Words Collide

3 - Don't You Forget About Me

Seri flipped over a bowl of rice and placed it on the plate resting on the meal prep counter of the kitchen, then removed the bowl to reveal the rice in a perfect dome shape. She scooped a spoonful of her special red sauce with a small ladle and smeared it around the circular plate, then finishing it off with a garnish.

Admiring the finished product, she pursed her lips. Not too bad for a simple order of kimchi fried rice, especially if she was required to stick with the recipe.

Imo's eatery, The Runaway, served Korean comfort food that focused more on drinks and snacks. They only opened for breakfast and lunch, which was completely different from her fancy fusion French-Korean specialty back in Seoul, where some of their dishes would take days to prepare and perfect.

It's going to take some time to get used to. There were recipe cards for her to follow so things were made easy, but the neurotic part of her didn't want to conform. She had a reputation to uphold.

The door to the kitchen burst open as her aunt came in, stopped next to Seri, and peered down at the dish.

Imo stared at her and pointed to the plate. "What is this?"

"Kimchi fried rice."

"What's this red thing?" Her aunt circled the ceramic.

Seri beamed. "It's my tomato sauce recipe. There's a little bit of truffle in it."

Her aunt blinked at her with a mocking expression. "Seri, my dear, the customer ordered kimchi fried rice with ketchup for her five-year-old. Why are you going through all this trouble?"

Scrunching her nose together, Seri made a face. "Store-bought ketchup is full of high fructose corn syrup. It's unhealthy and disgusting!"

"Well, her kid likes it," Imo rebutted. "And this dish costs less than your chapstick, so stop overdoing it. You're putting in too much unnecessary effort."

Seri blew a displaced breath and felt it fan against her forehead. "Fine. Just trying to add a little flair on something ordinary."

Imo leaned in and used her index and thumbs to flick Seri on the forehead. "Take it easy, Le Cordon Bleu. This is only temporary until you get back on your feet and back to your natural habitat, remember?"

Rubbing the skin between her eyebrows, Seri watched as the validity of her Grand Diplôme and chef whites disintegrated when Imo left the kitchen with a ketchup bottle in hand.

Best not to think about it, she told herself while resisting a shudder.

Her instructors would've keeled over in horror if they ever found out, but this wasn't the typical, pretentious atmosphere she was used to.

It was a small and private business that Imo had taken over for a sweet, retired couple. She had to acclimate with the changes if she was planning to survive for the remainder of her time here.

The night before, Seri came into the kitchen and cleaned everything since she liked things a certain way. It was already clean, but not Seri-clean. The whole town wasn't Seri-clean. Her obsessive compulsiveness has benefited her in some ways and hurt her in others.

When mid-afternoon came, business slowed down and she joined her aunt at the front before they prepared to close at two.

The shop was compact and decorated like one's halmeoni's house, fitting barely five sets of four-chaired tables, one restroom, and only two part-time waitstaff were on retainer. Besides Seri, there was one other chef who also worked part-time and at his leisure. How Imo got it running without problems, Seri was eager to find out.