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Mother’s love, Minho’s mom would always say when she placed a plate down in front of him. Kimchi so red it almost looked fluorescent, rice soft and each grain shiny.
She watched him as he ate. Chin on palm, elbow on table. Baby, eat slower, she would say. And he would shake his head and giggle.
–
Fry oil on the wrist, saliva on skin, back to work. Wrist flick, omelette toss, bandaid. Back to work. Hanwoo main, ginseng chicken, kimchi rolls. Wrist flick, work, easy money.
Chin up, Minho, says someone behind him.
He turns around to see Chan and Seungmin smiling at him, their hats sitting a bit crooked now that they’re an hour into dinner rush.
You too, Chan.
He uses the moment to do a quick glance around the kitchen. Eunji, their sous chef, is helping their head chef Mijoo plate up the entrees and sides. Napa cabbage garnish and gochujjang aioli. Delicate wrist motions. Flick, swirl, drizzle. Easy.
Minho turns back to his burners and finishes stirring each of the four pans. Easy enough. He can handle a little burn.
–
Mom, would you still love me if I didn’t go to college?
What do you mean? She peered at him above the glasses that had slid down her nose. It made his seventeen year old self feel small, even though he was now finally a few inches taller than his mom.
I mean. He shrugged his shoulders. Culinary school, I guess.
Culinary school?
Yeah.
You think you can cook?
Do you think I can cook?
She took her glasses off fully. Are you being serious with me right now, Minho?
He nodded his head quickly. Three times.
If you really think you can do it, then do it. But, and I’m not joking when I say this, you have to be serious about it. No playing around.
He felt the smile growing on his face. No playing around, he echoed.
–
Family meal is an hour before they open for dinner. Minho is in charge of cooking it today. Because their staff size is so small, everyone can eat in the kitchen, including their two wait staffers, Jisung and Changbin. He decides to make a simple tuna and radish gimbap from some of their prep scraps.
Thanks, hyung, Jisung says when Minho hands him his plate.
Minho smiles. There’s no pepper in this, he says.
Jisung smiles even wider and they begin eating.
This is probably Minho’s favorite part of the day. Listening to everyone talk around him. Their voices, the different pitches and timbres, laughter. Chan is making a dad joke and Changbin ends up laughing way too loud, so everyone else starts laughing too. Seungmin is showing something on his phone to Eunji.
Jisung catches his eye during the laughter. Minho smiles back.
It’s nice. Having someone to smile with, in a moment to smile like this.
–
Mom, would you still love me if I liked a boy?
He could hear her breathing through the phone, as if she was breathing into his ear. Warm and steady. He was in his first year in culinary school at this time. He had never dated anyone, just turned down a few girls who asked him out. None of them ever seemed to be his type – too tall, too fierce-looking, too smiley. He just passed his first performance assessment, and some friends and him had gone out drinking the night before. Someone asked if Minho was seeing anyone, if Minho even liked girls. He forgot how he responded. Just that as soon as he woke up, he needed to hear his mother’s voice.
Mom? You still there?
What’s his name? she said.
Um, I don’t know. I was just asking a hypothetical, that’s all.
In this hypothetical world, you need to ask me if I would still love you?
Um, yeah? Am I not allowed to?
Yes. Don’t ask stupid questions.
Wait, sorry, so would you still –
Yes, but don’t ask stupid questions.
–
Minho thinks back to his first day at the restaurant whenever he gets lonely. That is, when he makes a mistake in front of the head chef and decides to skip dinner in favor of laying down on his bed. He remembers seeing the clean lines of the wall tiles and the way red and navy lined the light fixtures and serving plates. How transfixed he was to see the place of his work after spending years in culinary school and internships. A Michelin star restaurant where he would be one of the four lucky line cooks. Everything was so new and pretty, even his small apartment in Sinchon which looked out onto an alleyway had a gleam to it.
He remembers meeting his coworkers, the sous chef, then the head chef. How their smiles matched his own, how he tried extra hard to ask questions when he didn’t know something and they would flash that same smile, as if they knew how hard he was trying because they had once also asked those questions with that effort.
He met Changbin and Jisung at the same time. New wait staff who joined when some of their previous ones quit. Changbin never said anything out of line, always keeping to himself except when he got more comfortable with the rest of the team. Jisung was the same way, except Minho never got the feeling that he was uncomfortable. He was quiet, but he still made jokes. And when he wasn’t making others laugh, he would go back to being quiet. Even after months of working here, he was still quietly funny, funnily quiet. The silence never eclipsed him. Rather, he carried it alongside him like a small briefcase, one in which he unlatched whenever he deemed the situation unnecessary for himself to participate in.
Minho remembers the first time he made Jisung smile. How his lips stretched past his gums so that his smile was as much pink as it was white. Jisung didn’t make a sound then, but his eyes still crinkled closed and his face looked happy. That was the first time Minho realized that he, himself, possessed a great talent. To make Han Jisung smile so brilliantly like that could only be explained by talent.
He lays in bed now, after a long day where he had made a mistake in front of the head chef. He ate half his dinner when he got home and immediately put the rest away when his appetite had enough. Shower, pajamas, peel open the blanket, crawl in. Minho knows this routine as well as the images that he sees now in his mind. The crisp sign hanging above the restaurant’s entryway, the red and blue wall sconces, Chan’s crooked hat, a pink and white smile. And these pictures appearing before his mind’s eye are enough. For tonight, this is enough.
–
Minho, the head chef calls out.
He stops in the middle of cutting the green onions and sets the knife down.
Yes, chef?
What did you put in the rice for the gimbap last week?
Perilla leaf oil, I think?
No sesame?
No, Eunji is allergic to it.
Mijoo nods her head. It was very good, Minho. Both the taste and your thoughtfulness.
Thank you, chef. He bows as she passes by and resumes cutting the onions. Cut, cleave, green, pile. Cut, cleave. Very good. Cut, cleave, shove to a pile. Very good, Minho. The words replay in his mind.
–
He wakes up late today. Late enough to miss the eight o’clock train, then the eight-thirty, barely scraping it to the nine. He bows and apologizes to the head chef when he comes in, she brushes him off, telling him to just stay later to help close up. He wipes down the counters, begins on ingredient prep. Vegetables on the cutting board, Chan asks him if the meat finished thawing. Minho apologizes for forgetting to take out the meat. He opens the freezer to take the marinated meat out of the crates. Then, family meal. Jisung sits next to him and says hi. Jisung smiling. Burners, multiple burners, meat on pan, glaze. Minho you’re not doing the glaze right. Well, sorry, but you said we should try to make it look more abstract. I also said it should be clockwise. Dinner rush, sautee, glaze, asparagus, daikon, pork belly, glaze, pickled tuna, glaze, orange peel, nori, glaze, glaze, glaze. Enough with the glaze! Minho, take a break. Cool yourself before you mess up another plate.
He can feel the skin on his face hot and red. The heating and cooling unit is the only noise he hears in this storage closet. A low hum. Like someone is commiserating with him.
Mom? he says into the phone.
What’s up, Minho? I thought you were working today.
I am.
Are you alright?
He thinks of his mom sitting in their living room in Gimpo. How she let him use part of their savings to go to culinary school, to get an internship in Seoul, to now. Working at this Michelin star restaurant. He thinks of his mom and the way the ends of her eyes crinkle when she smiles. The same way she smiled at him when he told her he was going to be working here. My precious baby, she said. Smiling. I knew you would do good things, you’re just so talented. Thanks, Ma, he said.
He hears her breathing on the phone now, and he hopes she can hear him too.
Minho, are you there?
Yeah, sorry Mom. I wanted to, I think I just wanted to hear you.
What’s wrong?
Nothing, I just. I keep messing up.
Minho, that’s okay. Just fix what you can and make sure you won’t do it again. Okay?
Okay.
Minho can feel his breathing slow. His face feels less hot, too.
Ma, he says.
She hums.
I’ll see you soon, okay?
Okay.
Bye, Ma.
Bye, baby.
–
Hyung, Jisung whispers. He is cupping his hand around his mouth and is about three centimeters away from touching Minho’s ear with his mouth.
Minho nods, a small thing, to show that he is listening.
I liked your gimbap a bit better.
Minho looks down at the pork belly and egg gimbap in his hands. Chan made family meal this time, and the pork was roasted to almost perfection. Even Minho’s not foolish enough to believe that his gimbap topped this.
He shakes his head and smiles a bit. You’re lying.
Jisung giggles and moves back into his own space. I’m being honest. I think I just like your cooking more.
Minho shakes his head again. You always do that.
Do what?
Say things that – that are really nice. To me.
Jisung looks in his eyes then, and Minho suddenly feels a very small bubble of joy strike him. He is reminded of being a child roaming a candy store and sneaking a small piece into his mouth.
Jisung looks away then, but it is not as painful as Minho thought the break would be, because Jisung is smiling down at his gimbap. The one he told Minho was not as good as his.
And Minho finds himself smiling, too.
–
It is the third day after his half anniversary when Minho realizes that he wants to be sous chef. Of course, not exactly sous chef of this place, but just that title in general. He wants it. Part of the creative team that can decide how garnishes can be arranged and how seasonal menus will be cooked. Managing the kitchen with the head chef but without the full administrative duties.
Mushrooms, chives, gochugaru, rice, corn, perilla leaves, sous chef. Minho will be sous chef. He chants this to himself as he lowers the burner and lets the mushrooms glaze. More chives, more garlic, more salt, less oil, less heat. Off the stove. Sous chef.
Hyung. Jisung’s voice rings out next to him where they’re sitting together during family meal.
He looks at Jisung. His hair is tousled prettily around his forehead and his lashes flutter whenever he blinks, which is happening right now as he looks back at Minho.
Hm? Minho hums.
Jisung just stares at him for a moment, and Minho can’t really do much but stare back.
Does cooking make you happy? Jisung settles on saying.
Happy? Minho echoes. I guess it makes me feel good about myself. I’m good at it, and I can immediately test if I’ve done something wrong.
And you like doing things that you’re good at?
Well, I bet everyone does.
I mean, I’m a terrible waiter, but I still like this job.
Yeah, but, you don’t plan on doing this forever do you?
Jisung shrugs, with a light smile. No, but I’m happy as is. Do you plan on doing this forever? He gestures with his hand to the kitchen, the restaurant around them.
I do, Minho says. Maybe not a line cook forever, but I want to keep working in a kitchen.
And doing the thing you’re good at?
And doing the thing I’m good at. Minho nods. He pauses, lets himself and Jisung eat another bite of food. Then: What would you do if you didn’t do this, Jisung?
Probably write. I was an English major, you know? Obviously, it doesn’t make any money, but I want to write without having to worry about money. So whether that means I make it big with a novel or I keep working here, Jisung shrugs, I’ll have to figure it out.
Are you writing something right now?
Jisung smiles, and Minho feels himself smiling too. Nothing big, just a short story. I’ll let you know when I finish it.
Minho nods.
Will you stay at this restaurant forever, then?
This makes Minho laugh. No, I don’t think I could be a line cook forever. I need to go somewhere else to become a sous chef.
And then head chef?
Minho laughs again. Maybe just sous chef for now.
Jisung hums appreciatively. I like that. A man with a goal.
Doesn’t everyone have goals? Minho can’t stop smiling now.
I guess so, yes. But you have more than that – you know how to achieve them.
That’s a lot of credit you’re giving me.
Jisung shrugs. That’s alright. You don’t have to take anything I say that seriously.
Minho shakes his head. No, I do, you’re just so – nice. It’s weird.
Aren’t we friends at this point? Can’t I be allowed to be nice?
You can. I’m sorry, I guess I want to be nice back, it feels weird to be sitting here just receiving.
Then, say something nice.
Minho looks at Jisung, really looks at him and the way his smile takes up half his face. You, he starts. You make working here fun.
Me? Jisung points to himself and his eyes shine.
Minho nods and continues. I think I look forward to family mealtime the most because that’s when we get to talk to each other.
Jisung is still smiling when he thanks him. Maybe Minho should be more like Jisung and say nice things more often.
–
When Mijoo and Eunji call Minho over during the closing period, he can already feel something inside telling him to run. Away or towards their voices is something he still can’t decide on in the ten steps it takes to get to them.
Minho, we have some news for you, Eunji says.
Minho nods.
Since Mijoo is going on a business trip for the next month, she’s assigning me to be the interim head chef.
Minho nods again.
Do you get what we’re trying to say, Minho-yah? Mijoo asks.
Um, Eunji is going to be head chef while you’re gone? he guesses. Wait, so who will be sous chef in Eunji’s place?
They both watch him expectantly, and then it clicks.
You want to make me, he gestures at himself, the interim sous chef?
You always come in early to help prepare ingredients and wipe down counters, and you expressed to us a few times about your ideas for plating, Mijoo says. We trust you.
Wait, but–
It’ll only be for a month, Minho, Eunji says.
He nods. Alright, thank you for this opportunity. Please let me know what else I need to do.
Just a few trainings with Eunji, but we’ll send you an email about those next week, Mijoo says.
Minho nods. And nods and nods.
–
Minho still sits next to Jisung at family meal even when he is interim sous chef.
It’s about a mom and her son, Jisung says. They basically grew up together in the mom’s aunt’s house because she had him when she was teen and the father died in a car accident.
That’s tragic, Minho says.
It does start with a tragedy. But, Jisung gestures wildly with his hands, it’s not about the tragedy. It’s about growing up with your best friend and realizing that at the end of the day, that best friend is your mom.
Well, of course she is.
Yeah, but like, you know how some people say that you don’t really know your parents until you see them as their own person?
Minho nods.
Well, this story is kind of saying that part of her own person is her motherhood. And for the son to really realize her personhood is to embrace the fact that she is his mom and he is her son. And he didn’t grow up with just a best friend – he grew up with the one person who will care for him most in the world.
That, Minho begins, that is really tragic.
How?
Realizing that your mom is the one person who will care for you the most is like saying that there will be no one else after her.
Sometimes, there isn’t. Jisung shrugs.
You look like you would be on the receiving end of a lot of people’s care.
Because I’m so adorable and lovely? Jisung smiles without teeth and bats his eyelashes.
Minho shakes his head and smiles down at his food.
–
Mom, I think I like a guy.
The other end of the call crackles with static before his mom speaks. Is this a hypothetical.
No, it's real.
Who’s the guy?
Well, he works at the restaurant. And I don’t think he likes me back, but I just wanted to tell you.
You ever going to introduce us?
Maybe on the one percent chance he goes out with me.
Alright, baby.
Minho sighs. Coming out to her seemed like such a large mountain in his head that now he’s come back down from the high, he feels a little lightheaded. It’s over. He told his mom. He finally said it out loud. He likes a guy. He pictures the guy’s round cheeks and large teeth.
How’s the rest of the restaurant? Minho’s mom asks.
Well, I have a week left of being sous chef until Mijoo comes back.
You like it?
I do, I really do, Ma. I get to order ingredients for dishes and pilot some new ones for the summer seasonal menu.
He hears his mom laugh through her small sigh. My son is such a good cook. He’s going to make it big.
Ma, you’re doing it again.
Sorry, sorry. I have to go check on dinner, but tell your guy I said hi.
They say a few more goodbyes, and when he hangs up, Minho replays her words again and again in his head. Your guy. Your guy, your guy, your guy.
–
Chili oil, gochujang, bulgogi, chives, daikon, and peeled anchovies. Family meal is easier today than usual. Maybe because it’s his last day as sous chef, and Minho misses messing around with the other line cooks. Maybe because Jisung texted him for the first time outside of work today asking if they could get dinner together tonight because his roommate is out of town and he has been feeling a bit lonely.
He puts each ingredient on its own plate and uncovers the lid to the rice cooker. Everyone pours in shortly after, Jisung sitting in their usual spot.
Can we go to the new malatang place in Hongdae? Jisung asks.
Sure, we can take train line 2 after work.
I have to go home to get changed first.
Why can’t you just wear the clothes you’re wearing now?
Because I don’t want to walk in smelling like restaurant.
You don’t want to walk into a restaurant smelling like another restaurant, you mean?
No, I just want to smell fresh and nice.
Minho glances at the way Jisung tucks his hair behind his ears and decides to drop it.
Sure, then let’s meet at the station an hour after work.
–
Did you wash your hair? Minho asks when he notices the wet tips of Jisung’s bangs while they sit on the train.
Jisung shrugs. Just a small rinse. I’ll shower later tonight.
Wow, you’re making me look like a bum next to you.
Jisung scoffs. Some of us actually need to put in effort to not look like a bum. You are not one of them.
Minho feels his cheeks grow warm at the indirect compliment. Jisung is so strange today. Saying things like that but not in his usually sweet tone. It’s odd, and the smell of Jisung’s floral shampoo doesn’t really clear things up either.
The place smells like spices and oil when they step in. Jisung quickly decides what he wants because he looked at the menu beforehand. Minho sheepishly spends a few minutes longer, not wanting to admit that he didn’t look at the menu Jisung sent him yesterday.
Did you publish the story yet? Minho asks when they’re halfway into eating.
Jisung giggles and wipes sauce off his lips. I submitted it to a journal, but they take months to get back to you. And usually, they don’t choose to publish it if you don’t have anything else published.
That’s alright, Minho quickly says, as if some instinctual part of him knows he needs to reassure right now. You don’t need to have anything published. You’re still great even without those journals, or whatever.
Thanks, hyung, Jisung says. You’re a bit awkward, but you’re really nice to me.
Thanks. Minho widens his eyes. Wait, awkward?
Just a little. Jisung giggles. It’s alright, you’re sweet.
When they walk back to the train station, Jisung hums a small tune to one of the station sounds. It’s silly, but Minho finds himself humming along.
Did you like being sous chef, hyung? Jisung asks while they wait for the train.
Minho nods. I did. I do. I think I would like to be one. One day. He sighs. Sorry, that came out all weird. But I mean it.
Jisung tilts his head looking at Minho. He feels like Jisung is looking past his face, his skin, his skull. Into something deeper and beyond what he even sees. It’s unnerving.
One day, says Jisung.
–
His name is Jisung, Ma.
I think you talked about him before.
But that was before I realized I liked him.
I could tell, even then.
Really?
Mother’s intuition.
Is that a real thing?
Of course it is.
Minho pauses and stares at the wall, suddenly reminded of something.
Ma.
Yes?
Do you think we’re friends?
Of course, baby. Best friends.
Okay. Am I your son?
Minho, what kind of question is that?
Just, just a question.
Of course you are, idiot.
Okay. Then can I be your friend, too?
You’re my son before you're my friend. But, you’re my only friend who is my son.
Well, of course, Minho says.
Which, she continues, is why I need you. I need you to be someone I can take care of, that’s why I chose to become a mom, right?
Minho nods even if he knows she can’t see him. He nods and nods, thinking back to Jisung and his words. Even if everyone left this planet, would there be someone who needs him to be someone to be taken care of, like his mom? Probably not. And that’s why he needs his mom, too. Not just to be taken care of but to know. That his life matters more to someone else than just to himself.
Did you always want to become a mom? he asks.
Of course not. Definitely not when I was your age. But when I met your father and we envisioned a future, you were always in it, Minho. And I just want to say, having you wasn’t to accomplish a goal of ‘being a mom’. It’s because something was calling to me to have you. Probably your voice.
Thanks, Ma. I missed listening to you talk.
Minho clutches his phone tighter and lays down on his bed to listen to more of his mom’s soft words.
–
Jisung is sitting outside the restaurant in the morning. He’s humming another tune to himself when Minho walks closer.
You’re never here this early, Minho says.
Jisung gets up and hands over a small bouquet. Congrats on finishing your sous chef master course successfully, he says.
Minho bursts out laughing. Thank you, he says in between chuckles. He holds the bouquet tight and can’t really seem to stop looking at Jisung in his eyes. They stand staring for a few moments.
Jisung, he says. My mom told me she heard my voice that called her to be a mom. And it reminded me of your short story.
Jisung nods at him to go on.
And I think your story and all the things you say to me everyday have also been part of this voice that’s calling me.
Calling you?
Yes. To do the things in my life that I like doing and not just because I’m good at them.
Jisung starts smiling a little then. I didn’t realize what I said meant this much to you, he says.
Minho nods. And I know I’m a little awkward, but I think I really want to try becoming a sous chef right now. Not just one day.
You can do it, hyung. You’re always –
And I think I really like you. Not just in a friends or coworkers way. But in a way where I hope that malatang dinner was a date.
Jisung starts laughing a little then. I wished it was, too. You should’ve said something sooner - we could’ve made it a date.
Sorry, I’m awkward, remember?
I like that about you, too.
Minho smiles, and so does Jisung, and they walk into the restaurant together just like that.