Taehos stepped off his motorcycle. Rain was falling. Orange streetlight soaked the telephone poles.
“Hello, I’m opening a new place nearby. It’s going to be a German restaurant across the road. I wanted to talk about meat supply.”
He raised his voice politely.
“Oh, welcome. This street’s small—you probably didn’t find us on Naver. How’d you know we were here?” The butcher, Yoonjae, had a ruddy face, flushed with energy.
“What kind of meat are you looking for?” Yoonjae asked as he trimmed a cut.
His knife was sharp—blue-steel sharp. His hand slowed down where bone tangled with muscle. He found the faint line, slipped the blade in. The meat fell off the bone like it had been waiting for this.
Follow the grain. Let the knife go where the space is. The meat isn’t hurt. The knife stays sharp.
It felt like an story from an Zhuang zi – the story of Cook Ding, a butcher who followed the grain perfectly, he never dulled his bad.
Understanding matter—that’s the real way to cook. Taehos thought: I found a good supplier today.
“I’ve passed by a few times. But I liked how your counter was never overflowing with meat. That’s why I came.”
Yoonjae set down the knife.
“Coffee?”
He handed Taehos a cup and a mix packet.
“I’ll be ordering beef sirloin, pork loin, soup bones, marrow, stew cuts, and pork knuckles. Can I order every three days? Would you be able to manage inventory?”
Taehos stirred the coffee and sat down.
“Sure. But that’s a pretty diverse list. Most chefs only order one or two kinds.”
Taehos looked down at Yoonjae’s rubber boots. They were wet, gleaming under the fluorescent light.
“Well, it’s doable. But domestic cuts are fresh and pricey. U.S. imports are cheaper, but frozen. That okay?”
“Frozen’s fine. If you thaw it right and match the dish, it’s sometimes better than fresh. I’ll take all U.S. frozen.”
Yoonjae burst out laughing.
“All frozen? No one does that these days. You’re a strange one. Everyone asks for fresh. Why you going solo?”
“If you rely on premium ingredients, you won’t make money. Value comes from cooking.”
Yoonjae nodded.
“True. Arguing over cents per kilo won’t take you far. Better to think about what you can make with it. But our culture’s still all about salt, fire, and gochujang. So people obsess over freshness and price. How’s it in Germany?”
Taehos stretched and stood up.
“Well, if you teach me how to cut meat like that, I’ll teach you how we do it.”
He left his contact on a memo and pinned it to the butcher’s corkboard.
Yoonjae pulled out frozen meat from the deep freezer and began weighing the cuts.
Taehos stepped outside, lit a cigarette, and looked back at the shop.
In front, soju boxes with green “Chamisul” stickers stacked up like arrows pointing in one direction.
“Is this the level where it looks like I didn’t try even though I did— or where I tried and it still looks effortless?”
He hummed to himself, light as steam.
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