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For Jules and me, the food truck keeps us occupied. We are only open during the week in Yongsan because on the weekends we take the truck on the road to different festivals. There are several going on every weekend. Jules and I have worked seven days a week since February, but we made enough over the summer to take a long winter hiatus. After tonight, we’ll close and spend our downtime with our loved ones—Jules plans to fly home to introduce Bomi to the family, and Yujun, Eomeo-nim, Ellen, and I are spending Chuseok in Hawaii.
When Jules and I get back to Seoul, we will search out new recipes and perfect them. We don’t want to grow stale, and the competition is fierce, with more vendors popping up every day. Yujun and Sangki are ridiculously excited about the winter cooking bonanzas and have been sending us suggestions on the regular for everything from fried ice cream, which sounds intriguing, to matcha pasta, which does not.
The two also got into a big argument about mint chocolate chip, which has become a huge trend—so huge that there are actually vendors here that are selling mint choco pork cutlets and mint choco fried chicken. When Yujun argued that the chicken wasn’t bad, Sangki demanded to know whether Yujun had the audacity to kiss me with that mouth. Yujun, like all Koreans, brushes his teeth after every meal and so was mildly offended. I made the mistake of sharing that mole, a Mexican chocolate sauce often paired with chicken, was quite tasty, and Sangki shouted I might as well join David Kim’s fan club.
“What are you grinning about?” Sangki asks.
“How offended you were when I said I thought the mint chocolate chicken wasn’t bad.”
“Don’t talk to me,” he declares.
“You asked me what I was grinning about.”
“You could lie and say my singing.”
“Your singing was great.”
“I know.”
The entire truck bursts out laughing. We’re still smiling when Yujun reappears. “What did I miss?” he asks, tying on his apron.
“Everyone was praising me for my performance. Feel free to join in.”
“You were great, Sangki-ah,” Yujun replies dutifully.
“More enthusiastically, please.”
Yujun starts clapping. The line of people outside fall briefly silent, and then they, too, start clapping. Sangki sends a murderous look at my love before bowing to the crowd.
“Kim Seonpyung wants to invest in your franchise,” Yujun whispers in my ear.
I roll my eyes. Last winter, Yujun and Eomeo-nim surprised me after dinner with a whole PowerPoint presentation about how to transform my unlaunched food-truck business into a nationwide enterprise. It looked impressive and intimidating and unwanted. I explained to them that while I understood that Korean culture was hurry up and run forward toward success, I wanted to learn how to walk first. I don’t know that I’ll ever want more than one food truck. Jules seems content with running only one as well.
With five of us, we work through the festivalgoers until the last song is sung and the lights start to wink out. I pull down the service window and we get to cleaning. After everything is put away and the stainless steel counters are shiny once again, the five of us collapse on the curb behind the truck—like five little tired ducks.
Bomi rests her head on Jules’s shoulder. Bomi and Jules engage in far more PDA than Yujun and I, and no one bats an eye. Skinship, as they call it here, is acceptable among close friends. Unless the two are passionately kissing each other on the mouth, the sight of the two of them holding hands, hugging, leaning on each other as they are now with Bomi resting her head on Jules’s shoulder, is unremarkable.
The two did share their relationship with Bomi’s brother and sister. Her sixteen-year-old brother wasn’t happy at first. Bomi thought it was because he was against same-sex relationships. Yujun offered to speak with him, and after a couple of weeks of enduring the silent treatment at home, Bomi caved. Yujun took the boy to a batting cage and fed him hanwoo and copious amounts of ice cream, which works about the same as soju on the under-eighteen crowd in prying mouths open. The brother confessed he was worried Bomi would lose her job. Yujun assured him that not only was Bomi a valued employee but that someday she would likely run her own department at IF Group. That seemed to resolve the immediate family conflict. As for the rest of Bomi’s family, they’re not keen on it. A couple of aunts don’t speak to her, and Bomi isn’t invited to Chuseok this year, which she told me wasn’t any kind of punishment.
All in all, they’re happy.
“We estimated this pretty well,” Jules says with smug satisfaction. She’s in charge of supplies and so is rightfully proud.
“You did well.” Bomi pats her shoulder.
