Chapter 28: The Mystery of Makguksu

Growl.  

It was early morning when Irim logged out of the game.  

He felt a sharp pang of hunger.  

In the game, he had filled his belly to satisfaction, but his real-world body hadn’t.  

I should eat something.  

Irim opened the refrigerator.  

Aside from some eggs he had bought earlier, there wasn’t much to cook with.  

He checked the sink drawer.  

There was a packet of retort curry he’d bought a few months ago.  

Back then, despite being unable to taste or smell, he had craved curry so badly that he bought two packets.  

He’d eaten one, but it only left him with bitter disappointment.  

Should I… try the curry?  

Irim started cooking rice in the rice cooker.  

As the rice neared completion, he heated the curry packet in boiling water for three minutes while frying an egg to a soft, runny consistency.  

Cook, cook! You’ve made delicious rice. 

Cook, cook!  

Irim opened the rice cooker lid.  

A cloud of white steam and fragrance wafted up.  

That steam must be full of that warm, nutty aroma.  

The smell of freshly cooked rice was enough to spark appetite and lift one’s mood.  

Irim tried to recall that comforting scent he hadn’t experienced in years, stirring the rice with a spatula.  

Stirring ensured the slightly unevenly cooked grains mixed evenly, maintaining a consistent texture.  

If left unstirred, the rice would stick to the pot, becoming hard and losing its flavor.  

Irim scooped two large spoonfuls of fluffy rice onto a plate.  

He poured the warmed curry over half of it.  

Finally, he topped it with the perfectly fried egg, completing a simple retort curry rice bowl.  

He brought it to his room, setting it on the table alongside some well-fermented kimchi.  

“Looks delicious.”  

Of course, he wouldn’t be able to taste it, but the visual alone made his mouth water.  

Let’s imagine it as much as I can—the taste of that retort curry I used to know.  

Irim scooped a big spoonful of curry-covered rice.  

He preferred not mixing the curry with the rice beforehand.  

Mixing made the rice soggy, ruining its distinct, fluffy texture.  

Eating it this way preserved the rice’s texture while letting him enjoy the curry’s flavor.  

Closing his eyes, Irim put the spoonful in his mouth.  

He felt the creamy texture of the curry on his tongue.  

The firm rice grains melted in his mouth, blending with the curry.  

Between the grains, the cheap, crumbly bits of retort curry—potatoes, carrots, onions, and tiny pieces of meat—were chewed.  

Irim focused hard on recalling the familiar flavor and aroma of retort curry, moving his jaw.  

It was a simple, inexpensive taste, but one so familiar and nostalgic.  

A dish that reminded him of Sunday mornings at the orphanage.  

A dish that sustained him during times when even a single won was precious.  

A dish that paired so perfectly with well-fermented kimchi.  

Gulp.  

After swallowing the curry, Irim opened his eyes.  

Perhaps it was his imagination, but he felt a faint hint of the curry’s taste and aroma.  

Self-hypnosis… maybe?  

In truth, Irim’s sense of smell and taste were likely gone forever.  

Feeling the taste of food in reality was impossible.  

Yet, he couldn’t help but fall into the illusion that he had faintly tasted and smelled the curry.  

As he suspected, it might be a delusion brought on by his desperate longing.  

Who cares?  

Even if it was an illusion, it didn’t matter.  

No, if this small blessing he felt was a lie born of delusion, he’d rather stay lost in it forever.  

Irim’s spoon cut the fried egg on the rice in half.  

Pop! The rich, runny yolk spilled out, coating the white rice grains in golden yellow.  

He drizzled a bit of curry over it, added a piece of the egg white, and took a big bite.  

Chomp.  

This time, too, he focused on imagining the taste and aroma of retort curry.  

His tongue savored the curry, now softened by the yolk, and the firm, pudding-like texture of the egg white.  

This is good.  

Just adding a fried egg elevated the texture to something luxurious.  

Irim ate the curry rice slowly, continuing his mental imagery training.  

“Phew.”  

His expression was bright as he cleaned the plate.  

Even if he couldn’t fully taste food in reality anymore, he no longer felt the despair he once did.  

He had found a wonderful sanctuary.  

His gaze fell on the black headband-shaped Connector.  

The virtual reality game Real.  

In there, as Rice, he could taste and smell every dish.  

After washing the dishes, Irim showered and came out of the bathroom.  

Dressed in pajamas, he turned off the light and slipped into bed.  

What dishes will I get to taste tomorrow?  

With pleasant thoughts, Irim closed his eyes.  

***  

“This is a problem.”  

Oh Chunsik was in a bind.  

Since Irim quit, he hadn’t been able to find a new kitchen assistant.  

He tried hiring temporary workers with daily wages, but even that proved difficult.  

The head chef, Kim Daewon’s notorious temper, was well-known in the industry.  

No one wanted to work at Narae Snacks.  

In the end, Oh Chunsik, the owner, had to fill the gap himself.  

Wearing an apron, he entered the kitchen and frantically washed dishes.  

He left the counter and payments to Yoo Mirae.  

Oh Chunsik rarely trusted others with the counter, but on days like this, he had no choice.  

“That’s 14,000 won. Card received. Thank you. Goodbye.”  

Yoo Mirae handled payments for a departing table and cleared their spot.  

“Order here!”  

“More kimchi, please!”  

“I’d like to pay.”  

“Yes, one moment!”  

Sweat beaded on Yoo Mirae’s forehead.  

Even with Kim Soonyoung helping in the dining area, it was chaos.  

This is exhausting.  

Irim’s absence left a massive void.  

Truthfully, Yoo Mirae hadn’t expected Irim to quit so decisively.  

He had always seemed so mild-mannered.  

They say quiet people are scary when they get angry. 

Irim oppa has a tough side after all. 

Where is he now, and what’s he doing?  

His steady, reliable work ethic had always been admirable.  

And the fried egg he once made for her was truly delicious.  

Yesterday, when Irim left the restaurant, she thought that was the end of their connection.  

But now that he was gone, she couldn’t stop thinking about him.  

 *** 

Around 11 a.m., Irim woke up, washed, and left the house.  

In his hand was a rustic key.  

It was the key to the front door of the new restaurant where he’d be working.  

A short five-minute walk led him to Im Jeongmyeong’s restaurant.  

Standing in the courtyard, Irim looked at the restaurant’s sign.  

‘Jeongmyeong Restaurant’ was carved in bold, elegant strokes on a thick wooden plaque, painted black.  

The restaurant door was already open.  

Irim cautiously stepped inside.  

In the spacious dining hall, Im Jeongmyeong sat alone at a corner table, watching television.  

“Boss, hello.”  

Irim greeted him, and Im Jeongmyeong turned with a welcoming smile.  

“Well, if it isn’t our head chef!”  

His face lit up with warmth.  

“It’s not even your official start date. What brings you here?”  

“I just wanted to get familiar with the kitchen’s layout. What about you, boss?”  

“Me? I was just bored at home, so I came here. Heh heh.”  

“You… live alone?”  

Im Jeongmyeong nodded with a bittersweet smile.  

“Well, life just flowed this way, and I ended up alone. Heh heh heh.”  

He quickly changed the subject.  

“Have you eaten, Rim? It’s almost lunchtime.”  

“No, I overslept and skipped breakfast.”  

“Tch, a young man like you can’t do that. You need to eat well now to stay healthy later. I’ll grab some side dishes from the fridge, and since I pressed some sesame oil this morning, we can mix it all together…”  

“Sit down, I’ll get them.”  

Irim rolled up his sleeves and headed for the fridge when—  

“Jeongmyeong, you in there?”  

An elderly voice called out as a white-haired man entered the restaurant.  

Dressed in modified hanbok and a straw hat, he held a wooden cane in one hand.  

“You’re here,” Im Jeongmyeong said.  

“Yep. Knew you’d be at the restaurant, so I came to eat together. Huh? Who’s this young man?”  

“Hello. I’m Irim, and I’ll be working at this restaurant.”  

Irim bowed politely.  

“Oh, Jeongmyeong, you finally found a head chef?”  

“That’s right.”  

“Irim, was it? I’m Yoo Soonjae, a friend of Jeongmyeong’s. Let’s get along well.”  

“Yes, sir. Nice to meet you.”  

“So, with a head chef here, does that mean we’re getting something special today?”  

||?  

Irim felt awkward, but Yoo Soonjae rattled on like a machine gun.  

“See, my tongue’s gotten dull with age. A few months ago, I could still taste things if they were salty enough, but now, even licking salt doesn’t do anything. That’s why I stop by here for lunch sometimes.”

“When you can’t taste, food doesn’t go down well, but eating with a friend makes it bearable. They say food tastes better with company for a reason.”  

Im Jeongmyeong, who had approached, grabbed Yoo Soonjae’s shoulder.  

“Alright, enough. Come sit down. And don’t expect anything special—we’re just eating what’s in the fridge.”  

“Really? Tch. Sorry, young chef. Ever since I lost my wife forty years ago, I’ve been a bit of a mess. If I didn’t have my son, I’d probably have followed her by now.”  

Yoo Soonjae had met his wife at twenty, married her, and enjoyed a brief, happy newlywed life before being left alone.  

For forty years, he never looked at another woman, living only with the memory of his late wife.  

His son had grown up, married early like his father, and now had a lovely daughter-in-law and a granddaughter nearing her mid-twenties, but the void left by his wife remained unfilled.  

Im Jeongmyeong knew his story well.  

“Stop talking and sit already.”  

Using some force, Im Jeongmyeong sat Yoo Soonjae at the table.  

Irim looked at Yoo Soonjae quietly before asking, “Sir, so you can’t taste anything at all?”  

“Pretty much. I can smell something delicious, but my tongue can’t taste it. Every time, I miss the makguksu my late wife used to make.”  

“Makguksu?”  

“Yeah. She made this amazing makguksu. No dongchimi broth, no spicy sauce. Barely seasoned. But the aroma was incredible. I think there was something crisp in it too… but it’s been forty years, so I can’t quite recall the flavor or ingredients.”

“I asked my son, but he was just weaned when his mother passed, so he doesn’t remember either. Sigh, getting old just means waiting to die.”  

Irim listened intently to Yoo Soonjae’s words.  

The inability to taste resonated with him.  

He wanted to make something delicious for the old man.  

No dongchimi broth or spicy sauce? A makguksu like that?  

In Chuncheon, makguksu was typically served with dongchimi broth or spicy sauce.  

A lightly seasoned makguksu with a great aroma was puzzling.  

Lost in thought, Im Jeongmyeong noticed Irim’s expression and said, “Irim, just grab the side dishes, and we’ll eat.”  

“Oh… yes.”  

Unable to act immediately, Irim opened the fridge as instructed.  

Then—  

Huh?  

Something caught his eye.  

Could that be the makguksu he’s talking about…?  

Inspired by one of the ingredients in the fridge, Irim’s mind raced.  

Maybe that’s it!  

He pulled something out of the refrigerator.