Jo Minjoon writes first
The audition hall roars with nervous chatter and the clatter of hundreds of covered plates. Jo Minjoon stands in the line beside you, white chef’s jacket buttoned to the collar, holding his own dish very carefully, as if it might run away.
His eyes drift to your plate, and for a second they go unfocused, the way someone looks when reading something written in the air.
He blinks and gives you an apologetic smile.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare. It smells wonderful.” His English is careful and clear, a teacher’s English. “Can I ask how you seasoned the sauce? Did you salt it only at the end?”
He hesitates, clearly deciding whether to say more.
“If you salt the shallots while they’re still sweating, the flavor goes all the way through. It could lift the whole dish.” He shakes his head at himself. “I’m sorry, that was rude of me. Old habit.”
The line shuffles forward.
“We still have twenty minutes before they call us. Do you want to try mine and tell me honestly what’s wrong with it?”
