Stir-fried pork, tonkatsu, gukbap.
The holy trinity of Korean office worker soul food.
And the reason they held their positions as the top three was simple:

“They come out fast.”

As long as some basic prep work was done beforehand, they could be whipped up in no time.
Among them, stir-fried pork was the most convenient of all.

“No need to cut it, no need to cool it.”

Just eat it as it’s served and leave.
Sometimes they’d serve it with lettuce wraps, but that was optional—no wrap, no problem.

This made stir-fried pork inseparable from Korean office workers.
And for someone like Choi Seokho, who had his share of workplace experience, it was no different.

“I’m picky when it comes to stir-fried pork.”

A minimum of 20 years of stir-fried pork dining experience.
Having grown up eating some pretty high-quality versions,
he couldn’t afford to be lenient about it.

“I’m definitely a tough critic for stir-fried pork.”

Even as these thoughts crossed his mind, Choi Seokho nodded at Donghu’s suggestion.

“Alright, I’m curious to see how good our landlord’s cooking is. Let’s see what you’ve got!”

How good could Donghu’s cooking really be?
In truth, contrary to what he thought, he had some expectations.
After all, there wasn’t a single thing Donghu had confidently claimed to do that he couldn’t pull off.

“If he’s good at this too, how much of an all-rounder can he be?”

The starting point wasn’t whether he could cook, but “how well” he could cook.
It was taken as a given that he’d be good—the real question was just how good.

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

The sound of a knife hitting the cutting board echoed rhythmically, almost like a beat.
The steady sound expanded Seokho’s pupils.

“Hmm?”

It was both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.

The sound of a skilled chef working on ingredients.
The kind you’d hear in the kitchens of restaurants famous for their food.
But why was that sound coming from Donghu?

“Should I make it slightly spicy for you, hyung?”
“Oh? Oh, yeah, that’d be great.”
“Alright, I’ll season it that way. It’ll take about 30 minutes to marinate properly.”
“Oh, okay.”

Even the casual professionalism that flashed through his movements left Seokho more confused.

“Has he trained professionally in cooking?”

Acting, working out, learning foreign languages...

“And now cooking too?”

Wait, wasn’t he also capable of playing the piano?

“He even rang the Golden Bell, and his grades were top of the class…”

How could someone be like an onion—every layer peeled revealing more talent?

“Donghu, having this level of skill and a good personality feels like cheating, doesn’t it?”
“Pardon?”
“I feel like you’re going to single-handedly raise the standards for Korean actors.”
“...Where’s this coming from, hyung?”
“Just realizing how lucky I am to have met you in my life.”
“...Alright.”

Thirty minutes passed with meaningless chatter.

Whoosh!

With a flamboyant flame show, the stir-fried pork was ready in no time.

“Can we eat it now?”
“Just a sprinkle of sesame seeds on top… There. It’s all set.”

Gulp.

At Donghu’s signal to eat, Seokho unconsciously swallowed his saliva.

“What is this plating?”

Freshly made food looking delicious was one thing,
but the dish in front of him was on a completely different level.

“It’s supposed to be ordinary stir-fried pork. Just stir-fried pork.”

But why did it look like something straight out of a high-end restaurant?
It wasn’t just about cooking well.
The presentation was perfect—precisely what people meant when they talked about plating.

And on top of that...

“What’s with the two fried eggs?! Where did that sense come from?”

The added touch of fried eggs, perfectly catered to an office worker’s heart,
was enough to send chills down his spine at the attention to detail.

“And the taste? Don’t tell me the taste is just as good…”

Tension mounting, Seokho picked up his chopsticks.

Without hesitation, he popped a piece of pork into his mouth.

“…Donghu, when we retire someday, let’s open a restaurant together. I’ll pay for everything.”

A sudden surge of willingness to invest his entire life savings overwhelmed him

+++++

“It’s a huge success.”

Watching Seokho hyung devour the food like a starving man,
I couldn’t help but smile inwardly.

“But now the menu feels a bit underwhelming.”

With cooking skills at this level,
the menu in the current script felt lacking.

“Especially the ramen. That’s just… meh.”

Tonkatsu could work as a Western-style cutlet,
and stir-fried pork and kimbap were influenced heavily by personal skill.
But ramen definitely felt underwhelming.

“Wouldn’t tteokbokki be better?”

Even a simple tteokbokki would work,
or perhaps a mild, royal-style tteokbokki would be a good option too.

Of course, I didn’t want to completely omit ramen.
After all, Korea had a secret weapon to elevate it.

“By the way, wasn’t Miju noona supposed to arrive soon?”
“Huh? Miju? Oh, right. Yeah, she’s flying in tomorrow. Since it’s for filming, of course the stylist would need to come.”
“Her flight’s tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah, why? Do you need something?”
“Yes, actually, here’s what I need…”

When I told Seokho hyung the list of items,
his eyes widened in surprise.

“What?! Really? I mean, technically it’s part of introducing food, but…”
“If it’s a showcase of Korean cuisine, we can’t leave this out.”
“True, true. Alright, I’ll check with the airline to see what can be arranged.”
“Thanks, hyung.”
“By the way, this stir-fried pork… people are going to be blown away tomorrow, aren’t they?”

As expected by Seokho hyung…

“Did… did Donghu really make this?”
“No way. Seriously? This is way too good!”
“His skills match the script exactly… Unbelievable.”

When I showcased my cooking during the pre-filming meeting,
the production team of Solitary Gourmet was utterly amazed.

“Wow… I’ve never tasted Korean food this good before.”
“This is too good for Toro-san to eat alone!”
“If this were a real restaurant, it’d be a guaranteed hit!”
“Should we rewrite this to make it about a line-out-the-door restaurant?”

Luckily, I had made a large batch, just in case.
Otherwise, there might not have been enough food to go around.

“Well, this proves my cooking skills for sure.”

Now it was time to negotiate.

“Thank you all for enjoying the food so much.”
“No, thank you. The food was absolutely delicious. The stir-fried pork… it’s incredible, even if it’s a bit spicy.”
“By the way, aren’t you curious about other dishes?”
“Other dishes? I thought it was already set—tonkatsu, kimbap, and ramen?”
“Yes, but I feel ramen is a bit underwhelming.”
“Do you have something in mind?”
“Yes, I was thinking of adding a slightly spicier element.”

As I spoke, I pulled out a fresh ingredient I had received earlier.

“Is this… a chili pepper?”
“Yes, it’s called a Cheongyang chili. It’s similar to Japan’s takanotsume.”
“What? Then it must be incredibly spicy!”
“Well, Korea and Japan use chili peppers differently. I thought it’d be interesting to showcase that contrast.”
“Differently? How exactly?”

Swoosh.

I pulled another item out of my bag.

“What does it say?”
“Cheongyang chili paste.”
“So… it’s a paste made from those peppers?”
“Yes, exactly. And in Korea…”

We dip chili peppers directly into the chili paste.

Plop.

As soon as I dipped the chili into the paste, the Japanese team gasped in shock.

“What… Why?”
“Using a spicy chili paste to dip an equally spicy chili… This is…”

This was a genuine cultural difference.

The production director, Aitake Ura, seemed inspired, nodding thoughtfully.
Sensing my moment, I added:

“So, how about we incorporate this concept into the cooking? After all, the setting is that the son takes over the restaurant temporarily, and customers come in during that time.”
“A different menu… Ah, right, since the son is cooking, the menu would naturally change.”
“Yes, it would be different from his Michelin-starred parents’ style.”
“But this spiciness… It’s a bit worrying. Could I try it first to see how spicy it is?”

As he said that, Aitake Ura picked up a Cheongyang chili.

“But the director said the stir-fried pork was already a bit spicy. Will he be able to handle this?”

Plop.

While I was contemplating, the chili was dipped into the Cheongyang chili paste.

“Just a little taste… Challenge accepted!”

The mood suddenly shifted to something like a variety show,
with Aitake Ura looking determined as he took a bite.

Crunch.

The Cheongyang chili entered his mouth.

“KRRAAAAAAHHHH!”

A sudden scream echoed through the pre-filming meeting room.

“Koreans actually eat like this? I can’t believe it!”

As everyone stared in disbelief at Aitake Ura’s reaction,
Seokho hyung leaned over to me.

“Donghu, what’s he saying?”
“Oh, he’s asking if Koreans really eat this way. He says he can’t believe it.”
“Is that so? Miju, show them.”
“Huh? Oh, sure. That’s easy.”

Our stylist, Miju noona—
the same person who could handle the spiciest yukgaejang tteokbokki with ease—
started her chili-eating demonstration.

Crunch, crunch.

“Wow… She’s really good at this.”

Amid my silent admiration,
the Japanese team, still wide-eyed in shock, finally murmured:

“Then… we’ll discuss this with Toro-san—uh, Matsusage-san—and see how it works.”

The conclusion was to coordinate further adjustments.

Finally, the day of filming arrived.

“…I’ve prepared antacids, digestive tablets, and milk. Everything is ready for today.”

With the intensity of a samurai preparing for battle,
Matsusage Yukata, the star of Solitary Gourmet, greeted me.

“But it’s not actually that spicy.”
“No, no, I don’t trust Koreans when they say something isn’t spicy. And also… just a bit of garlic, please.”

Matsusage Yukata, seemingly familiar with Korean cuisine,
smiled playfully as he added:

“I’m looking forward to your cooking, Donghu-san. Including the… terror of Cheongyang chili.”
“I’ll make sure to meet your expectations with the best.”

With warm pleasantries exchanged,
I headed straight to the restaurant to prepare for filming.

+++++

As the actors and staff moved to their positions for the shoot,
Aitake Ura stood still, momentarily lost in thought.

“Hmm…”

What would be a good subheading for the episode?

“The Spicy Charm of Korean Cuisine?! Even Japan Was Shocked!”

Though it wouldn’t solely focus on the spiciness,
this seemed provocative enough.

.