The guest appearance on Solitary Gourmet wasn’t exactly a frequent occurrence.
But at the same time, it wasn’t so unprecedented as to be considered extraordinary.
If you really think about it, aside from the protagonist, Toro-san,
most of the guests were one-off characters with single-episode roles.
Of course, there were occasional guest stars who dominated an entire episode.
But even that wasn’t something particularly special.
However.
“This time, it’s revolutionary in its own way.”
Solitary Gourmet Season 4.
The current season’s special guest broke away from the usual pattern.
“A Korean being the first guest after the timeslot change...”
Originally, Solitary Gourmet aired as a late-night program.
But thanks to its growing popularity, its timeslot had been moved to 10 PM—
the so-called prime time,
when viewer ratings are at their highest.
This change alone was significant.
But on top of that, having a Korean as the special guest?
“This is innovation! A true shake-up! It’s unique and refreshing!”
Could there be anything more different than this? Definitely not.
This was nothing short of a major transformation.
“Do we have a rough story idea?”
Aitake Ura, the production director of Solitary Gourmet,
asked, and the staff nodded in response.
“We’re thinking of a young man who dreams big and introduces Korean cuisine in Japan.”
“The actor is young, but we’ll set it up as if his whole family immigrated here.”
“And then, of course, Toro-san visits the day he’s filling in for his parents!”
The writers’ ideas brought a satisfied smile to Aitake Ura’s face.
“We also want to highlight his appetite. Since Donghu-kun eats so much, it’d be a waste not to use that.”
“So how about we title the episode something like, ‘The Owner Who Eats More Than His Guests?!’”
“That’s excellent. It’s not unheard of for restaurants to have someone like that.”
“Yes, and we can set it so that Toro-san and Donghu-kun share a meal during the lunch rush.”
Clap clap.
Aitake Ura clapped his hands, visualizing the fantastic scene in his mind.
“However, there’s one problem.”
But no ideal scenario comes without its issues.
The sudden brake on the momentum caused Aitake Ura’s brow to furrow.
“It’s that, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it’s... that.”
Aitake Ura was already aware of what “that” referred to.
“Donghu-kun’s cooking skills... they’re crucial, aren’t they?”
Honestly, he could just pretend to cook,
and the actual dishes could be prepared separately.
It wasn’t an impossible solution.
But.
“If we’re introducing another country’s cuisine, I’d like to show it in a lively, authentic way.”
The issue of realism weighed on his mind.
Even though it was a drama, Solitary Gourmet was grounded in reality.
This made the idea of using a stand-in somewhat uncomfortable.
‘If it were any other case, we’d just go with it. But for a special guest with such a significant role...’
Using a stand-in for the cooking scenes?
From the perspective of a production director, it felt like a missed opportunity.
“While we’ve confirmed he can cook, we don’t know his skill level...”
“Honestly, expecting him to excel is probably unrealistic. He’s quite young, after all.”
“Let’s plan for a stand-in just in case for the day of filming.”
“So, Plan A is to have Donghu-kun cook, right?”
“Yes.”
It was unfortunate, but overcoming such realistic limitations wasn’t immediate.
They had to accept that the fine details of the cooking might not be perfect.
“Well, let’s focus on the script for now. That’s the most important part.”
“Understood!”
“The sooner it’s ready, the faster we can move forward with filming. Let’s put in the effort.”
Click click.
As he spoke, Aitake Ura naturally brightened the lights in the room.
Late at night,
Tokyo TV lit up the darkness of Japan.
+++++
“Donghu, the script is ready!”
“What?”
Already?
‘This fast?’
It had only been about a week since the filming proposal was made.
As far as he knew, just a week ago, nothing had been firmly decided.
‘Didn’t they say they’d rewrite the story tailored to me? Amazing.’
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The speed was no joke.
‘It reminds me of High Dream.’
Back then, the ending had been changed at a similarly lightning-fast pace.
Anyway.
“They must’ve rushed it since you’re in it! I mean, it’s Kim Donghu they’re casting!”
Compared to Korean appearance fees, this was genuinely almost one-tenth of the rate.
It was only possible because it was Japan.
I brushed off Seokho hyung’s lavish flattery with a smile and took the script.
But.
Solitary Gourmet, B, A
“...?”
The sudden appearance of an A startled me.
‘An A-grade here, out of nowhere?’
It was a rating I’d only seen in theater.
I’d never encountered it in drama or film.
What stood out even more was that it wasn’t just A but came after a B.
‘When there’s an additional grade like this, it usually means it’s international.’
But when did Solitary Gourmet start seriously selling overseas?
‘OTT? Netflix?’
Was it doing incredibly well there? Or was there something I didn’t know about?
‘Well, a high grade is a good thing.’
With that thought settled, I dove straight into it.
Immersion.
I delved into the script.
+++++
Tap-tap-tap-tap.
The sound of a knife dancing on a cutting board is always delightful.
When the knife tap-dances, ingredients transform into something entirely new.
Vividly colored vegetables change their form,
reappearing magnificently on a white plate in a medley of colors.
“Ta-da! Dad’s special stir-fried pork!”
“Wow! It looks delicious!”
“Of course, it does! Who do you think made it?”
At his father’s words, Kim Minjun beamed.
Dad’s cooking was always delicious.
So good, in fact, that two people could eat it and one wouldn’t notice if the other keeled over!
That’s why Minjun worked hard to learn how to cook under his dad’s guidance.
But Dad’s cooking was too difficult.
And learning from Mom wasn’t any easier.
“Dad, Mom, your recipes are too hard! Why is there so much to do?!”
“It’s because when we work hard, the customers are happy.”
“Can’t the customers be just a little less happy?!”
“What?! That won’t do!”
Despite Minjun’s childish complaints, his parents just laughed.
As he continued learning to cook, he eventually heard something surprising.
“...Mom, Dad, you had three stars?”
“That’s ancient history. And technically, it was one and a half each—we split it.”
Michelin three stars.
The absurd achievement belonged to his parents.
But what shocked Minjun more was something else entirely.
‘And yet all you’re running is a humble Korean diner?’
They could’ve run a much fancier restaurant.
Instead, his parents chose a small eatery in Japan.
The menu was incredibly simple:
stir-fried pork, kimbap, tonkatsu, and ramen.
Straightforward to a fault.
But thanks to their combined six-star skills,
the customers never stopped coming.
“When will our son be ready to run the kitchen on his own?”
“Why? Planning to hand over the restaurant the moment I turn legal and go on vacation?”
“Oh my, dear, our son is so perceptive!”
“Son, don’t you want a little sibling?”
“Dear! Can you not say things like that in front of him? What’s gotten into you?”
And then one day, as if out of nowhere...
“...How?!”
“Son, in your father’s dictionary, ‘impossible’ doesn’t exist.”
“Dear! Stop saying things like that!”
Mom was pregnant.
Minjun was stunned.
Their reproduction speed was... almost rabbit-like.
‘Wait, is it rude to call Dad a rabbit?’
Not that it changed much in their daily life.
It just meant Minjun had to help out more with work.
With that in mind, he went on with his days.
Until...
“Ah... Aahh!”
“L-labor pains! Son! Take care of the restaurant! Don’t come to the hospital! Just keep it running!”
Suddenly, a massive trial fell on Minjun’s shoulders.
Because of the labor, his parents had to leave the restaurant in a rush.
Honestly, the idea of running the place alone was daunting.
‘I’ll just close up shop, clean, and follow them to the hospital!’
Minjun moved to close the restaurant, but at that very moment...
Growl...
“...?”
“Ah, I’m sorry. I’m starving. Are you open?”
He locked eyes with a towering Japanese man.
+++++
Whoosh!
As I snapped out of my immersion into the script, reality returned to focus.
‘Will the rest of the scene come up later?’
Now that I thought about it, they mentioned splitting the shoot into two sessions.
The script cut off right before my cooking scene.
‘Could it be they don’t trust my cooking skills?’
A reasonable suspicion, to be honest.
Looking at the script, "Kim Minjun" was born with a golden spoon in the kitchen.
It was natural for them to hesitate to match that with my actual skills.
“This backstory is insane.”
“Right? A son born to parents with six Michelin stars—seriously wild.”
Glances.
Seokho hyung, apparently a hardcore fan of Solitary Gourmet,
kept sneaking peeks at the script, smirking to himself.
‘No wonder he was so happy when he got the call about the script.’
He really couldn’t hide his enthusiasm.
Muttering to myself, I casually moved toward the kitchen.
“Huh? What are you doing?”
“Trying some cooking. The menu’s stir-fried pork, kimbap, tonkatsu, and ramen, right?”
“Oh, yeah. That’s trendy Korean cuisine these days. They actually wanted to include gukbap too, but gave up because the broth takes too much effort to prepare.”
“They gave up on gukbap?”
That didn’t seem necessary to me.
I paused at that thought and glanced at my phone.
On the screen:
Ding! Ding! Ding!
Right on cue, a message from SIMS popped up, as if it had been waiting for this very moment.
“Shall I stir-fry some pork for you?”