Against society [AMBW]

25. Bulgogi

W3~ Friday

"Pork or beef?" Adrian holds both packets of meat up. I've always preferred pork over beef. Many of my family disagree with eating pork due to the teachings in the bible. Isaiah 65:1-5, God says he's not pleased with those who eat the flesh of pigs. Despite my multiple attempts of giving up pork, someone already has a plate of bacon in front of me before I get to start.

"Pork." Pointing at the packet with a small grin whilst trying to push away the voice at the back of my mind.

Getting off the island worktop, I walk over to the black granite sink where I wash my hands.

His body continues to glide around the room, fetching ingredients from tall shelves-to small cupboards. He spreads out each item on the island space.

"Should I cut up some green and white onions, garlic and chilli peppers?" I rub my hands together attempting to regain heat, the cold water seems to have frozen my cells. They feel numb and...dead.

"I thought I'm supposed to teach you." His mouth gapes open and his eyebrows lift in bewilderment.

"I've cooked bulgogi before, but I'm down to do it your way. So what should I do?" I cross my arms and lean to one side.

He opens a door attached to the island top and pulls out two chopping boards along with two slicing knives. His face looks so focused, but also at ease. As if in school he hides himself.

Taking big strides in his socks, as if he were ice skating, he places the tools on the main countertops besides me.

"Wanna race, who can cut half an onion, two green onions, a serrano chilli and two garlics, the fastest?" He raises one of the knives up towards me. And lemme tell you, if this was out of context, it'd look as if he's trying to kill me.

"If I cut off a finger, you're paying for a transplant!" I stand on the tips of my toes, to align my face with his and pull my lips into a pout. He rolls his eyes and sets the knife down on a chopping board placed in front of me.

"Deal." He leans himself in, connecting his lips with mine. Sealing a promise with a kiss, like those old princess stories would say.

His hair hangs slightly over his face and his sleeves are rolled up revealing his smooth olive skinned arms. Damn. How did I get this?

The two of us grab the ingredients and he cuts the onion in half, finally placing a half in front of me.

"If it took you that long to half that onion." I hold my stomach letting laughter spill out of my mouth, " then good luck!"

"Shut up."

We start cutting the ingredients as fast as possible. But I swear the amount of times the knife almost slipped onto my finger is astronomical. Sometimes I act as if I'm some professional sous chef, trying to move the knife along so fast I slip up.

"Done." He drops the knife and dances around me.

"Fuck you and your Asian genes!" I raise a middle finger up at him.

"Why come at my Asian Genes?" He presses both hands over his heart as if I hurt him.

"Don't even lie, they make you move that knife like two times faster than me."

"Or maybe you're just slow." He shrugs.

The way he cooks bulgogi is very different to mine, mainly given that he has all the Korean ingredients to use. Whereas if I were to ever buy from a Korean supermarkets my parents would probably disown me. Maybe that's a bit extreme, but they believe in putting money back into our economy and not give a dime to Asians.