May You Come Back To My Side - Chapter 3

A week of trying to make the book work its magic again—with absolutely no luck whatsoever, was followed by a week spent moping, dodging dad’s questions, pretending not to see his worried looks, and ignoring calls from Paris.

Funny, how a person’s priorities can change.

Months ago—she smirked at the thought; that was only last week in her current timeline—she couldn’t wait to start working in a three-Michelin-star restaurant in Paris, the literal and figurative capital of French cuisine.A city she had loved living and studying in, a city that suddenly held no appeal anymore.

And neither did working at Epicure, the three-Michelin-star restaurant; the job offered as part of the prize for winning the competition. She couldn’t see herself go back to that, her old life and her old self. Constantly competing, constantly trying to outperform herself, constantly straddling that edge between mere exhaustion and burnout.

If her stay in Joseon had taught her anything, it was that she loved cooking. Not for the competition, not for fame, not to be the best, but to make people happy. And in turn being happy herself by seeing how her food made people feel. How her food could bring back long-lost tastes and memories.

She couldn’t do that in Paris, not at Epicure where each and every day was a battle for survival—to keep the three Michelin stars.

No, if she wanted to keep on cooking the food she wanted to cook, if she wanted to keep making people happy with her food, she needed to be her own boss. She needed her own restaurant.

And, lucky for her, she had the means to achieve the new goal.

She grinned, filled with renewed purpose, and grabbed her phone. She needed to call Paris, tell them not to expect her anytime soon.

 

Her father, as always, was her biggest supporter. She’d been a little apprehensive telling him about her plans, but he’d quickly put her mind at ease, asking her what had taken her so long. Then, he’d kissed her forehead and told her he had the perfect spot in Insadong already picked out.

They’d toured it together the very next day. It wasn’t big—perfect for the small restaurant she had in mind. And, since it always used to be a restaurant, there wouldn’t be much work involved, besides decorating the dining area and equipping the kitchen.

And finding the right staff, of course, which dad had offered to do for her, so she could concentrate on the menu of her Franco-Korean fusion restaurant, aptly named Palais Joseon.

Instead of a constantly fixed menu, she’d decided on seasonal menus, depending on ingredients available,a true farm-to-table experience with traditional Korean ingredients with a French twist she’d become famous for in the Joseon court.

And her father never missing a beat, Palais Joseon quickly filled with staff literally tailored to her. Her sous chef, an ornery, grizzled harabeoji, with a knack for soups and a hidden love of French cuisine, reminded her of Cook Eom, if she closed her eyes the three chefs de partie, when bickering, sounded almost like Cooks Maeng, Min, Shim and one of the prep cooks, Seo-yeon, looked so much like little Gil-geum, Ji-yeon had to fight back tears the first time she met her. The girl might not have been very experienced, but she was a fast learner and her enthusiasm was contagious.

 

Coupled with a cheerful front of the house staff, led by a happy-go-lucky maître d’, Yun Min-jun, everything clicked into place, like a puzzle that had always been meant to be and Ji-young had established another kitchen family. She’d never forget the one she created in Joseon, bonds, though severed by centuries, would always remain anchored inside her, but if she couldn’t have that family, those people around her, there was no one she’d rather cook with, run a restaurant with than her Palais Joseon peeps.

Menu for the season established—with gochujang bibimbap, spinach doenjang soup, and sous vide beef steak as their first three option main course for the prix fixe lunch—all they needed were happy, returning customers spreading favorable word of mouth.

Unfortunately, Palais Joseon, became a hit with tourists, while the locals seemed to avoid it, preferring the many traditional Korean restaurants, and even the chinese restaurant specializing in Sichuan cuisine across the street.

A month in, at the end of yet another slow, almost non-existent dinner shift—they’ve only served four tables—Ji-young was trying to come up with ways of attracting customers, when Min-jun, her maître d’, strolled into the kitchen, an added bounce in his step, a large grin on his face.

Min-jun always grinned, but this one was wide, showing all his pearly whites, making his eyes sparkle. Ji-young suspected it was that grin that pulled diners off the street and into the restaurant most days, and she was grateful.

“Our days of misery are officially over,” he exclaimed, fist pumping in the air.

Ji-young rolled her eyes. “We’re not miserable,” she grumbled.

“Yet,” he amended. “And if this pans out, we never will be.”

She sighed. “Okay, I’ll bite. What are you talking about?”

Impossibly, his grin grew even bigger. “My best friend is finally back in town and I asked him to come to dinner.”

“The food critic?” Seo-yeon asked, awe in her voice.

“Yep. And he’s here tonight.” Min-jun winked. “Hungry. So...” He turned to Ji-young. “Boss, you gotta make him the best dinner ever.”

She doubted a food blogger would make any difference in filling the 70 seats of Palais Joseon, but who was she to burst Min-jun’s bubble. “Sure,” she sighed. “What did he order?”

He shrugged. “Nothing. He said to surprise him.”

As she suspected, a food blogger with no ability to make a choice and probably no taste whatsoever. She on the other hand had taste and choosing ability. Staring at the counter in front of her, she took a moment to decide.

The man was finally back in town, he’s been gone for months, according to Min-jun, travelling for work, so he would’ve missed tastes from home. And what better welcome back after a long time than...

Decision made, she clapped her hands. “I’ll do this myself.” She rolled her eyes at the chorus of ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’. “Shut up,” she chuckled, “and get me...”

 

Two days later she walked into a kitchen buzzing with excitement, but she had inventory to run and some shopping to do before lunch. They were out of ingredients for the sous vide steak seasoning. Again. Either the staff was munching on the anchovies, salted shrimp and mushrooms or they were selling the seasoning itself on Gmarket.

She barely managed to find the right mushrooms and was running late as it was, so she hadn’t had time to ask what the buzz was all about before lunch service. And there was also no time to ask, she could barely even take a breather, during the lunch itself. For Palais Joseon was bursting at the seams, with people literally queuing to get in.

It was so busy, they ran out of almost everything and had to improvise to serve the late-commers, and so another, much longer and with the entire team on-deck shopping spree was needed for the dinner service.

With everybody busy stashing provisions and making sure everything was prepped and where it was supposed to be, Ji-yeon slipped into her tiny cubicle of an office, and collapsed into her chair.

“What the hell is going on?” she muttered, leaning her head back. “First nothing, and now like we’re serving gold.”

“Boss?” Min-jun poked his head into the cubicle. “We’re fully booked for tonight.”

“What?”

He nodded. “Yeah. We might want to consider double-sitting in the near future, because we’re fully booked for lunch and dinner for the next six months.”

She blinked. “What do you mean fully booked for the next six months?”

“What I said. We’re on fire! Lucky for us, I updated the booking app or the website would’ve crashed.”

She was still reeling. “Six months?”

He looked at her funny. “Are you okay?”

“Are you kidding me?!” She slammed her palms on her tiny desk. “No, I’m not okay! They barely knew we exited and now they’re clamoring to get in.”

“I know.” He grinned. “Nice, huh? Told you it would work.”

Why was he speaking in riddles? “What would work?”

“The review.”

“What review?”

He goggled. “You didn’t see it?”

“See what?”

“The review.” He sighed as if in great pain. “My buddy came through. You must’ve really impressed him, because he’s never given 5 stars before. I guess there’s really a first time for everything.”

“What are you talking about?” She just might start yelling at him. That would also be a first.

He rolled his eyes and grabbed the tablet off her desk. After a couple of swipes, he gave it to her. “Here.”

She stared at the website for one of Korean’s best foodie magazines. On top, the review by the most feared food critic, the bane of many chef’s existence. And not only in Korea, but the entire world. “Your buddy is GourmetKing?”

Min-jun grinned. “Yup. And, as far as I know, so far this review’s been picked up by Savor Magazine, Gastro Review, and Global Gourmet Guide. Online and in print. Their social media following is in millions. In the world. We’re global, boss.”

She barely heard him, her eyes glued on the review.

A Harmonious Dance of Simplicity – Palais Joseon’s Gochujang Bibimbap

In a world where culinary fusions often aim to dazzle with complexity, it’s rare to encounter a dish that stops you in your tracks with its elegant simplicity. This Franco-Korean fusion gochujang bibimbap is just that—a quiet masterpiece that whispers rather than shouts, yet lingers in memory like a favorite melody.

At first glance, it’s humble: a warm bowl of short-grain rice, delicately steamed to a perfect chew, serving as the gentle canvas for a fusion that feels both unexpected and inevitable. Korean gochujang—earthy, spicy, and fermented—meets a velvety beurre noisette, brightened with a kiss of yuzu and shallot. The result? A sauce that clings to each grain like silk, rich and bold yet balanced with surprising finesse.

Tucked among the rice are thin ribbons of caramelized kimchi and golden, thyme-infused mushrooms, each bite a play between sharp and mellow, rustic and refined. A soft poached egg rests on top, its yolk ready to spill like liquid gold, binding everything in creamy unity. A final sprinkle of toasted sesame and microgreens adds texture and lift, echoing both traditions in a single, thoughtful flourish.

What’s truly impressive is how unpretentious this dish feels. Despite the cross-continental ingredients, nothing here is forced. It’s as if Korean comfort met French technique over a quiet conversation—and they simply understood each other.

Whether you’re a culinary adventurer or someone seeking the warmth of a well-crafted meal, this dish delivers on all fronts: flavor, soul, and surprise. A simple bowl, yes—but with depth that stays with you long after the last bite.

Five stars. A fusion done right.

 

She went over and over the review in her head during the entire dinner service. While lunch might’ve been slightly exhausting, muscle memory quickly switched on and dinner, though busy, went by like a breeze. There was no time to think about anything—except about the review that’s seemed to change everything—but prep, cooking, garnishes, presentation and final pre-service checks.

Running almost on auto-pilot, everything went off without a glitch, until they were all, front and kitchen staff, seated on the counters, legs dangling, laughing and comparing battle scars of the evening, exhausted but happy, as Min-jun’s phone chirped.

He looked up at her with laughter dancing in his eyes. “My buddy is hungry. He’s asking if you’d make him bibimbap again.”

“We’re closed,” her sous chef reminded him.

“He knows that,” Min-jun replied. “That’s why he’s asking instead of just barging in.”

“He’s outside?” Ji-young asked, turning around as if to see the front of the restaurant. There was a wall between, but hey, stranger things have happened to her lately.

“Out back,” Min-jun corrected, lifting an eyebrow in question.

She chuckled. “The man single-handedly propelled us to the heights of the Korean food scene. The least I can do is feed him.”

Min-jun jumped off his perch, and opened the back door. “Come in, you cheapskate.”

The man, his black hair arranged in a becoming shorter-in-the-back-longish-in-front style, the longer bangs falling over his eyes, bowed slightly when entering, the way tall people did instinctively. He was dressed smartly in a dark suit with a white T-shirt and sneakers in a matching shade, no obvious jewelry in sight.

“Bite me,” he replied in a deep, strangely familiar voice that sent shivers down her spine.

He straightened and his eyes immediately zeroed in and locked with hers as the breath she hadn’t been aware of holding, suddenly whooshed out of her.

Because there, in her restaurant kitchen in the middle of Seoul in the year 2025—slightly older than she remembered him—stood Yi Heon.