Chapter 67: The Godfather of Korean Cuisine

Regardless of East or West, ‘entertainment’ is an indispensable element in business.

As you do business, it’s inevitable—sometimes you end up at a private room bar, opening bottles of whiskey costing hundreds of thousands of won, having dinner, going to saunas, even visiting police stations.

At times like that, there comes a moment when you need the kind of connections where you could ask, “Excuse me, but doesn’t your station chief live in Namcheon-dong?”

And when you confidently shout, ‘Do you know who I am?’ and walk out with your head held high, your companion, regardless of age or gender, can’t help but be impressed.

Not that Jo Minseong was some half-gangster fallen into that shady culture.

Rather, Jo Minseong was someone who understood and utilized Korea’s entertainment culture better than anyone, so as soon as he was tasked with properly entertaining Lee Junghyuk, he opened his phone’s contact list without a second thought.

Jo Minseong’s phone had dozens of saved numbers—from famous Italian restaurant head chefs to legendary figures hailed as the grandmasters of Korean cuisine.

The Plaza Hotel, located in front of Seoul City Hall.

On its second floor was a fine dining establishment—, the first Japanese course restaurant in Korea to earn a Michelin star.

Even excluding alcohol, the meal cost nearly 400,000 won per person, and they only served ten tables per evening, so it wasn’t somewhere you could get into just by having money.

Recently, after the head chef appeared on a cooking survival show and won, reservations for a whole year sold out in just ten minutes.

But Jo Minseong, who also had a discerning palate for fine (entertainment-grade) dining, had been friends with ’s head chef ever since he first opened his restaurant in Apgujeong.

When the chef moved the restaurant to Seoul City Hall, Minseong used personal connections to help, so he confidently made the call.

“Hello, Chef An? How have you been? It’s me, Jo Minseong. Haha, it’s nothing major, I just wanted to bring a very important guest for a meal next week... Yes, yes, I’ll be counting on you for that day.”

After smoothly making the reservation, Jo Minseong called Lee Junghyuk with a confident smile.

***

“Could we go somewhere else instead of there?”

-Eh?

Jo Minseong involuntarily let out a sound that would remind you of a Japanese high school girl, then quickly composed himself and began a lengthy explanation.

He explained how the chef of that place recently became a sensation by winning on the Setflix cooking variety show “Blue-White Chef,” how the restaurant had two Michelin stars, and how his mentor was someone called Yamamoto—supposedly a master of Japanese kaiseki cuisine...

“I’m more in the mood for Korean food than Japanese.”

Well, there’s a Korean set meal place run by a master chef called the godfather of Korean cuisine, the inspiration for the comic “Sikgaek,” and...

“I just... have a regular spot I go to often. Can we meet there instead?”

A flustered Jo Minseong asked me,

-If you’re fine with it, there’s no problem... May I ask what kind of food they serve?

“Doenjang jjigae.”

-Ah. Yes. Well... doenjang jjigae. Doenjang jjigae is tasty too.

“Yep, I’ll send you the address. See you there.”

-Okay, sure...

Jo Minseong’s voice sounded quite deflated as he hung up, but all I wanted was to finally have a meeting in a comfortable place.

A lot of people misunderstand me—they assume I only eat Japanese food like omakase sushi or sukiyaki served at fancy ryokans.

Of course, back in school, when everyone was filling their MP3s with Buzz or Tei, I was obsessed with Japanese dramas from the ’90s.

I even got bullied for putting Utada Hikaru songs on my player.

Even recently, while I was called a traitor for making a Japanese drama with writer Park Eunsook, I got paid handsomely in yen and stayed at a ryokan costing over 150,000 yen per night.

But there’s a huge misunderstanding when it comes to my tastes.

Even though half my soul may be made of natto, my palate was perfectly matured in the flavors of doenjang and cheonggukjang—I was a true son of Korea.

Two days later.

The meeting with Ten Enter took place at the agreed date and location.

At the table of the nondescript diner “Choi’s Stubborn Table” near Seokchon Station sat me, Jo Minseong, and Yeon Kyungtae, the CEO of Ten Entertainment.

“It’s an honor to meet you. I’m Yeon Kyungtae, running a small company called Ten Entertainment.”

“I’m Lee Junghyuk.”

With a humility that would put Ms. Hong from H Studio to tears, CEO Yeon handed me his business card.

Without a business card of my own, I awkwardly bowed my head and sat there.

Jo Minseong looked around the diner with a complicated expression.

“Haha. Thanks to you, writer, I’m getting to have meetings in places like this.”

“This place is great. And since I’m a regular, they give me a free fried egg on the side.”

“Wow, can’t say no to a fried egg.”

In less than five minutes, the doenjang jjigae, fried egg, and spicy pork stir-fry we ordered were all served together—a splendid Korean meal.

At first, they picked up their spoons a little hesitantly.

But after tasting the familiar, spicy doenjang jjigae, whether out of politeness or sincerity, the two of them gave shy thumbs up and said, “This place is great.”

To make things more comfortable, I suggested the two, who were dressed far too formally, put on aprons so they could enjoy the meal without worry.

When CEO Yeon put on an apron with a big soju brand logo over his luxury suit, his face twisted in a strange way.

That’s when Jo Minseong, with his signature business smile, started the conversation.

“First, thank you so much for recommending Ten Enter, writer.”

“You’ve produced many historical dramas and have such a strong production team—it’s only natural that you got approval from above.”

“I heard the original plan was to proceed with actor Lee Sungjae’s company. We’ll work with  to create the best project possible.”

Yeon Kyungtae was expressing his gratitude sincerely.

Quick on the uptake, Jo Minseong ordered a bottle of soju before the conversation could get too repetitive or heavy.

Soon the cheerful clinking of soju glasses brightened the mood.

“Have you thought about a director?”

“Hmm. I’d prefer someone well-versed in historical dramas.”

“How about Director Jang Byunghun?”

“Oh, that would be fantastic. Now that I think about it, Director Jang’s debut and second projects were historicals, right?”

“Yes, and they received great reviews back then.”

“That’s right. Hard to believe that was twenty years ago. Back in my day, everyone thought Director Jang would stick with historicals, though he’s done even better.”

Yeon Kyungtae himself was once a drama director.

“Back then, I used to have drinks with Director Jang at places like this.”

As he praised the artistry of his junior, Director Jang, he seemed lost in fond memories.

“Of course, Director Jang’s joining can only proceed if you, writer, give the okay.”

Jo Minseong carefully checked my opinion.

Honestly, once you reach a certain level as a top writer, it’s natural to suggest your preferred directors and actors to the production company.

But Jo Minseong was even more cautious than that.

As if seeking approval from the highest authority in the company.

“Oh, I like Director Jang Byunghun.”

But instead of reading too much into it, I simply took it as asking if I’d like to work with people I’ve collaborated with before.

“Do you have any thoughts on casting?”

“We’ve already sent the script and a casting board to actor Lee Sungjae. But I’m not sure what Ten Enter thinks. They’re all actors I’ve worked with before.”

“Are you considering Ahn Yuseok or Seo Ji-won?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Actually, those two immediately came to mind as we read the script. Especially for the young Sejong and the genius palace maid roles.”

“Ha, spot on.”

I was genuinely glad that they had understood my intentions so clearly.

I’d thought Ten Enter would do a good job, but I hadn’t expected them to meet my requirements this closely.

Of course, a lot of the credit goes to Jo Minseong’s incredible sense.

“Then we’ll do our best with Art Company for the casting. Those actors would definitely join if it’s your work.”

“Haha, I’d appreciate that.”

The conversation wound down as we drank the yogurt drinks provided with the meal.

Suddenly, I felt a sense of unreality—production companies, directors, and actors were all lining up just as I wished.

I thought back to my first drama.

Even with giant CL Entertainment producing and CL’s son-in-law writing the script, the reactions from directors and actors were cold.

Naturally so.

They could judge for themselves. If the script was bad, no amount of money could change the outcome.

That’s why dramas are said to be the writer’s domain.

But now, as soon as I finish a script, everyone reads it and lines up to produce it.

‘Even the Blue House, for that matter.’

It wasn’t just luck. I was learning how to use Godflix as more than just Godflix.

Having gotten these opportunities through such effort, I had no intention of letting them slip by.

“Well then, take care and I’ll visit your studio next week.”

“It was a pleasure meeting you today.”

“Thank you. See you again.”

With Yeon Kyungtae and Jo Minseong seeing me off, I got into a taxi.

The recent string of meetings was starting to take a physical toll.

Work was going well, but I worried I might collapse again, like last time.

‘Hmm. I should probably build this up into a business like Writer Park did.’

I couldn’t keep running around to all these meetings and still write, as if I were just a staffer.

If I wanted to keep writing while attending meetings, even cutting back on sleep wouldn’t give me enough time.

More than anything, I couldn’t forget my primary role as a writer.

-News update. Japan’s national actress Ishihara Sakura arrived in Korea today.

Fans flocked to Incheon Airport at news of a joint Korea-Japan drama shoot.

The anchor’s steady voice flowed from the taxi radio.

“Tch. Why would we go so far as to make dramas with those Japanese folks? Am I right, young man? At a time when Korean dramas are taking the world by storm, why do we need those Japanese guys, I ask you.”

The taxi driver, probably in his sixties, clicked his tongue and grumbled, yanking the steering wheel left for a sharp turn.

Normally, I’d just laugh it off and say, “You’re right, driver, haha,” but this time I couldn’t.

-Actress Ishihara Sakura expressed her delight at being cast as the female lead in , written by Korea’s Park Eunsook and Lee Junghyuk.

-Ishihara Sakura, once called Japan’s first love and beloved by many...

This was about the drama I was writing.

“Tch tch. That Park Eunsook and Lee Junghyuk, they’re the problem, huh? Sakura? Sounds like some playing card name. Typical Japanese. Don’t you think?”

“Driver, I’m sorry, but could you please turn down the radio?”

“Huh?”

“My stomach’s not feeling so good. Please.”

“Uh, sure... if you say so.”

The driver reluctantly grumbled and turned off the radio.

No one likes hearing themselves insulted.

Of course, I know some people love my work, and some dislike it.

But that wasn’t the only reason I was in a bad mood.

“And by the way, driver. Ishihara Sakura is a wonderful actress.”

Japan’s first love. And my own first love from my school days.

Ishihara Sakura.

I just couldn’t bear to hear her insulted.