Chapter 75
Hong Man-gi quietly looked at the elderly man.
It was difficult to connect the frightened man who had trembled like a child just moments ago with the elderly gentleman now standing before him with deep, intelligent eyes.
"You were a Master Chef... weren't you? Master Im Jeong-sik."
Hong Man-gi asked again, his voice filled with respect.
His eyes remained on the old black-and-white photograph hanging on the wall.
At his question, the old man let out an empty laugh.
"Haha... Master Chef. It's been a very long time since anyone called me that."
He smiled faintly.
"Now, it's all... nothing more than an old story without much meaning."
His voice held both faint pride in his past glory and deep regret for the years that had passed beyond recovery.
He slowly looked down at his wrinkled hands.
Those hands had once created heavenly flavors.
Now, they were simply the hands of an old man.
"Young man, thank you. Now that my head is clear, I think I remember bits and pieces. I believe it was your restaurant I kept visiting."
He smiled.
"Yes, that place... the rice was excellent. How does someone as young as you create such deep flavor in plain rice? Did you study under someone?"
Perhaps his instincts as a chef had immediately recognized something unusual in Hong Man-gi.
Im Jeong-sik's eyes sharpened.
Hong Man-gi smiled.
"I've never had a formal master. I simply... met many good people and learned by watching them."
He answered modestly.
"Then you've been blessed with good connections. Yes. Cooking is ultimately something passed from one person to another."
Master Im Jeong-sik smiled faintly and turned toward the kitchen.
His eyes contained deep longing, mixed with thick sadness.
"I... can no longer cook."
His voice sank.
"My hands... no longer move the way I want them to. My head still burns with tens of thousands of flavors, but this old, sick body can't follow."
He looked toward the window.
"What I cooked yesterday, what I was thinking only moments ago... it all scatters like fog."
He quietly continued as though speaking to himself.
"People think dementia is simply an illness where you forget everything. But that's not quite right."
His expression became distant.
"For me, it feels like being trapped inside a maze where decades of time have been tangled together."
He sighed softly.
"Sometimes everything becomes perfectly clear. Other times, even the person I was a moment ago feels unfamiliar."
His voice trembled.
"The most painful part is that even the memories of cooking, the thing I loved most and devoted my entire life to... are slowly breaking apart."
A master's suffering.
Everything he had built throughout his life was collapsing like a sandcastle regardless of his will.
Hong Man-gi could not find any words of comfort.
Instead, he stepped closer and gently held the old man's trembling hands in his warm ones.
Im Jeong-sik looked at him in surprise.
Then he smiled like a child.
"Haha, your hands are very warm. Rice made by a young man like you... must taste quite good."
A quiet warmth passed between them.
Then Hong Man-gi noticed something.
An old notebook was sticking halfway out of a partially open drawer in an old mother-of-pearl cabinet.
"Master, what is that...?"
"Ah, that...."
Im Jeong-sik looked toward the drawer and smiled faintly.
"My lifelong companion. An embarrassing thing, really."
Hong Man-gi carefully asked,
"Would it be all right if I read it?"
"Haha, why ask something like that? If you want to read it, go ahead. These days even I can barely remember what I wrote inside."
The old man smiled.
"Maybe you can read it and tell me instead."
With his permission, Hong Man-gi carefully took out the notebook.
'Im Jeong-sik's Stories of Flavor....'
The title was written somewhat roughly across the cover.
Hong Man-gi carefully opened the first page.
'Oh... wow....'
The pages were filled with handwritten notes containing decades of history.
Soy sauce stains marked some pages.
Faint traces of red pepper powder remained on others.
Hong Man-gi held his breath and slowly turned through the notebook.
<Spring Flounder and Mugwort Soup, The First Meeting of Sea and Land>
Only young mugwort grown beneath sea winds should be used, because it carries a deeper fragrance without excessive bitterness. The flounder must be cleaned while still fresh, then boiled with its bones so that the broth becomes rich and milky. Use homemade doenjang aged for at least three years, but dissolve it first in rice-washing water and strain it smoothly to prevent the broth from becoming heavy or muddy. Do not forget to add one handful of Korean mint leaves at the very end. The reason is simple, the fragrance of spring is completed only in that brief moment.
<Summer Croaker Soup, Medicine for Restoring Weak Energy>
The old saying, "Croaker soup is best during the hottest days of summer," is not wrong. But croaker spoils quickly, so extreme care must be taken when cleaning it. Add generous amounts of zucchini and onion, and continuously remove the foam that rises while boiling so the broth remains clean and free from fishy smells. Most important is the swim bladder. Its chewy texture and savory flavor are exceptional. Never throw it away. Add it only near the end, cooking it lightly. Do not share a table with anyone who fails to understand this flavor.
<Autumn Pine Mushroom Pot Rice, Containing the Essence of the Earth>
The life of pot rice lies in rice, water, and control of the fire. Use newly harvested rice from that year, and the water should be spring water drawn early in the morning....
Hong Man-gi's eyes sharpened while reading "Autumn Pine Mushroom Pot Rice, Containing the Essence of the Earth."
'There are heavy underlines here and three X marks? Maybe it means drawing spring water early in the morning isn't realistic anymore?'
He continued reading.
Never cut pine mushrooms with a knife. Tear them thickly by hand along their natural grain so their fragrance can fully soak into the rice. Once the rice begins boiling, reduce the fire to its weakest point and patiently wait through the steaming process. The best flavor always comes at the end of waiting.
Hong Man-gi quietly exclaimed in admiration.
Every sentence carried deep understanding and respect for ingredients.
A philosophy toward the cooking process.
And a warm desire to communicate with people through flavor.
He became completely absorbed in the notebook.
Eventually, he reached the final pages.
On the very last page was a recipe beneath the title:
"My Final Bowl in Life."
'But... what happened here?'
A huge black ink stain had spread across the page.
Most of the writing was impossible to read.
The most important ingredients and cooking methods had been completely destroyed beyond recognition.
'No way....'
As Hong Man-gi sighed in disappointment, memories from the past several days flashed through his mind.
'Ah... could it be?'
The empty eyes of the elderly man who visited at the same time every day and silently ordered only pot rice with three side dishes.
The way he never seemed to simply taste Hong Man-gi's food, but instead desperately searched for something within it.
And the sharpness that had briefly returned to his eyes just moments ago when he praised Hong Man-gi's rice and asked where he learned to cook.
Every piece suddenly connected.
'Ah...!'
'That's why... that's why he kept coming to our restaurant.'
'He was searching inside that meal for his final lost memory, the missing piece of this ruined recipe.'
A painful feeling tightened in Hong Man-gi's chest.
A great chef who had lost everything had been following the faint scent of memory by instinct, crossing the threshold of Hong Man-gi's restaurant every day.
Perhaps Hong Man-gi's cooking had become a tiny thread of hope for him.
Hong Man-gi lowered his head.
Then he carefully placed one hand over the ink-stained page.
He respectfully closed the old notebook and returned it to the drawer.
Then he spoke.
"Master."
Hong Man-gi stood and bowed deeply toward the elderly man.
His respect and sympathy had grown even deeper.
"I learned a great deal today. Thank you very much for giving me your precious time."
Master Im Jeong-sik waved his hand gently.
"Haha, what did I do? If anything, I only showed you an old man's embarrassing side and caused trouble. Thanks to you, my head cleared up for a while, so I should be the one thanking you."
"No."
Hong Man-gi hesitated briefly.
Then he continued with determination.
"Master, if you don't mind, you don't need to struggle all the way to our restaurant every day anymore."
"...What do you mean?"
Im Jeong-sik's eyebrows moved slightly.
"I'll come to you myself."
Hong Man-gi continued.
"Next time, I'll come and pick you up. So please wait comfortably at home."
His suggestion was more than simple consideration.
It was a warm promise from a younger chef toward an elderly master who was desperately searching for memories he had lost.
Im Jeong-sik stared at Hong Man-gi for a long time.
Then he gave a hollow smile and nodded.
"If that's what you want... I suppose this old man has no reason to refuse. Thank you."
"Thank you, Master. I think it would be better for me to come personally than for you to make such a difficult trip. It's also proper respect from a junior chef."
"Thank you... thank you... haha."
He looked out the window.
Then he continued.
"My caregiver should arrive soon. When the sun reaches that side, it's about that time."
He smiled faintly.
"My son and his wife are also supposed to visit this evening. So don't worry about me. You should return now. Your restaurant must be busy around this hour."
His words seemed almost intended to reassure Hong Man-gi that he was not alone and that someone was caring for him.
Yet they could not hide the faint loneliness beneath them.
"Yes, understood, Master. I'll visit again. Please rest well today."
Hong Man-gi bowed deeply one final time and left the house.
As the old gate closed behind him, he quietly promised himself,
'I'll find them. Your lost memories, and your final recipe.'
