Chapter 1
In my previous life, I was a young man who loved cooking so much that I became obsessed with it.
Perhaps even heaven was moved, because it gave me overwork and stress as a gift.
And, as a free bonus, it gave me death, too.
So I wasn't going to cook in this life.
Since I'd received the reincarnation cheat from the regression-transmigration-reincarnation trio, I planned to use my previous life's memories to build up my assets like crazy, do some naughty things, and live however I pleased.
That thought lasted only a moment.
Just as a certain alchemist claimed, everything is an equivalent exchange.
I guess my Neo Armstrong Cyclone Jet Armstrong Cannon was the price of reincarnation.
And so, I became a woman named Kim Ji-an.
At first, I was tormented and despairing, but time healed my wounds, and I gradually adapted to my new appearance.
I was pretty, too. It was always new and thrilling.
‘Yeah. So what if I became a woman? I just need to make tons of money and enjoy a rich life.’
The year I turned five. And the day that coin was traded for the first time.
With the pocket money I'd saved penny by penny since infancy, I took my first step toward becoming rich.
I fucking failed.
“Why… are there so many kinds of coins? And why are their names all different? Which one… which one is the right one!!!”
I had no choice but to buy every kind of coin with the fortune of 50,000 won.
I realized it.
My naughty rich life had withered before it could even bloom.
At this point, all I could do was live however I pleased!
After that, I did everything.
I used my pretty looks to try things I never could have imagined in my previous life, and I even appeared on all sorts of game shows and tried those, too.
I tried all kinds of sports and did almost everything I could, except for cooking.
But nothing was as fun as cooking. Of course, there was excitement in trying something new, but that was all it was.
Naturally, my previous life had been devoted to cooking from beginning to end.
Hundreds, thousands of ingredients.
Depending on how you cut, combine, and cook them, you can create an uncountable variety of things.
Cooking was the most fun game, hobby, and life itself to me. Naturally, everything I did was compared to cooking.
Though the ending wasn't a happy one.
For the record, I had no choice but to start cooking again in this life, too.
It wasn't for any grand reason. It was simply thanks to Mrs. Jo.
For the record, Mrs. Jo was my mother.
‘I could've sworn she wasn't this bad when I was little.’
While I poked around at the food-like thing in front of me, Mrs. Jo said something.
“Try it. It turned out delicious this time.”
Unable to ignore the expectant look in Mrs. Jo's eyes, I took a bite, and….
***
Neither Mom nor Dad had the slightest interest in cooking.
Most of our meals were eaten out.
Even the home-cooked meals we occasionally had were things bought from Hyeon's side-dish shop nearby.
Back then, I had such an aversion to cooking that I simply accepted it.
But one day, when I was young, Mrs. Jo unexpectedly cooked something herself.
The menu was rolled omelet.
An omelet served with four cheongyang peppers, a preschooler, and 7 a.m.
Maybe because I threw such a violent fit after eating it, Mrs. Jo never cooked again, though.
The problem was that after Mrs. Jo declared herself a ‘stay-at-home mom with nothing to do,’ she developed a hobby for cooking.
After that, eating out and buying side dishes were banned by the orders of Mom, the highest-ranking authority in the house.
At first, it was okay. Back then, it could definitely still be called food.
But the funny thing was, the more she made it, the more it underwent a dark evolution.
You know, like how the dinosaur friend searching for Tai ended up as a skull.
“How is it? Tasty, right?”
Mrs. Jo's voice shattered my reverie.
‘Is this what a life-flashing-before-your-eyes moment feels like?’
Unable to accept this with my common sense, I asked Mrs. Jo, who was scooping rice on the other side.
“What was that I just ate?”
“What do you mean, what was it? It's mackerel braised in kimchi. You tasted it, so how do you not know?”
This? Is common sense different on another Earth…? No, of course not.
“Mrs. Jo. When did our house become a Jjamtiger feeding station… Ow! It hurts, I said it hurts!!”
“Stop saying weird things and eat.”
It looked exactly like the slop bin when they served braised hairtail at boot camp.
I wanted to say one more thing, but judging by the face across from me, I felt I'd kick the bucket the moment I let it out, so I held it in.
The visuals were shocking.
She called it kimchi jjim, but don't people usually use only napa cabbage kimchi?
Why had every kind of kimchi in the house gone into it?
And then.
“I think the mackerel ran away?”
“What are you talking about? You can see the meat right there.”
Thinking it couldn't possibly be, I gently lifted the tiny white piece of meat with my chopsticks.
“This?”
“If I put it in as a whole chunk, one person could eat it and another couldn't. So I crushed it all up and put it in.”
I knew Mrs. Jo's cooking was highly creative and individualistic, but today was the first time I'd experienced a life-flashing-before-my-eyes moment, too.
‘Damn it. No wonder Dad and Ji-hye weren't here. They ran away from this.’
To think I'd been saddled with disposing of this slop. I swear I'll have my revenge.
That aside, um…
The smell of napa kimchi, kkakdugi, godeulbaegi kimchi, green-onion kimchi, and various others mingled with mackerel's distinctive fishiness, making my head swim.
I'd only taken one bite, but it felt like my mouth smelled of food waste, too.
What kind of insane meal police was this?
Okay. Game over. Arrest them all.
Enough with the bullshit. I should make a run for it, too.
Bzzzz
My phone rang at just the right moment. Was this my opening?
“Mom. Something came up at the shop, so I think I need to go. Put it in the fridge so my little sibling and Dad can eat it when they get home.”
“Huh? Yeah. But didn't you say the shop was closed today….”
“Hello? What did you say? Sorry, Mom. I'm off.”
I pulled my cap low and scurried out.
‘Phew. Escape successful.’
She'd told me to put the rest in the fridge, too, so my little revenge was a success.
***
When Mrs. Jo made me start cooking again, I even considered becoming a chef once more.
But just because you like the destination doesn't mean you'll like the road there.
Especially if you already know that road.
Dropping hundreds of millions of won every year to attend a famous school and learn again what I already knew.
Or starting over with washing dishes.
A hellish either-or.
I chose a third option, and the result was opening a shop of my own.
A taxi driver's voice shattered my thoughts.
“We've arrived. Take care.”
“Thank you.”
The taxi had arrived before I knew it. I got out and looked around.
Ordinary residential streets. It was the sort of neighborhood where you'd be lucky to find even a convenience store.
And nestled among them was my small, precious shop.
It had no ordinary sign or signboard, nothing at all; even if someone saw it, they couldn't tell whether it was a shop—or even that there was a shop there.
I unlocked the door and went inside.
An open kitchen and counter seats. That was all.
But the important thing was that it was ‘my shop.’
Who am I? A twenty-year-old building owner. An ouwner.
For the record, the money was bestowed by Coin-sama-sama-sama.
Most of the coins I bought when I was young had crashed. About two out of ten, proportionally speaking.
That was a batting average that reminded me of some Seagulls baseball team from my previous life. I wonder if they're still doing about the same.
Fortunately, though, one of them was the coin from my previous life.
It wasn't enough to live a blissfully rich life, but it was enough to open a little shop like this.
I felt at ease.
“I'm hungry.”
Come to think of it, I hadn't even been able to eat because of Mrs. Jo's food terrorism.
I opened the fridge while considering what to make, but there were only the vegetables that were always there.
‘Right. Tomatoes from yesterday.’
I'd bought tomatoes at the market yesterday because they were cheap. When I opened the freezer, I found frozen shrimp, too.
“It's hot out, so maybe I'll have something refreshing.”
After a short deliberation, I decided.
Shrimp Catalana (Gamberi alla catalana).
Literally, it just means a shrimp dish from Catalonia.
Fresh shrimp would've been nice, but I had to make do.
I put the shrimp in a zip-top bag and submerged it in cold water. They were small, so they looked like they'd thaw in ten to twenty minutes.
I poured water into a pot to blanch the shrimp. If I were doing it properly, I'd make a Court bouillon, but I'm too lazy right now, so let's keep it simple.
I set the pot on the burner and added the leftover vegetables and aromatics from the fridge.
I salted the water just enough to preserve the shrimp's flavor.
I cut the tomatoes into bite-sized pieces and julienned the red onion. I picked basil leaves, tore them, and added them.
A bite of tomato was deliciously sweet and tart.
“I'll go with the most basic dressing.”
I mixed olive oil and lemon juice, and that was it. A few shakes of salt and pepper, too.
When the water came to a boil, I added the thawed shrimp and immediately turned off the heat.
After waiting briefly, I lifted them out and left them for a moment to finish cooking in the residual heat.
Into a bowl went the chopped vegetables and dressing.
I mixed the dressing once more before adding it, then tossed everything together.
Finally, I topped it with the shrimp, which had cooled just enough.
“Even thrown together, it still looks good.”
After taking a picture of the finished dish, I sat down.
I turned on something to watch on my phone and took a bite.
The aroma of olive oil, the acidity of lemon and tomatoes, and the fragrance of basil whetted my appetite.
Then came the gentle sweetness of the tomatoes and red onion.
Once the vegetables' sweetness faded and the onion's characteristic bite rose, it blended with the shrimp's distinctive flavor to create a pleasant taste.
A flavor different from an ordinary salad.
As expected, foods that whet your appetite like this are the best in summer.
“Mmm. Delicious.”
I munched as I watched my phone.
Suddenly, I felt that something was missing.
The food's flavor? No. This was the best possible flavor for the effort. Then what was it?
“Ah.”
Come to think of it, the answer had been close at hand.
On the variety show playing on my phone, chefs cooked while guests ate and reacted.
The important part was ‘ate and reacted.’
Realizing it, I gave a bitter laugh.
I looked around inside: an empty shop. The only people who ever came were a few acquaintances.
After all that hardship and swearing I'd never do it again, I'd opened another shop anyway.
And I found it disappointing that there was no one to eat my food and react to it.
‘Hmm.’
When I opened the shop with the money from selling the coins, the people around me had tried to stop me.
Couldn't I just cook at home?
Did I really have to open a shop?
If I was going to open one, I should do it properly.
Looking back now, they had a point.
A shop no one ever visited was a waste of money, after all.
Still, what could I do when this was what I was more drawn to?
It was obvious that if I got lots of customers, I'd end up chained to it again. Absolutely not. No way.
“What should I do?”
I put down my fork and pondered for a moment.
I didn't want to take customers. But I did want someone to react to my food.
What was this, a hot iced Americano of a situation…!
This was all because I was a woman.
Suddenly, I missed my Neo… Anyway, that long thing.
A noisy sound brought my useless thoughts to a halt.
‘Sound. Phone. Variety show. Huh?’
It might not be a perfect solution, but it didn't seem like I was completely out of options.
As expected, I, this guy (girl), might just be a genius.