“Ready… set… go, Beatrix!”
And the scavenger hunt was on. In order to beat my personal record of ten truffles in three minutes, my nose had to be sharp and quick. I dashed into the woods and found four truffles within a minute. As part of my routine, I crossed the dirt with my paw to mark the spot and was immediately rewarded with a treat. As I was finishing my second round of truffle-hunting, I suddenly caught a whiff of capsicum that prickled my nose all the way down to my lungs. An odd lump of dirt protruded from the ground. I crossed my paw to alert my owner, Master Ji-Ho.
“Come on, Beatrix. I can’t carry any more truffles today. Let’s go home, girl.” I let out a whimper, but Master Ji-Ho turned around and walked away.
Days went by and the smell still lingered whenever I neared the lakeside forest.
It was not an Italian scent. Not from Romagna. It was foreign like Master Ji-Ho and the country he left behind. Heavily fermented, with the heat of ginger and the pungency of old fish.
Such a familiar scent, but I couldn’t wrap my paw around it. From my spot in the corner, I sensed a pair of menacing eyes lingering over me. Sitting on the couch was that sly kitty,
Min-Jun, who ever since Master Ji-Ho brought him to our home, never obeyed a single rule.
Wait…that’s it! The fishy smell that wafted from the forest was the same scent the cat had on him when he first came into our home.
Last fall, Master Ji-Ho’s younger brother Ha-Joon had passed away from pancreatic cancer and entrusted Master Ji-Ho with his sly kitty, Min-Jun.
“Hey Min-Jun, do you know something that smells pungent like fish and prickly like chili peppers?”
“And why should I tell you?” yawned the sly kitty.
“Forget it,” I said. Min-Jun’s tight lips never volunteered information that he could later use to tantalize me.
***
Last year, Master Ji-Ho and his younger brother Ha-Joon had an argument about their joint venture Korean restaurant.
“Ha-Joon, why are you refusing to give me the recipe? Why don’t you want your legacy to be carried on?”
“Ji-Ho, you don’t understand. Cooking is my pride. Kimchi is my legacy and it should only be known to the chef carried to his grave.”
“You’re right, Ha-joon, I really don’t understand you. A legacy is something to be shared with the world.”
***
In the third week of last November Ha-Joon passed away, and I still wonder to this day what his logic was in never revealing his recipe. Was it pride that was the driving motivator?
The door slammed. Master Ji-Ho entered the house with two fully-loaded grocery bags. I rushed toward him to get my daily head rubs while Min-Jun brushed against Master Ji-Ho’s leg.
So that heartless cat did have a heart. Master Ji-Ho quickly scooted over to the kitchen island to set the grocery bags down and slumped onto the barstool.
“Hey Beatrix, it seems like nowadays I can barely catch a break. I bought all those ingredients to try to replicate Ha-Joon’s kimchi recipe. Without his kimchi banchan, the sales and visits have been decreasing. I might even lose the restaurant. I don’t know what to do now.”
All I could do was set my head in his lap and whine.
All evening and night Master Ji-Ho diligently worked on four different ingredient combinations to mimic Ha-Joon’s recipe. Once he finished the first batch, the familiar aroma filled the room.
I then felt like a great detective on one of those shows that Master Ji-Ho watches on Thursday nights, slowly obtaining evidence to uncover the mystery.
I decided to sleep on it.
distance.
In the morning, I spotted Min-Jun perched on the top of his cat tree, staring off into the
“Uhm… Min-Jun…”
His cold expression met mine.
“You asked me what smelled like fish and chili peppers. The answer is kimchi. Every
day I sat in Master Ha-Joon’s kitchen accompanying him while he made kimchi. I took those times for granted, and no, I’m not saying this for your benefit. I’m only revealing this because I believe Master Ha-Joon’s legacy should be continued and honored.”
A light bulb sparked in my mind as the circuits connected. I had an intuition, and if it was right, it could save Master Ji-Ho’s beloved restaurant. I rushed to Master Ji-Ho who was having his morning coffee and nudged him in the leg to indicate that nature was calling. As soon as he let me outside into the backyard, I dashed into the woods and I could hear his voice call out,
“Beatrix! Not that far! Where are you going?”
I was never one to disobey as I was a mere dog and did not have the glorious ability of human speech. But if I could do something, even just one thing that could improve a man’s life, I would. So it was on: the great chase between dog and man. I remembered the absolute location and started digging at the pile of loose dirt I’d crossed before. Eventually Master Ji-Ho found me, pulled me back from digging, and saw the spectacle for himself. There, laid a medium-sized ceramic jar sealed with cheese-cloth, a note, and a laminated card. The note said:
Dear brother Ji-Ho, after reflecting upon your words, I finally understand that food is meant to be shared and served to the world. I apologize for being so self-centered and having caused you any distress by withholding my recipe from you. If there was one thing I learned from you, it was how to be generous. I hope you will use my recipe card and continue serving my legacy and honor.
Your brother from the other side, Park Ha-Joon
For the first time since I’d met Master Ji-Ho, the Korean man’s eyes had never held tears. Today, they came in waves.