God of Cooking Chapter 452

Chapter 452: At the Mercy of Somebody (2)

June thought she didn't have to feel upset about the way he raised an issue with Amila, for what essentially bound them together was cooking. With an interesting expression, June watched Min-joon and Amila being engaged in a war of words. A little later, Amila looked at June as if she was rather embarrassed.

She said, “You have brought in a sous chef who loves you more than Dobby.”

“So, has my new sous chef helped you change your mind?”

“Stop talking nonsense! Tell me why you have come to see me again. I'm not going to work with you again. I think we clearly broke up at that time.”

“Well, it looks like you and I broke up because of our different cooking philosophies,” June said calmly.

In the meantime, Min-joon calmed down and checked the women's moods at the moment. It seemed that they used to work together, given the way they spoke to each other informally, but he could not know what made their relationship turn sour like that.

At that moment, June looked askance at Min-joon. She glanced at Cho Min-joon and opened her mouth.

“Hey, are we going to keep standing here forever?”

“No, I'll send you back.”

“Why don't you serve us a cup of tea. Then I think I'll go back a little more comfortably.”

“I don't have any more tea for you here.”

“Then water is fine. Not for me, but for my chef. He has been complaining that he's feeling thirsty. Right, Min-joon?”

“Pardon? Oh, yes.” Amila knew he was putting on an act, but she narrowed her eyes and said with a sigh, “Just come in.”

‘Wow… this is amazing.'

The moment Min-joon entered, the stale smell of flour tickled the tip of his nose so strongly that he even wondered if Amilla's house was a noodle mill, not an ordinary house. In the space that should have been used as a living room, there were lots of noodles drying here and there, and the pasta dough was aging on one side. When he watched the flour drifting in the sunlight seeping through the windows, he even felt mysterious as if he was in a movie.

But the most amazing thing among them was the cooking score. When he looked at the noodles piled on one side after drying, they were mostly cooking score 7, with a bit of difference depending on the type of pasta. Her cooking score was a little different from that of Allan's noodle supplier, Alfred, or the pastas supplied to Rose Island.

Checking Amila's cooking score, he seemed to understand why June was so anxious to work with her again because there were only a few who could produce such quality noodles in America. Of course, it would be a different story in Italy. It wasn't that easy to find someone in the United States who devoted his life to making noodles alone.

“Come on, drink it.”

At that moment, she gave him a water bottle.

Taking the water bottle with an awkward expression. He gulped it down, pretending he was really thirsty.

Amila said with a sigh, “June, let me give you a reminder just in case. Don't assume that just because I gave you water like this, you and I can bury the hatchet.”

“Is there anything I can do so we can make up? I think you just sulked because you wanted to. It's time you stopped sulking.”

“Don't say whatever you want to say to me! I don't want to give my noodles as material for your soulless dishes.”

“It's you who are saying whatever you want to say to me. Who tells you my dishes don't have my soul? As you heard a little while ago, my sous chef praised my dishes with a shout full of his soul.”

“Well, he may cook well, but he might not have good gastronomic sense.”

June burst into laughter at her reply right away.

Amila looked at her, blushing, and asked, “Why are you laughing again?”

“You really don't know anything. Amila, you don't know anything.”

“What do I need to know?”

“He has a magic palate.”

Amila was silent for a moment. She blankly looked at him, then turned to June.

Then he said with a smile, “Are you joking?”

“You must know I'm not joking about this kind of stuff.”

“Magic palate?”

Amila looked back at him again. As if she could not believe it at all, she looked at him and said, clearing her throat while pretending to be calm.

“So, what are you trying to say to me?”

“Well, I told you already. Since he doesn't know my dishes well, he thinks my dishes are okay.”

“Gosh, if you notice somebody's weakness, you are trying to pick on it as always, June.”

“Because I can't survive in this field if I don't do that.”

“That's my answer.”

June frowned at what Amila just said as if she could not understand.

Watching her, Amila said in a much calmer voice than before, “You're cooking to survive. Every day is a struggle for you. If I have your dish, I feel bloated as if I have an upset stomach rather than comfortable. I just feel so uncomfortable because I see your dish that's full of ambition or greed. So, I don't want to allow you to mix my noodles with your desire like that. And I don't want to see you struggling to survive everyday. So, leave me alone.”

“So, you don't want to work with me again?”

“Hey, don't you think you have to give it a thought before replying so quickly like that when I've explained to you about my situation?”

“Even if I think about it even longer than now, my answer is the same. So, I answered shortly in consideration of your position. You have to thank me for that.”

“No, I don't want to thank you! So, you don't want to lead a dull life like me?”

Having said that, June looked around the house. Amila's house looked cozy and mysterious, like a movie set, and quiet at the same time. But it was a house that seemed to have nothing to do with fun.

As if she also noticed it, Amila asked, blushing, “You must have wondered how I could even mention fun when I was living in a place like this, right?”

“You bet. Do you think you have the right to mention it?”

“Well, this kind of life is fun for me. I can't accept your kind of life where you are only trying to curry favor with people, make lots of money and get ahead of others. Where can you find fun and romance in your life?”

“All that is a romance to me,” she replied with a low voice.

“You're smiling at their ridiculous bullshit, and you are carrying on a conversation with the type of man who wants to sleep with you as if you are not swayed by their temptation. I also accept you throwing a tantrum at me as well as all this kind of humiliation while keeping my kitchen and filling New York with my culinary fantasies. That's my romance.”

“How come you can call it a romance? That kind of life is just hard and tormenting. You are more concerned with what you can get from your dishes than with cooking itself.”

“So, you think it's romantic if you want to see people smile at your dishes, but it's not romantic if you want to see people smile at my dishes and fantasize about my cooking at the same time?”

“Well, I can't deny that…”

“Enough is enough. Amila, you want to deny me, after all. What you mean is as a chef, I should focus on cooking alone, not something else, right? Well, you might not like my kind of lifestyle. That's good. I don't want to force you to understand me, But Amila…”

June's eyes changed sharply. She was no more willing to accept whatever Amila wanted to say. She showed the true colors of herself. “At least, I have never given up my pride or duty as a chef.”

As if she was speechless, Amila let out a sigh. At that moment, Min-joon stepped back, watching them in a testy mood.

June said all of a sudden, “If you ever wonder whether I'm a good chef or not. How about testing me even now?”

“Testing you?”

“You will find out if you try my dish anyway to confirm if I can still cook well or not.”

“Of course, I know you cook well. I don't doubt it.”

“You said a moment ago my cooking was a complete hockey!”

“That's because I was pissed off at that moment.”

“Then I don't think you have any more reason to reject me.”

Amila did not answer. Logically speaking, June was right. The reason Amila lived in seclusion after parting with June was because of her emotional judgment. But she didn't even want to admit it.

Amilla opened her mouth in a soft voice.

“Then, can I try your sous chef's cooking?”

“Min-joon's cooking?”

“Well, if I look at the chef working for you, I can figure out what kind of life you are living as a chef now. I really wanted to know how big the difference was between my impression of you and others' impression of you as a chef. And I wanted to know what kind of people liked you.”

Amila thought to herself, ‘Depending on the result, I can see if I was wrong or not.'

She could not speak it out because of her pride.

When Amila turned to Min-joon, he made an embarrassed expression and looked at them.

June opened her mouth.

“Alright. Min-joon, what do you think about Amila's offer?”

“Of course. Let me cook for you. What's your favorite dish? Oil, tomato, or cream?”

“Pesce.”

“Pesce pasta?” Min-joon asked with a confused voice.

Honestly, he didn't cook it often. Pesce pasta. It's pasta made with a light and spicy soup like spicy seafood ramen by using tomato sauce and seafood. Honestly, he didn't like it. Of course, this pasta must have its own attraction, but he concluded that soup and pasta noodles were difficult to match.

‘By the way, how come she is asking for pesce pasta now?' Min-joon wondered.

Obviously, she didn't want to try it now. Maybe she wanted to peek into how skillfully he would handle pasta, not to mention his cooking sense.

“Can I look at the ingredients?”

“Maybe I have some clams, and shrimp and squid. I've quite a few vegetables. I love cooking too.”

“I thought you do,” Min-joon replied without being surprised.

Amila's cooking level was 8, which showed she was not just excellent in making pasta noodles only.

June opened her mouth, looking at Min-joon.

“Alright. Hope you can impress her.”

“Sure, I'll make sure Amila can enjoy the taste of pesce pasta that she has never imagined in her life.”

“Oh, your sous chef is quite ambitious!”

Amila didn't hate this young sous chef. She rather liked his adventurism and guts.

Min-joon immediately took out the ingredients from the refrigerator and began to check their condition. And he quietly thought about the recipe in his head. He couldn't drag his feet for the reasons of devising a recipe. This wasn't a cooking competition anyway. However, it was a more difficult moment than usual.

‘But I'm used to this situation.'

In a situation where he could not achieve his goal because of time, he always created dishes that exceeded people's expectations. He didn't have to take a different approach this time. He slowly and carefully turned on the heat on which a pot full of water was on.

At that moment, he thought to himself, ‘Yes, I can…'

Chapter end