[ He listened intently as Zhao spoke about his past, picking at the remains of his meal. The way he spoke about cooking and sharing meals with others made it sound almost like a sacred act.
They're trusting you to feed not just their bodies but their souls, and if you could honor that trust, you'd have customers for life. ]
You know, there was this old Chinese woman who owned a restaurant near my childhood home. She used to say something similar. Whenever my mother and I would pick up food, she would always give us extra helpings of orange chicken and rice, even though we couldn't afford it. I think... she knew our situation just by looking at us. Said she didn't care about the money, that she'd rather feed a hundred strangers free of charge than see a single one of them go hungry.
[ In that moment, Joon-gi realized that maybe he'd been acting selfishly by never asking Zhao for seconds, or stating his preferences when it concerned meals. He thought that he'd been making things easier for Zhao, but maybe he saw it as indifference on Joon-gi's part. Something cold slithered its way into his heart at the thought that he might have inadvertently spurned Zhao's affections all this time.
Joon-gi reached for Zhao's hand and absently rubbed his thumb against his knuckles. He could see the small nicks along his fingers from where the knife slipped and he'd cut himself. Old battle scars from a veteran of kitchen work.
What was unusual, though, was the long, thin line sliced across the back of his fingers. If Joon-gi had to hazard a guess, it was indicative of someone else attacking him with some sharp implement. It seemed doubtful that Zhao did that to himself. ]
Those people were like your family, weren't they? So, each time you make one of the recipes they taught you, you're keeping their memory alive. I'm sure Huang must be proud of you, knowing how many people you've fed using the skills he taught you. [ He lowered his gaze, tracing the length of that scar with his thumb. ] Who knows? Maybe you even saved someone's life with one of your meals. Sometimes that makes all the difference for someone living in desperate circumstances.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2024-10-03 02:24 am (UTC)They're trusting you to feed not just their bodies but their souls, and if you could honor that trust, you'd have customers for life. ]
You know, there was this old Chinese woman who owned a restaurant near my childhood home. She used to say something similar. Whenever my mother and I would pick up food, she would always give us extra helpings of orange chicken and rice, even though we couldn't afford it. I think... she knew our situation just by looking at us. Said she didn't care about the money, that she'd rather feed a hundred strangers free of charge than see a single one of them go hungry.
[ In that moment, Joon-gi realized that maybe he'd been acting selfishly by never asking Zhao for seconds, or stating his preferences when it concerned meals. He thought that he'd been making things easier for Zhao, but maybe he saw it as indifference on Joon-gi's part. Something cold slithered its way into his heart at the thought that he might have inadvertently spurned Zhao's affections all this time.
Joon-gi reached for Zhao's hand and absently rubbed his thumb against his knuckles. He could see the small nicks along his fingers from where the knife slipped and he'd cut himself. Old battle scars from a veteran of kitchen work.
What was unusual, though, was the long, thin line sliced across the back of his fingers. If Joon-gi had to hazard a guess, it was indicative of someone else attacking him with some sharp implement. It seemed doubtful that Zhao did that to himself. ]
Those people were like your family, weren't they? So, each time you make one of the recipes they taught you, you're keeping their memory alive. I'm sure Huang must be proud of you, knowing how many people you've fed using the skills he taught you. [ He lowered his gaze, tracing the length of that scar with his thumb. ] Who knows? Maybe you even saved someone's life with one of your meals. Sometimes that makes all the difference for someone living in desperate circumstances.