Surviving Among the Entities

“Molecular gastronomy has opened new horizons for the culinary world.”

At an old restaurant, an elderly man left alone began cleaning while lending an ear to the TV’s sound. He was the owner and head chef, but it had been a lifelong habit to send the staff home and personally tidy up the restaurant before leaving.

“The combination of cooking and science, creating new tastes by combining ingredients that seem completely incompatible, is an area that can be said to have been bestowed by the Deity of Cooking, having taken pity on humanity.”

The elderly man tidied the lobby. He dusted decorative items there that could no longer be used but were maintained spotless without a speck of dust.

[MICHELIN 2002]

[Gault & Millau TABLE DE CHEF 2002]

After returning those bearing three stars and four chef’s hat engravings attesting to the last time he received recognition to their places, the man reached for items attesting to an even more brilliant era.

“Traditional cooking methods could never have produced the higher dimensional flavors, aromas, and textures. It was a tremendous shock even to those who had previously dismissed molecular gastronomy. All thanks to the advancement of science and the new cooking tools emerging from it. Though of course, the emergence of Chef Hénri Boulet was pivotal.”

A faded golden chef trophy, and in lieu of a plaque, a single plate.

[Bocuse d’Or 1998 Chef / Georges Guichon]

By the time he finished dusting the plate, the TV broadcast had also ended.

“For any chef in France now, even if not an expert in molecular gastronomy, it has become a necessity to be versed in it as general knowledge. Those insisting only on tradition can never take to the world stage.”

After returning the plate to the display case, the elderly man spoke.

“Nonsense.”

Throughout his preparations for leaving, the elderly man thought:

‘What’s important in cooking are traditional cooking methods and the original flavors of ingredients.’

Cooking methods that have been refined over hundreds of years and the combination of excellent ingredients from the rich nature of France are France’s pride and an impregnable fortress that cannot be surmounted by science.

‘The world is still going crazy.’

That damn globalization, that damn diversity.

Having finished his preparations to leave, the elderly man turned off the restaurant’s lights.

“Excuse me, but is this Chef Georges Guichon’s restaurant?”

With the lights off, a man entered the restaurant and opened the door. The man in a suit with neatly combed blond hair looked like a typical office worker.

“It is, but we’re closed for business.”

The elderly man, Georges Guichon, told him to leave.

“I’ve come too late, it seems. But could you spare me a bit of your time? I’ll make sure you won’t regret it for your entire life.”

Normally he would have curtly cut the man off and chased him away, but today Georges felt his heart move.

“What is it?”

“I rudely came at this late hour to bring you the item you need most.”

“An item? What item?”

“A seasoning. Ah, I haven’t introduced myself.”

The man handed over his business card.

“R&D Division Head of Lucifer Company, Baалzєввυ8. You can call me Baal for short, or use the name humans commonly refer to me as.”

Through the window, the lights of Paris danced beautifully.

“The Devil.”

“I’ve come a bit earlier today.”

In the late evening, Baal visited the restaurant again. Since he came after the staff had left, it was an earlier visit than yesterday.

“Are you really the Devil?”

“Yes, I am.”

“You’ve lost your mind.”

“Whether I’m the Devil or not, you’ll see once you use the seasoning I’ve brought.”

Georges recalled what happened last night.

[The Devil, my ass! Get the hell out of here!]

[Well, I’ll be going then. But I’ll leave a gift for you.]

Before leaving after being told to scram, the man called Baal had left behind a small glass bottle.

[It’s a seasoning that brings out the innate flavors of any dish to their limits. It’s not a chemical seasoning but a natural one, and since it brings out the flavors of the ingredients instead of using science, it harmonizes with traditional cooking methods.]

At first he had tried to throw it away. But he couldn’t bring himself to, holding onto it just in case.

“You still have it, don’t you?”

“It’s an ominous thing. What if drugs were inside? I don’t want to get arrested for drug dealing after carelessly throwing it away. So take it back with you.”

“Are you sure I can have it?”

Looking at the seasoning placed on the table, Baal spoke.

“For you Mr. Seung-hoon Lee, this is your only chance to surpass Henri Boulet.”

“What did you say!?”

“No, my mistake. Henri Boulet was merely a passing fad.”

After making a snide remark causing Georges to glare at him, he left the restaurant.

“That seasoning is your only opportunity to be recorded in culinary history as a great figure.”

Left alone, Georges immediately tried to throw the seasoning into the trash can. After finishing tidying up the restaurant and right before leaving, he glared at the trash can.

“……”

After much hesitation, he took out the seasoning. Then sprinkling a bit onto his fingertip, he tasted it.

“Oolala.”

His eyes widened immensely.

“Congratulations on your restaurant’s success.”

A few weeks later, Baal visited Georges’ restaurant again. In his hands was a newspaper with the following front page article:

[Chef Georges Guichon’s Restaurant “Classique”, Finding New Combinations Within Traditional Cooking Methods.]

[His Fantastic Seasoning Brings Out the Utmost Flavors of Ingredients.]

[What Combination Method is it? Earning Raves from All Chefs in Paris.]

Georges did not block Baal’s entry. Rather, he had been waiting for him to come quickly.

“You said you’re the Devil? Here to snatch my soul?”

“So now you believe I’m the Devil.”

“How could I not! This seasoning! Just a sprinkle and everyone raves! No matter what dish, a sprinkle bestows the ultimate flavor, and no matter how much I use it never runs out! What being other than the Devil could create something like this!”

“I’m truly honored that you believe me now.”

“Anyway, are you here to take my soul?”

“Not if you don’t fall.”

“How can I believe that?”

“Well you see, I’d like to have a meal first.”

Though the restaurant was closed, the guest was the Devil. With no choice, Georges tried to cook with the remaining ingredients, but Baal’s order was simple.

“Please place a few of those seasonings on a plate. That will be enough. Ah, except for the seasoning I brought you.”

“Really, just that will do?”

“I am the Devil after all. I’d love some french fries and cola if you had them, but I don’t expect you to sell those here.”

Georges brought out the seasonings. As Baal touched his fingers to the plates of pepper, salt, butter, and sugar to eat them, he spoke.

“Devils cannot tell lies. And we only harvest souls that have fallen. Up until recently, we specified that in contracts to increase our harvest rate, but hmm, going about it that way caused souls to not properly fall, and at best we could only use them as slaves.”

“Do fallen souls receive different treatment?”

“We treat them splendidly as denizens of Hell. What, did you think we did this because we want to torment humans? It’s all to increase the number who will join us.”

His finger-licking mannerism was unpleasant, but Georges didn’t comment since he was the Devil.

“I thought Devils made strange contracts.”

“As I just said, contracts are not a good method. Contracts themselves involve coercion that prevents souls from properly falling. The same goes for using demonic power to manipulate human emotions and behavior to forcibly cause their fall. To use an analogy……”

A single fly was buzzing around inside the restaurant.

“It would be like molecular gastronomy. No matter how tempting the dish made by forcibly processing the ingredients through science, it can never match traditional cooking methods, and the resulting forced flavors and textures are nothing but illusions in the end.”

Though a Devil, he seemed to understand something about cooking. Georges nodded his head.

“So if I use your seasoning but don’t fall, you won’t take my soul?”

“Naturally.”

“What a pity. I won’t fall.”

“I hope that is the case.”

After finishing his meal, Baal left the restaurant.

“I merely wished to cheer on someone upholding tradition.”

After that day, Baal did not visit Georges again.

[Restaurant “Classique” Earns 3 Michelin Stars.]

[Restaurant “Classique” Awarded 4 Gault Millau Hats.]

His restaurant regained its former glory.

[Chef Georges Guichon, to become the Third Chef after Paul Bocuse and Joël Robuchon to Receive the Legion of Honour?]

[Molecular Gastronomy Master Chef Hénri Boulet Praises His Cuisine.]

Everyone praised him. The future for him and his restaurant looked bright and unwavering.

“Classique’s dishes have become stale lately.”

“The same taste every day hmm, I wish there was something different and stimulating……”

But as critics became accustomed to his flavors, they desired something new. Something diverse and flamboyant, something that would leave a mark in culinary history like molecular gastronomy. And Georges too felt the need for such.

‘In the end, my cooking is merely traditional cooking.’

No matter how delicious, no matter if he used the Devil’s seasoning to bring out the ultimate flavors, it was not enough to leave a new mark in the history of cuisine.

For only pioneers who contributed to advancements would have their footsteps recorded in history for eternity.

“……”

I am merely a chef who will briefly shine and disappear with the Devil’s aid. Georges had regained his honor, but thirsted for even greater glory.

‘I need a more delicious dish.’

But no matter what dish he made, he could not bring out flavors exceeding the seasoning. In the midst of this, he suddenly recalled the moment he first tasted the seasoning.

‘The flavor back then was much better.’

He sprinkled a bit of the Devil’s seasoning onto a plate and lightly licked it with his tongue.

‘…This isn’t that flavor.’

What was different from back then? After agonizing over it, he finally found the answer.

“Fingers.”

He dipped his finger into the seasoning to eat it.

“Oolala.”

He tasted that celestial flavor he had first experienced.

“My word.”

And he realized what this meant.

Georges’ restaurant closed its doors. For the next few days he commuted to church.

“Lead us not into temptation, O Lord……”

Then for the next few days he agonized alone at home.

“It’s insanity, utter insanity, but if I can let the world know that flavor, if I can only do that……”

After agonizing for a few more days, he cut off his left pinky finger. Using that, he conducted one experiment before wandering outside to agonize one final time.

“……”

A child taking a solitary stroll through the park.

A vagrant no one would care about even if they disappeared.

A woman walking around fearlessly even at night.

“I will not fall.”

Finally, even his own reflection in the mirror.

“I merely wish to leave my name in history.”

He bathed himself.

“Forever.”

Meticulously and delicately, as if washing ingredients.

“I wonder what dish will be served?”

“I’m really looking forward to it.”

At the fully booked restaurant, people awaited today’s dish with anticipation. All were personally invited by Georges, famous chefs, journalists, reporters, and food critics.

“I heard today’s dish will be just one?”

“I hope he reveals the fantastic seasoning.”

Unlike the excited guests, the servers on duty were perplexed.

“Why didn’t the other chefs clock in besides the head chef?”

“I heard the head chef is cooking alone today?”

“Just him for all these people?”

“Since it’s a single dish with no courses, maybe it’ll work out somehow?”

At that moment, Georges stood in the kitchen. After bathing himself one final time with a towel until spotlessly clean, he filled a bucket with water.

“65 degrees.”

He poured the Devil’s seasoning into the lukewarm water. Sprinkling in a large amount of seasoning caused an entrancingly sweet aroma to waft up, making one’s mouth water.

“Sous-vide.”

Not to drink it, but as a preparatory meal for cooking, he gulped it down in big swallows.

“Ghee.”

He melted butter in a pot. After melting large amounts of butter in several pots, he poured it all into the bucket.

‘Preparations are complete.’

Georges stripped off his clothes. Presenting himself in the same pure unclothed state as when he was born into this world, after dedicating seventy years of his life to cooking, he appeared before everyone.

“Oolala! Georges! Just what is this!”

“Oolala!”

“Georges has gone insane!”

One after another, people screamed. Rather than flee, reporters cheered at having a scoop and kept snapping shutter photos while shouting.

“Everyone.”

He lastly threw in the entire unopened bottle of the Devil’s seasoning into the bucket of melted butter with the lid open.

“This is my life’s final dish, and greatest dish ever. The one and only celestial dish that cannot be tasted anywhere else in this world, now or forever. Please enjoy it.”

Confirming that the seasoning had completely dissolved like a pillar of salt, he lifted the bucket.

“Arroser.”

Then he upended the butter oil hotter than 200 degrees Celsius over himself.

“Ggggrrraaaaahhhh!”

Screams rang out. Screams from Georges, and screams from the people. In the midst of the chaos as he thrashed about in agony, Georges’ consciousness began to fade.

“Call an ambulance! Call an ambulance!”

“Georges! Why!”

“Aahh……”

But soon the clamor fell silent. Ironically, what grasped at Georges’ fading consciousness was the celestial aroma wafting from his body.

‘Yes, I was not mistaken after all.’

None of the guests dared to open their mouths. For this was a human taboo, an act lower than that of beasts that humans must not commit.

‘With this, I will be remembered in history.’

But no one left their seats. Slowly, one by one, they approached Georges.

‘As the one who created the celestial dish none can replicate.’

Wiping the drool from the corners of his mouth, Georges watched the people approach him one after another. Among them was even Henri Boulet, the very chef he had envied so much.

“How delightful. Yes, this is exactly what I meant.”

Beyond the people rapidly converging on him, he saw the lone seated figure.

“After our defeat by that Carpenter of Nazareth, we devils became too dispirited. Even after vanquishing him, we continued fearing the potential of humans, entrapping us in the preconception that we must make them fall through contracts and trickery.”

The Devil was still merely licking his fingers to eat small amounts of the seasoning.

“It was a phenomenon born of fear of defeat. But it was unnecessary. For humans are plentiful and mostly foolish.”

As a chef, Georges finally realized:

“Without needing contracts to deceive or manipulate their thoughts and emotions, in the end most humans will fall of their own accord. Like a thirsty donkey drinking until its belly bursts upon reaching an oasis.”

That this very situation itself was a feast for the Devil.

“All we need do is guide the donkeys to the oasis.”

The guests rushed in to devour Georges’ body.

“Is this not the Devil’s traditional cooking method?”

Amid the extreme agony, Georges’ consciousness faded.

“To learn this in reverse through a human, I will have to deliver a gift soon. For someone who may join our company someday.”

Before his consciousness fully cut off, a single fly buzzed by his ear to whisper:

“Your soul has fallen. The charge is ‘Forcing Cannibalism onto Other Humans’.”

Georges screamed, but with everyone too engrossed in devouring his body, no one heard him.