NOVEL NEXT 70
How did things end up like this? To understand, we need to rewind a bit.
It was the day of the first filming for the much-anticipated “Raid the Refrigerator.”
“Hello~”
As I bowed and entered the waiting room, it was already bustling with people who had arrived earlier. Everyone was busy getting their hair and makeup done.
“Ah, you must be participant Song Woo-yeon?”
A nearby staff member asked for my name. When I nodded, they whispered with someone before guiding me to a corner.
“You can sit here. Everyone’s working right now, so you’ll get your hair and makeup done after a short wait.”
“Ah, I see.”
“Since you’re not a celebrity, we won’t do much, but basic makeup is necessary. If you go on screen as you usually look, your features appear flatter. Think of it as a process to make your on-screen appearance similar to your actual look.”
The staff member rattled off words like a machine gun. It was so fast it almost sounded like rap.
They were likely trying to preemptively prevent complaints like “I’m a chef, not a celebrity. Why do I need makeup?”
Well, I’m neither a chef nor averse to this, so it didn’t bother me.
What was more awkward was that my seat was near the makeup station, forcing me to watch other participants getting their hair and makeup done.
I kept feeling like I was making eye contact through the mirror…
‘The gazes are intense.’
It’s a competition-style program, after all. The chefs seemed to be sizing each other up. They looked a bit surprised by the sudden appearance of someone so young.
Glancing around, I could see seven people I assumed were chefs.
Five men, two women.
About half were middle-aged, while the rest were quite young chefs. Of course, “young” for a chef still meant at least early 40s.
‘It’s such a small industry. They’re often acquainted through just one degree of separation.’
The other chefs probably knew each other to some extent.
Fine dining, high-end restaurants. While those places have their own charm, I was never interested in them.
That’s why I’m a businessperson, not a chef.
I focus more on the ‘customers’ eating the food than the ‘food’ itself.
“Hello~”
Just then, someone approached me. Turning my head, I saw a middle-aged man with curly hair smiling amiably.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Bong Kang-min.”
“Ah, likewise. It’s nice to meet you.”
As I bowed in greeting, Bong Kang-min naturally sat down next to me. He approached without hesitation, despite having hairpins stuck all over his head to hold his hairstyle in place.
“You’re a participant for
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“Oh my. We’ll be seeing a lot of each other then. I run a small Korean fusion restaurant.”
The credentials on the business card he handed me were quite impressive.
But a sudden self-introduction? Isn’t his intention a bit too obvious?
‘He’s just roundaboutly asking, “Who are you?”‘
I could feel the gazes focused on me becoming more blatant. Well, it was bound to come out eventually anyway. I pulled out my business card from inside my jacket.
“I’m Song Woo-yeon.”
“Oh?”
Bong Kang-min’s eyes widened as he looked at the card.
“It’s a bit much to call myself a chef. I’m just a businessperson. More of a food service management expert, I’d say.”
“Ah~! That’s right, isn’t it? The one who invented that Snow Flower Bingsu?”
A cheerful voice chimed in from the side.
“
A rather young-looking woman was gazing at me with friendly eyes. This was unexpected. Some people’s eyes had turned quite skeptical after hearing me speak.
It seemed the Snow Flower Bingsu had given me a positive image.
“Next time you come, let me know. I’ll tell them to give you some service.”
“Wow, really?! That’s great!”
The woman laughed like a young girl. Despite the fine wrinkles around her eyes, she exuded a uniquely innocent aura.
“I’m Son Jin-ah. Call me Chef Son. Oh my. Our surnames are similar, so it might be confusing. You can just call me Jin-ah-ssi if you like.”
“Please just call me Woo-yeon-ssi. I’m far too lacking to be called a chef.”
“Aw~ On TV, we just casually call anyone who cooks a chef, you know?”
I know it’s not the official meaning of ‘chef’.
But how could I dare call myself a chef in front of those who’ve put in countless efforts to earn that title?
“The world’s gotten so easy. Sell some soup and snacks, and they call you a chef.”
But not everyone can view things positively.
A snarky voice pierced my ear. It was filled with hostility.
Turning my head, I saw a man with a stylishly decorated hairstyle. He was one of the younger ones among the group, but his deep double eyelids, prominent cheekbones, and thick eyebrows were striking.
Not that it looked ugly—quite the contrary.
He could pass for a model, with features exuding intense charisma. His face seemed to radiate fastidiousness.
A nametag on his chest read ‘Chef An Derek (Chinese cuisine)’.
“Chef An, why are you saying that…”
Son Jin-ah tried to intervene, but An Derek spat out once more.
“Did I say anything wrong?”
I could sense Son Jin-ah fidgeting, checking my reaction. But contrary to her concern, I wasn’t particularly hurt by those words.
No, I actually agreed wholeheartedly.
“You’re right. I begged PD Kim to drop the ‘chef’ title, but she wouldn’t listen to me at all.”
“Hmm.”
“I’m well aware that I’m not qualified to be called a chef. So please don’t feel obliged to call me Chef Song. The same goes for everyone else.”
As I looked around, those who had been eavesdropping on our conversation cleared their throats awkwardly.
They hastily averted their gaze when our eyes met, as if something terrible would happen. Why is everyone acting like this?
Ironically, An Derek was the only one meeting my eyes straight on.
“Just think of me as someone in the food industry, a colleague working in the same field.”
At my words, An Derek gave me a displeased look before finally speaking again.
“This is why I didn’t want to appear on TV.”
“Chef An!”
“What good does it do to come on shows like this, other than making ourselves into zoo monkeys? I agreed to come because Chef Jung recommended it, but… tsk.”
Hmm. I can see why PD Kim whined about how difficult it was to recruit participants.
‘I didn’t think it would be easy.’
I’ve seen countless chefs with this kind of arrogance.
They don’t consider the general ‘public’ as their customers at all. They work in high-end, expensive restaurants that ordinary people can’t afford to eat at every day.
‘They think catering to food critics is far more valuable than serving regular customers.’
The minutest differences in taste that only those with extremely developed palates can perceive. These are the people who dedicate decades, even lifetimes, to creating such differences.
Perhaps for them, customers who can appreciate these differences are far more welcome.
But even such chefs lined up seeking my help before my regression.
‘A restaurant doesn’t succeed on taste alone.’
It can’t be helped. The ones who boost restaurant sales are the vast majority of the public, not critics.
This is true even for high-end restaurants, not just ordinary ones. Even for single-table restaurants.
The ordinary people who visit once in a while for special occasions far outnumber food critics.
‘If delicious food was all it took for a business to succeed, why did Lee In-cheol’s soup restaurant almost go bankrupt?’
Cooking and business are separate domains.
These chefs only realize this after being utterly defeated in the face of cold capitalism.
“I’m sorry. Chef An is usually a bit prickly.”
Son Jin-ah whispered in my ear.
“It’s fine. I don’t really mind.”
I had half-expected this when I decided to appear on the show.
This industry is so closed-off and vertical that they can’t stand outsiders like me butting in.
“I’ll learn a lot from all the chefs. Please be understanding.”
I smiled brightly and bowed to the other chefs.
Though they received my greeting with bewilderment, I could see them subtly raising their noses.
It was clear they were thinking, ‘Of course, we’re not on the same level as you.’
They’re not wrong. We usually can’t be on the same level. The absolute time they’ve poured in is completely different.
“Ah, but you know. Just in case, it’s about a potential scenario.”
I continued with a smiling face.
“Since this is a competition-style program, someone will have to face off against me…”
There’s no need to get worked up. I know from past experience that the way to enter their inner circle is quite simple.
“I hope no one will refuse to accept defeat after losing to me? Haha. Surely not~”
Sensing the chill in my words, a few looked at me with strange expressions.
On the other hand, most of the chefs wore arrogant expressions as if thinking, ‘Of course! Who would lose to someone like you?’
“Of course, that would never, ever happen.”
I will prove my skills.
If I make them eat their words, they’ll acknowledge me one way or another.
And there’s one thing these people are overlooking.
Naturally, food critics won’t appear on this program. The outcome will be determined solely by the choice of the guest who provides the refrigerator.
And when it comes to dealing with this ‘general public’,
I was confident I could surpass the chefs.