After his shift, Sihoo hurried home and descended to the basement under his parents’ bedroom. He wanted to explore what other crops grew in the mysterious field, preparing for the weekend Korean menu he’d start serving. Ingredients were essential.
The basement field—this “other world” field, as he’d come to think of it, reminded him of web novels Hayoon had recommended during university. In those stories, places beyond reality were called “other worlds.” Sihoo wondered if this basement was such a place.
Eggplants?
The eggplants looked different, shaped like teardrops. “These look premium,” Sihoo murmured, tilting his head. He scanned the field further.
Cucumbers, peppers… and are those beans?
He spotted various beans: green beans, peas, baektae (soybeans for meju), and seoritae (black soybeans). “So many types of beans…” Sihoo mused, inspecting each pod. Narrowing his eyes, he surveyed the surroundings. Someone’s cultivating this.
He noticed wild garlic and shepherd’s purse among the crops, along with cabbages, radishes, and carrots. “This could supply a solid Korean menu,” he thought, wandering the field.
“Huh? A hand pump?”
Near the pump, a well stood with a bucket on a rope. It feels lived-in… Sihoo pressed the pump handle, hearing air hiss out, then approached the well.
Splash.
He pulled the rope, filling the bucket. Creak, creak. Pouring the water into the pump, he pressed again.
Gush, gush.
Clear water poured out. Sihoo took a sip, eyes widening. Cool yet sweet. “Whoa, this water’s incredible!”
He resolved to cook with it later and moved on. Low trees lined up, laden with unfamiliar fruits. Crunch. He bit into one. The texture blended premium grape and apple—crisp, sweet, with a tart finish. No seeds. Crunch, crunch. Delighted, Sihoo picked a cluster, eating as he explored.
He’d wandered far from the basement entrance. Sighing lightly, he thought, This other world’s crops and fruit trees… Envisioning his Korean menu, he returned to the basement.
The weekend arrived, and Sihoo was busy from dawn, preparing to visit his parents’ resting place. “This should do,” he said, packing their favorite jeon, dishes, and insulated containers. “Dad’s favorite carbonated makgeolli, check. Jeon, check. Mom’s favorites, check.”
Confirming everything, he called a taxi via an app.
Buzz.
[Gyeonggi Sa 89: Taxi arriving in 1 minute. Please verify the license plate.]
Bag in hand, Sihoo stepped outside. The taxi waited on the mountain road above his house.
“Hello,” he greeted.
“Put your bags in the trunk?” the driver asked.
“No, I’ll hold them. It’s food.”
“Got it. Let’s go.”
The driver started smoothly. After a while, they reached a memorial park in Gyeonggido.
Click.
Unloading his bags, Sihoo bowed. “Thank you. Drive safely.”
The driver wished him well and drove off, leaving a quiet hum. The morning air was still.
Sihoo approached his parents’ resting place, Starry Memory Forest. Trees dotted the area, with small plaques marking buried remains. Seeing Hwang Bitna, Kang Jeonghoon, his throat tightened.
“I’m here, Mom, Dad.”
He set up a simple memorial table. “Dad, your favorite carbonated makgeolli.” After a modest ceremony, Sihoo looked skyward, sharing his recent days.
“Mom, Dad, you know the dresser in your room? Did you know about the crack behind it?” He described finding the basement field. “Oh, I’m taking over Kanghoon hyung’s diner. I’m short on funds, but we agreed I’ll sell Korean dishes on weekends to raise money.”
Caressing the plaque with their names, he continued, “I got your letter. Mom, your kimchi jjigae comforted me so much… I want my food to comfort others too.”
With a faint smile, he clenched his fist. “I’ll use the field’s ingredients to make Korean dishes that soothe hearts. Watch me.”
Pouring the remaining makgeolli under their tree, he gazed at the achingly blue sky. His eyes stung. Closing them briefly, he whispered, “Next time, I’ll bring stories of people eating at my diner.”
Clearing the memorial table, he bowed twice. “Mom, Dad, I’ll be back.”
With longing in his heart, Sihoo left Starry Memory Forest.
Days later, an odd sound echoed from Sihoo’s kitchen.
Grind, grind.
He tested a small millstone from the storage, satisfied as it turned smoothly.
On 56804’s regular day off, Sihoo harvested beans and vegetables from the field. He gathered mostly baektae (meju soybeans).
Rustle, rustle.
Shelling the beans into a stainless steel bowl, he sorted the plump, round ones. Soaking them in the field’s pump water, he ground them in the millstone, then boiled the mixture. As it simmered, he added brine, scooping out the curdling tofu to taste.
“Phew… soft, savory, subtle. Stronger than regular sundubu. This is…” His lips curved upward.
The weekend arrived, and Kanghoon greeted Sihoo at work with a grin. “Starting your Korean menu today? Can you work without clashing with my flow?”
“Yep,” Sihoo replied confidently.
Kanghoon’s eyes shifted slightly. “Got a menu planned?”
“A three-dish set meal: one grilled item, three or four side dishes, soup, and rice on a tray.”
“Nice. First day, so expect light orders. Those ingredients you brought?”
Kanghoon’s eyes widened at the vegetables Sihoo carried. Though unsure of their source, they looked fresh. His gaze landed on something. “What’s this?”
“Dried pollack.”
He picked up a block of tofu. “And this?”
“Homemade tofu,” Sihoo said.
“Homemade?” Kanghoon paused, then snapped his fingers. “Let’s make something with it.”
Sihoo watched Kanghoon’s efficient movements, mentally noting his flow to avoid interference.
Sizzle, sizzle.
A savory aroma filled the air as Kanghoon plated an iron-plate tofu steak, garnished with grilled vegetables. He offered Sihoo a taste.
Sihoo cut a piece. Soft, it melted in his mouth. A wave of flavor hit—warmth, sweetness, then savory depth stimulating his taste buds. “Delicious,” he said, eyes closed, savoring it.
“How is it?” Kanghoon asked.
“Super savory, subtle, almost meaty.”
Kanghoon laughed. “Your tofu’s top-notch. Ever heard beans called the ‘meat of the field’?”
Sihoo nodded. “We should sell this.”
“I’ll teach you the recipe. Make and sell it.”
Sihoo beamed like a child. “Got it!”
Learning felt fresh, like an explorer venturing into uncharted realms.
Huff.
Yoon Songi sighed deeply. At 154 cm and 99 kg, a recent weight gain had shocked her. A hospital diagnosis warned of potential vascular issues tied to metabolic syndrome, prompting exercise and a strict diet.
“Chicken and beer after work was the best combo,” she grumbled, eyeing her lunchbox in the break room. Kimchi, seaweed, egg rolls, and four spoonfuls of rice—meager fare. Her colleagues were on field assignments, so she’d brought the lunchbox.
Maybe a salad for dinner? she thought, chewing slowly.
Lunch was Korean-focused or lunchbox meals. Dinner was light—salads and bean-based foods. Cutting carbs for vegetables and protein was grueling. After a month, losing 4 kg, she hallucinated chicken and steak.
“Good work, I’m heading out,” she called, leaving work. The bustling diner on her commute irritated her. People’s happy expressions as they ate sparked envy. I want to eat too… ugh.
Today, passing 56804, a new menu caught her eye. Iron-plate tofu steak?
Without thinking, she pushed open the door.
Ding.
“Welcome! Dining alone?” a staff member asked.
Songi’s eyes widened. “Uh, yes.”
Seated, she sipped water and ordered. “Iron-plate tofu steak, please.”
“Coming up.”
Soon, a sizzling plate arrived, the aroma intoxicating. Her brain commanded her hands to grab cutlery.
Slice.
She took a bite.
Oh…