There was nothing more satisfying than seeing your customers enjoy the plates you placed in front of them. They would let out a tiny sigh of contentedness and carefully place another bite in their mouths. It was the ultimate nod to your abilities when they walk out singing your praises.

            At a young age, you quickly made a name for yourself. You were considered one of the up and coming chefs to watch out for. It was your talent to fuse different cultural cuisines and create a new dish that always had those of the finest palates on their feet. Interviews came in flurries and magazine covers pasted your confident smile all over the public. The public came in droves. Life was good.

            And then you decided to pack up your bags and go. You left the high class restaurant, leaving behind just a note asking for three months off. It was a creative block of sorts. With your time spent on answering questions related to your life and not to your craft, and posing for photos with too-fake perfect food, you couldn’t rest and think.

            The recipes that you had served over the past year were ones that you thought of while wandering the fields of your hometown, barefoot, in touch with the earth. They were spontaneous concoctions that came to you as you laughed with your friends and noted their culinary habits. The dishes you were known for were born from time spent in your mind, and your observations. Having a packed schedule day in day out was an anesthesia shot that had you numb.

            It wasn’t as if you dropped off the face of the planet. No. You’ve told enough people your hometown that if they wanted to find you, it wouldn’t be hard. But bless the people; they seemed to understand that at the tender age of twenty-four, the last thing you wanted was more attention when you so blatantly asked to be out of the spotlight. So, you were once more hidden among the safety of your neighbors, and behind the doors of a tiny kitchen in the back of a homey diner.

            Even though your ingredients were much more limited now, you felt colors burst in your head and scents swirl in your nose. Textures landed on your tongue and you felt at peace as you thought of a special of a day, for every day of the week.

            “Seriously, you haven’t thought of going back?”

            You looked up from where you were carefully plating handful of kimchi next to the delicately wobbling sunny side egg. “Back where?”

            “To Seoul. To the restaurant.”

            You gave a nonchalant shrug as you poked a toothpick into the yolk, letting a tiny stream of yellow golden happiness run down the white and mix with the scarlet red kimchi juice. “Not particularly. I mean, I do have another month left before I decide what I want to do.”

            The lady was the owner of the restaurant and she gave the plate an impressed look. “I’ve been watching you, and I love you for giving me more business, but your talent really shouldn’t be wasted here.”

            “I don’t consider it a waste as long as there is one person who enjoys the food. It’s irrelevant where they patron.” The ahjumma clucked her tongue as she took the plate from you.

            “Well, there certainly is one young man who has now become a regular.” She gave you a meaningful look, which you ignored.

            You knew exactly who she was referring to. He had caught your eye the moment he walked in, skateboard over his shoulder, black hair flopping into his eyes, see-if-I-care attitude evident on his face. You weren’t one for judging people. But noticing, that was what you were good at. And everything about how out of place he was in the mom and pop store made you notice him.

            He had perused the menu, giving everything a less than cursory glance. “Excuse me, what would you recommend?” He asked in a polite, deep voice, how at odds with his bad rebellious teenager image. It surprised you that he would ask that. The question, usually so pretentious from the mouths of the wealthy, usually hinting that they wanted their meal explained and even persuaded to be eaten, was unusually pleasant coming from him. And you half wanted to hear his opinion on the shop owner’s answer.

            “Well, you can always try our special for the day. We have a new one every day. Today is lemon crab with mustard sauce and deep fried egg rice.”

            “Egg rice?”

            “It’s an omelet with your choice of sweet rice, bulgogi rice or whatever you want wrapped inside. The crab leg is served in strips already ready to be eaten.”

            Your mind had been on another customer’s food when the order came in front of you. “A3 wants the daily special, but he wants sweet potato and purple rice.” It was an interesting combo. Usually people picked from the selection you gave them.

            “Coming right up.”

            You had been fascinated, watching him eat. He took his time to savor the food but didn’t have the overly animate expression of some of your more wealthy and “learned” customers. Instead, he ate heartily, never really quite stopping to talk. You were so used to exclamations and compliments to the server that this quiet indulgence was a breath of fresh air. This was how you wanted your food to be appreciated. Not with magazines and photos, but with pure happiness.

            When he finished eating, he picked up his skateboard, and bowed deeply to your boss. “Thank you. That was delicious.”

            He never came in at the same time so his appearance didn’t become routine. Instead, it was always a pleasant surprise. Sometimes he would come in early in the morning for breakfast and then your day was set. Or he would pop in in the mid-afternoon as a post-lunch snack. If he showed up at night, you went to sleep dreaming about his expression.

            You had never had a human muse before. It had always been about taste and craft and what was adventurous and what was considered home. Now, you had this boy. You knew nothing about him. You just knew he was tall, always rode his skateboard, and clearly loved whatever you placed in front of him.

            He came in right as you started and a month ago, you were in the supermarket. Even though the more western ingredients were harder to come by, you had access to more native vegetables and it delighted your creativity. You picked up the napa cabbage and thought of the things you could do with it aside from kimchi.

            As you pushed your cart towards the fruit aisle, you bumped into a wall. Well, it was a human wall and when you finally scanned up to his face, you found that it was your muse. He had to look down to see the offending object that had hit his leg and you blushed a deep red. “Sorry,” you mumbled, fumbling quickly to go.

            “Wait.” He grabbed ahold of your cart and stared at you. “Aren’t you the chef at Mama Kim’s?”
            It surprised you that he knew who you were. You stared at him dumbly. “How do you know?”

            He grinned. “The doors to the kitchen have a window and I happen to be tall enough to see through them.” Oh. Those windows were also the very reason you could see him from your constant standing position. You gave him a cursory look, afraid to stare for too long. His ever-present skateboard was tucked into the back of his own shopping cart. Gone were the black articles of clothing. Instead, his hair was fluffed just naturally so and he had on a button down and jeans. It was so different from his usual outfit that you had to do a double take.

            “My name is Junhong,” he offered his hand. “And I really love your food.”

            You’d heard a million compliments before. But none seemed quite as simple and genuine as this. You stared at his hand for a while before coming to your senses. He had soft, warm hands and you saw a hint of white dust on them.

            He seemed to realize your curiosity because he quickly withdrew his palm to wipe them on the bottom of his shirttail. “Sorry. I’m a teacher so I basically live with chalk on my hands.”

            A teacher. So this boy with the rebellious clothing and the skateboard was also the put together teacher with a soft gray dress shirt. “I’m volunteering at the elementary school as part of my training. But they need me at odd times; which explains why I come in whenever I have free time.”

            “Oh.” It was as if all your answers were slowly being answered without your ever having to ask them.

            “Are you shopping for the restaurant?”

            “No. Just going to bring this home to do some experiments.”

            “Ah. Mind if I joined?”

            You didn’t, and it was even fun explaining to him your thought process behind some ingredient choices. He had raised his eyes at anchovy flakes but you told him that they were great with rice and so were the medicinal herbs you had chosen. “These are good in some dessert because believe it or not, it can help balance out some of the sugary sweet tastes.”

            It was unspoken that he would naturally help you bring the bags home. He only had two, but your five large ones were easily lifted by his strong arms and all you had to do was carry a skateboard. Conversation flowed naturally and you haven’t felt so your age in a long while.

            “I’d love to see you again,” Junhong smiled. “Outside of your apron, of course. Do you want to grab dessert Tuesday after the restaurant closes?”

            You looked down at the bags he was transferring to you as a way of not looking at him when you answered. “I’d be delighted.”

            One dessert turned into stolen moments between your breaks. Your boss had noticed your flustered appearance whenever Junhong walked in and your attentive look whenever he made his order in the front of the restaurant. When he showed up outside, looking to see if you were busy, she had smiled.

            “Looks like someone’s looking for you.” Despite your protests, she made you put down your work and go. And that was how you came to have an official midday break.

            He took you on skateboard dates. Sometimes you would balance precariously behind him, holding tightly as he maneuvered his way down the unsmooth roads. Sometimes, you would just sit in a park and he would regale you with stories of his kids. Other nights, you would pepper him with questions and he would slowly dig your past up from your lips. Time spent with him was precious and you hadn’t realized just how much he influenced your food when you caught yourself placing his favorite fruits in desserts, and some of the combinations he had suggested in your specials.

            The wind was ruffling through Junhong’s dark locks, and running a tune through the tall grass around you. He leaned back on his palms as he peered out at the setting sun. You noticed freckles sprinkled across his cheeks and wanted to turn before he realized how close you were.

            Too late. He had turned and in your haste, you stumbled onto your arm, and he gently picked you up. “Don’t worry. I do that too. I’ve just never been caught.” You stared at him with a slightly confused look and he grinned. “Stare. I stare at you so often it’s a miracle you haven’t ce and saw me. Almost made me worried but I’m glad you do the same too.”

            The faded yellow rays created a halo around him and his eyes lit up with amusement. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. His hand reached out to cup your face. “Can I kiss you?”

            The words were so magical and you closed your eyes. He tasted like mint and a little bit of seaweed and your mind burst with ideas. Mint, seaweed and a dash of salted caramel ice cream. You’d need sugar and something sweet, something sweet like the feelings that were coursing through your veins, to replicate this moment, and the dessert was set in your mind.

            When he finally pulled away, you were both breathless and he gave you a sad look. “I’m leaving for Mokpo tomorrow. I wanted to do that earlier but I guess there’s something about goodbyes that gives someone courage.”

            “I’ll be in Seoul.”

            “So you’re going back?”

            As much as your three month break was good for you, it was Junhong who had made it what it was. And Namwon was no longer what it was without him. You might as well pack these memories and take them with you. You nodded. “I’d like to at least finish my contract.”

            He threaded your fingers through his and placed a kiss on the back of your hand. “I suppose this is goodbye then.”

            The finality of everything and how calmly rational he was about it all made your heart harden and scrape painfully against the walls of your throat. You nodded, afraid that saying anything would make all the emotions pour through. All you wanted to do now was preserve the taste of the kiss, and pack the sunshine of this summer into it.

            Six months later, you were unveiling your final dish at the restaurant. After much consideration, you had decided to open your own place and set your own hours. It was the perfect balance between the high class elusiveness that people thought you should have and the need for privacy that had made you run away in the first place.

            There had been a customer who had specially ordered all of your daily specials and this was his last choice. You placed three generous scoops of the salted caramel ice cream onto sunflower petals. You stabbed in carefully cut slices of seaweed to make a dark flower of its own. Scattered mint leaves decorated the rest of the plate, and then you added a swirl of pure sugar, spun into a fine thread of something that could crack if you bit too hard.

            Cameras went off as you carried it in front of you, the representation of your summer romance. You walked to the lone diner in the center and gently placed the dish in front of him.

            “Please enjoy.” You bowed and turned to leave when you heard a familiar voice.

            “Please. Sit with me.”

            And when you looked up, you saw the muse who had haunted your heart and inspired the final creation you had just made.