He continued to stare into the bubbling concoction while the steam rose and with it a sharp and slightly sour odor. There was something green floating on top, and inside the rosy broth he saw the edges of cooked meat. He swallowed involuntarily and picked up his spoon. Stirring he felt the weight of the bowl. It was no bone china. The soup was rich with meat and some type of vegetables and tofu - which he didn't like - and if the tingling in his nostrils told him anything, it was going to be spicy.
Resigned, he scooped out a spoonful and blew on it, briefly glancing over the rim of the spoon at the others, but they weren't paying attention to him. They were too busy scarfing down, digging their spoons into a rice bowl and dumping it into their soups, then slurping like savages. When the umami hit him with that first spoonful, his life changed. It changed because, naturally, he was no longer a person who'd never tasted Kimchi Jjigae before. It changed, too, because he was now a person who would eat it again. It had done something to him. His senses were coming back online. The noises of the restaurant, subdued before, were sharp - clinking utensils, conversations, slurps, the banging of pots, the faint string music wafting out of the speakers. It was all coming in. The green bits on top, he now knew, were the fresh chopped green onion. The meat, thin strips of pork with the fatty parts seared in the pre-cook, the cabbage salty and sour, crunching when he bit into it, the tofu no longer the enemy but a soft mouthful of everything at once. It was glorious. He reached for some rice to help soothe the burn in his throat.
"Ho-ho, Alan likes!" Aaron said, beaming, a thin sheen on his forehead and his face redder than usual.
"It's pretty good." Alan said. But he had no time for conversation. He liked how he felt so alive. The previous night was coming back. Also sharp. He smiled to himself, hoping nobody noticed, and chewed on a piece of pork.
Life was alright. This wasn't what he'd wanted, but it was what he needed, and he needed another one. Right now!
Resigned, he scooped out a spoonful and blew on it, briefly glancing over the rim of the spoon at the others, but they weren't paying attention to him. They were too busy scarfing down, digging their spoons into a rice bowl and dumping it into their soups, then slurping like savages. When the umami hit him with that first spoonful, his life changed. It changed because, naturally, he was no longer a person who'd never tasted Kimchi Jjigae before. It changed, too, because he was now a person who would eat it again. It had done something to him. His senses were coming back online. The noises of the restaurant, subdued before, were sharp - clinking utensils, conversations, slurps, the banging of pots, the faint string music wafting out of the speakers. It was all coming in. The green bits on top, he now knew, were the fresh chopped green onion. The meat, thin strips of pork with the fatty parts seared in the pre-cook, the cabbage salty and sour, crunching when he bit into it, the tofu no longer the enemy but a soft mouthful of everything at once. It was glorious. He reached for some rice to help soothe the burn in his throat.
"Ho-ho, Alan likes!" Aaron said, beaming, a thin sheen on his forehead and his face redder than usual.
"It's pretty good." Alan said. But he had no time for conversation. He liked how he felt so alive. The previous night was coming back. Also sharp. He smiled to himself, hoping nobody noticed, and chewed on a piece of pork.
Life was alright. This wasn't what he'd wanted, but it was what he needed, and he needed another one. Right now!
