Is This a Baekban House?

The restaurant Yu Seong-un led them to had every employee dressed in hanbok.

"Reservation for two under Yu Seong-un."

"Mr. Yu Seong-un, confirmed. We'll show you inside—please remove your shoes."

Watching Seong-un accept the staff's service without the slightest hesitation, Ji-oh hung back a step and took in the restaurant.

The place he had guided them to was a hanok steeped in antique atmosphere, as if it had been rendered in ink. The pillars retained the natural curves of the wood itself, while the subtle, slightly bitter scent of cypress and the high, open ceiling soothed the spirit. What met the eye was not a noisy throng of diners, but a hushed, elegantly ordered wooden corridor. The individual rooms visible between the corridors each projected an especially strong air of privacy.

"……."

This is… a baekban house?

In thirty-one years, the definition of a baekban house I knew has clearly changed.

Where had his boisterous yet cozy baekban house gone—the one where people sat cross-legged on wooden platforms and tore into croaker?

"Ji-oh, let's go in."

"We're eating here?"

"Ah."

As if making excuses for whatever it was he was fretting over, Seong-un said,

"Just ignore the presence of other people. Even so, this place does a pretty good job of blocking out noise and signs of life."

"……."

"If it's too uncomfortable, we can move to another restaurant. There are places where we can have an entire building to ourselves."

What is with this guy?

Is he treating me like a walking nuclear power plant or something?

Ji-oh had no idea just how sensitive a being Seong-un considered him to be.

"I'm not uncomfortable."

"Yeah? Good."

"It's divided into private rooms?"

"Yeah. The rooms aren't small, so you should be able to eat comfortably."

"I see."

Unless the circumstances were extreme, Ji-oh was not the sort of person to refuse free food. Anyway, it looks like it'll be delicious, so that's enough. The world had changed so much in thirty-one years that he felt a complex swirl of emotions, but under the permission of his empty stomach, Ji-oh cast aside his hesitation and followed Seong-un inside.

"When you've finished selecting the menu, please press the bell."

"Yes."

"Please enjoy your time."

The employee, wearing a hanbok dyed in soft colors like flower petals, quietly left the room. Sensing the receding presence, Ji-oh waited a moment before asking,

"Is this place a baekban house?"

"…Ah, right."

Though it didn't show much, Seong-un reacted as if he'd just realized something.

Ji-oh had simply meant, "Is a place this flashy really a baekban house?" but Seong-un seemed to have taken it as, "So what exactly is a baekban house?"

"Baekban is a table setting of rice with soup and side dishes."

"……."

For the sake of his pride as a former teacher, Ji-oh momentarily wanted to object, but it didn't seem like the kind of misunderstanding that would clear up if he did, so he simply shut his mouth and listened to the explanation. He prided himself on that mature decision.

"The rice is always the same, and the soup changes every day. Today… looks like seaweed soup."

Having said that much, Seong-un asked with a face that suggested a sudden thought.

"Do you eat seaweed?"

"There's no food I can't eat or dislike."

"Glad to hear it."

Seong-un unfolded the menu that had been left at the edge of the table.

"The basic side dishes are all the same. What we choose is the main dish. It's mostly divided into meat and fish—what are you more in the mood for?"

"Right now, meat appeals more."

Soft-hearted Ji-oh had never been able to hunt the animals of the forest. He didn't know how to hunt in the first place, and those round, cute illustrated animals would clearly have a terrible yield even if he did. Ji-oh was happy eating anything and never picky, but since the opportunity had presented itself, he did want meat.

Better eat it while I can.

Seong-un nodded.

"Then let's go with Gwangyang-style bulgogi."

He pressed the number pad at the edge of the table. Apparently this place used a system where you entered the number corresponding to a menu item and the kitchen received it directly for cooking. After pressing the red button—the bell—last, Seong-un looked at Ji-oh again.

"Of all the baekban houses I've been to, this one seems the most delicious. And they don't use monster meat either."

"Do people usually use monster meat?"

"It's common enough to eat, yeah? But coming all the way to a restaurant and still eating monster feels a bit off."

"……."

Somehow, the way he spoke of "restaurants" placed them on a higher pedestal than Ji-oh had known. As a grandfather who had spent thirty-one years in hibernation, Ji-oh pondered how to ask without sounding strange.

"What, something you want to ask?"

"…Are restaurants differentiated compared to other facilities?"

"Hmm? Aren't most of them?"

Seong-un rubbed the back of his neck as if the question was unexpected.

"It's deliberately not eating at home and receiving a meal prepared by someone else's hands, right? In my case it's not that burdensome a level, but from second-class citizens onward it gets a bit tough."

"Is every restaurant like that?"

"For the most part, yeah. A restaurant is for eating, of course, but more than that, it's largely for receiving service. There are plenty of people like me who go looking for a meal, but even more who come specifically to be waited on."

It felt a little different from the definition of a restaurant Ji-oh knew.

Compared to what I knew, it's closer to fine dining or omakase. Have all eateries been elevated…?

No, wait—then what about delivery?

"Don't people use delivery?"

Seong-un's expression said he hadn't expected the word "delivery" to come out of Ji-oh's mouth. Ji-oh grew suspicious about just how far back into ancestor territory this man placed him, but explaining was bothersome, so he closed his mouth.

"Delivery is… also used pretty often. It's more expensive, though."

"Is that so?"

"If you run into a monster on the way, it's a major accident. Dodging them is a hassle too."

What kind of monsters were treated on the level of stray cats? The damage was clearly nowhere near stray-cat level, which made it even more absurd.

"So unless you're going to throw a party, people don't really order delivery much. Same for me."

"……."

Delivery on a scale that required a party—wasn't that just catering? The suspicion rose.

"…Then do most people cook and eat at home themselves?"

"Usually, yeah. Buying ingredients already costs money—who's got the leeway to pay for service on top of that? Going to restaurants isn't that universal to begin with."

What kind of world had been destroyed once and rebuilt?

"But we came to a restaurant, didn't we?"

"Well, I said I'd show you around as a tourist…"

"Ah."

So it meant he intended to treat him to an outstanding experience. Even simple communication was producing errors, and Ji-oh seriously fretted.

…Do I need to retake social skills education? At my age, mandatory schooling would be hard. Should I re-enroll in university even now?

Only thirty-one years had passed, yet the world had changed far too much. At this rate, every time Ji-oh spoke with someone he would be treated like an alien from Sirius.

Or like a shut-in shut off from society.

Damn Heaven and Earth, the latter didn't even seem entirely wrong, which made it all the more chilling.

Is this how the elderly feel when they can't keep up with a changing society…?

Grandmother, I finally understand how you felt. Living in step with a rapidly advancing age is truly a difficult thing.

Deeply moved by the realization, Ji-oh watched the meal the employee was setting out.

"It's hot, so please step back a little."

With those words, the employee dropped a single spark into the center of the table.

Flames whooshed up and formed something resembling a gas burner; the employee set a grill plate over the circular fire. After placing a few pieces of bulgogi on it, the employee left the room.

"……."

There was nothing there, yet fire had lit.

The table is made of wood, but it isn't burning.

Correction. What Ji-oh needed was not university but kindergarten re-enrollment.

Judging by Seong-un's expression, this was completely ordinary, but for Ji-oh, precisely thirty-one years removed from society, it was purely astonishing.

"Hmm, seems like beef."

"…If it's not cow, what kind of meat is there?"

"Like I said earlier, high chance it's monster meat? The unit price is cheaper than cow or sheep."

"Does it taste bad?"

"It's not that…"

Sizzle—

Stirring the meat, Seong-un continued.

"It's just the overall social atmosphere. Even though there are plenty of meats with no reason to avoid them unless it's a special toxic cut, monsters are still the ones that attack people… and most of them look grotesque. Hard for the meat of man-eating monsters to be welcomed, you could say."

"When you put it that way, I understand."

"But commonly it's also the meat households use a lot. Cheap, plentiful protein is never unpopular. Still, the point was that eating monster even in a restaurant like this—where you come to be treated—feels a bit off."

"Isn't it dangerous?"

"Not every monster carries poison in its body, right?"

Seong-un gave a short laugh.

"Well, until about twenty years ago the atmosphere was apparently 'How can you eat something so dangerous?' I was young then, so I don't really know now."

"Twenty years ago isn't that distant a past, yet people's perceptions seem to have changed quickly."

"Well, the government and the Association did a lot of work here and there…"

A government competent enough to change Koreans' perceptions of the meat going into their own mouths in twenty years?

Why has so much changed just because thirty-one years passed?

It was a more surprising story than the fact that Ji-oh himself had evolved into a portrait amid the flames. Seong-un's opinion might differ, but for Ji-oh that was how it felt.

"The government must be competent, then."

"Nah, well—if you don't want your head cut off, you'd better be competent."

"……."

"They've already been cut a few times, so only the competent ones are left."

Ji-oh flinched. What kind of conversation was this before eating meat, hyung?

…Though, hunters are living weapons of war, so I suppose politicians aren't exactly untouchable either.

Ji-oh quickly accepted it and stirred the meat together with him.

"May I eat?"

"Yeah, looks done."

"Thank you for the meal."

"Hope it suits your taste."

"I think it will."

Korean bulgogi is typically divided into three styles. First, Seoul-style. Second, Gwangyang-style. Third, Eonyang-style. Of them, Ji-oh's favorite was this Gwangyang-style bulgogi.

The bulgogi most people know, marinated in broth and sauce, is Seoul-style; unlike the hot-pot-like Seoul version, Gwangyang-style is grilled dry on a wire grate. Households vary a little, but most don't marinate it for very long either.

That's why the flavor of the meat itself comes through so much better.

Beef pounded repeatedly to tenderize it until it was thin. Grill that once over a grate until it was well-done, and you got Gwangyang-style bulgogi with a crispy exterior, moist interior, and living juices.

"……."

One piece of bulgogi lifted from the grate.

Without sauce or rice, Ji-oh placed the single piece of bulgogi fully into his mouth.

"……."

"How is it? Good?"

"It's excellent."

Even though this was already a private room, if he had been alone he would have given it a standing ovation—it was that superb.

"They seem to use good meat. The aroma is deep without being gamey, and the texture is quite fine. It looks like it was pounded a lot for tenderizing, yet it doesn't fall apart even at this thickness—that must mean the chef's skill is excellent too."

"You… talk more when you eat something delicious, huh."

"Pardon me."

It was just too good.

"But it really is delicious."

"Looks that way."

"It's a flavor I'd like to try making."

The exterior, grilled until it almost fried over charcoal, carried a brief bitter note unique to seared meat, yet that gave a variation to the moderate sweetness of properly charred meat. The moderate fat nestled in the meat delivered a stock-like rich savor, enough on its own to reveal the quality of the cut.

"The seasoning is well-balanced too."

The gentle sweetness worked deep into the meat was probably pear. Had they grated pear into it for tenderizing? Whatever liquor had been added also brought a refined bitterness that doubled the sophistication of the flavor.

"It pairs well with garlic. The fragrance is appropriately good without being excessive."

The sharp scent of garlic was embedded deep in the meat, pricking the back of the tongue, yet once grilled over charcoal that harshness had melted into softness. The sesame oil also seemed to be a good grade; a fresh aroma lingered.

"……."

"Hmm? What?"

"They seem to make the soy sauce themselves as well."

"Are you a gourmet? How did you know that?"

"Is it true?"

"Uh… I did hear it from the owner here."

Ji-oh nodded.

"The chili fragrance was unusually strong, so I wondered."

"You're not just someone who likes eating for nothing. Your tongue is sensitive."

"The dipping sauce is… delicious too."

The ingredients themselves seemed similar to the bulgogi marinade, yet that subtle sweet-and-sour note—the deep fragrance of plum had seeped into the sauce without awkwardness, adding depth.

Not plum syrup…

Probably vinegar made from plums.

"……."

If you lightly dipped the meat—not too much—into the brown sauce where a hint of garlic showed, and ate it together with steaming, fluffy white rice…

"……."

"Enjoying it?"

"Yes."

"I see."

As expected, rice was best eaten with a full mouthful.

To be continued.