face.
“Please let it slide just this once, Chef. I will do my best from now on.”
A long silence. The kitchen was quiet, quite literally.
“Why aren't you quitting?”
“Pardon?”
“I heard you told the server that if this went wrong, you'd take full responsibility and quit.”
“That's... that's what I said then, but honestly, I've learned so much here. So I want to keep working with you, Chef.”
At my words, Yang Geon-ung finally let out a snort of laughter.
“Assistant.”
Yang Geon-ung looked me straight in the eye and said.
“For the next month, you're cleaning the bathrooms.”
At that, I looked at him in surprise.
“Why? Don't want to?”
“No, Chef. I'll do it.”
“In exchange, the firing never happened. And-”
Yang Geon-ung stared hard into my eyes once more.
“You're taking part in this new menu test too.”
“Pardon?”
I looked at him, even more surprised.
“This new menu test. I'm telling you to take part in it too.”
Me, in the new menu test.......
This was something that couldn't happen.
Kitchen assistants couldn't participate in the new menu test. Only official cooks could participate. That was the rule of Michelin 2-star ‘Ayeon.’
At that one word from Yang Geon-ung, the whole kitchen began to stir.
“Is he serious......?”
“The assistant's doing the new menu test?”
“If he does well, couldn't he even get promoted to official cook?”
The seniors didn't hide their surprised faces.
Then.
“What?! No, Chef! Are you forgiving Do Eun-seong right now? How could you let a kitchen assistant who dared to touch someone else's dish take part in the new menu test?”
Kim Jun-ho said, worked up.
“Kim Jun-ho.”
But at his words, Yang Geon-ung's expression turned endlessly cold.
“Yes, Chef.”
“What do you think a cook is?”
“......”
At Yang Geon-ung's words, Kim Jun-ho fell silent for a moment.
“While you were grilling steak ten times, did you even think about why the customer asked for a different plate ten times?”
“......”
“If you have a problem with my kitchen, then you leave. My kitchen only needs cooks who can satisfy guests by doing their best.”
Yang Geon-ung approached Kim Jun-ho.
“And you, if you grill meat sloppily like that.”
Kim Jun-ho looked at Yang Geon-ung in surprise at those words.
“Chef. I was wrong!”
Kim Jun-ho bowed his head deeply.
“Get caught one more time and you're fired.”
“I'm really sorry, Chef!”
***
On the way home.
I slowly thought over what had happened today.
‘Why on earth is this happening to me?’
An intuition I couldn't explain, and the fluorescent line I'd seen so clearly before my eyes. The first praise I'd ever heard at Ayeon that something was delicious, and the first chance I'd ever gotten as a kitchen assistant. Even thinking about it again, it was hard to believe.
Lost in this and that as I walked, before I knew it, I was in that alley from before. Yesterday's tent bar had disappeared. Completely, without a single trace. As if it had never been there at all from the very beginning.
I slowly looked around the empty spot, then went home.
“Hyung, you're back?”
In the living room was Eun-gyeol, my younger brother and my only family.
“Yeah. Did you eat?”
“I ate.”
“What'd you eat?”
“Just a meal.”
“Good job.”
A meal. For us, that had been the most important thing.
The year I turned eighteen and Eun-gyeol turned twelve, our mom, who'd raised us on her own, passed away. From then on, the thing I had to do right away was make meals. We still had to live. At first, I forced myself to cook meals truly just to survive.
But.
“Hyung, this is good!”
On the rare days when something I made happened to taste good, Eun-gyeol would smile faintly and say so. He was a kid who'd barely smiled since Mom passed away.
From that day on, I started cooking, digging through all kinds of books. The more I studied, the more problems I got wrong, and the more I played games, the more rounds I lost... but cooking was different. The more I cooked, the happier the people around me became.
Is that why? It ended up becoming even my dream.
“Studying going well these days?”
“Don't ask a high school senior stuff like that. It stresses me out.”
“Alright. Then just work hard.”
“Yeah. You just work hard at cooking too, Hyung.”
Eun-gyeol made a very half-hearted fist as he said it. That made me laugh. The little kid who'd been in elementary school had already grown up into a high school senior preparing for college entrance exams.
“Yeah. Let's both just keep working hard.”
Working hard.
Since dreaming of becoming a fine dining chef, all I'd done was work hard. Because effort was the only thing I could do, having nothing.
I'd read the same cookbooks dozens of times, rewatched documentaries about famous chefs hundreds of times, and followed all kinds of internet recipes thousands of times. There were times I'd felt it was all pretty futile.... But now the day had come when my cooking would be tested at a fine dining restaurant. I still couldn't believe it.
But I didn't want to just throw away this first chance that had come my way. So, first, I decided to do my best. To pull off the new menu test with everything I had.
Without getting carried away, without getting excited, without trying any cheap tricks-
Just working hard, the way I always had.