The recipe is surprisingly straightforward. Cook rice (he has a rice cooker, thank goodness), sauté kimchi with garlic and ginger, add the rice and soy sauce, fry until slightly crispy. Top with an egg and whatever protein you want.
I find some good beef in his fridge and decide to grill it, cutting it into thin strips and marinating it in soy sauce, sesame oil, and a little brown sugar. While that sits, I get the rice going and start prepping the kimchi.
The kitchen fills with the sharp, spicy smell of fermented cabbage, and I catch myself smiling. This is different from anything I’ve made before. It’s challenging in a good way,making me think about flavors and techniques instead of just following a familiar recipe.
I sauté the kimchi until it’s slightly caramelized, the edges getting crispy and sweet. Add the cooked rice, let it fry up in the pan, getting those crispy bits stuck to the bottom that the recipe says are the best part. Meanwhile, the beef is grilling, filling the kitchen with savory, slightly sweet smoke.
I plate everything carefully—the way I see done on the television shows. The kimchi fried rice goes into wide, shallow bowls. I top each portion with a fried egg, the yolk still runny, and arrange the grilled beef strips artfully on top. A sprinkle of sesame seeds, some chopped green onions, and it actually looks professional.
For the first time since I started this job, I feel proud of what I’ve made. This isn’t a cute novelty dish to humor River’s junk food cravings. This is actual cooking.
I pull out my phone and snap a few photos of the plated food, adjusting the angle to get the light right. The egg yolk gleams, and the beef looks perfectly caramelized. If I do end up entering that cooking competition, I’ll want documentation of what I’ve practiced. Proof that I can actually cook real food.
“What’s that incredible smell?”
I jump slightly and turn to find River standing in the kitchen doorway, his eyes wide and focused on the food.
“Kimchi fried rice.” I can’t quite keep the pride out of my voice. “With grilled beef and a fried egg on top.”
River crosses the kitchen in three long strides, stopping at the counter to stare at the bowls like they’re works of art. “You made kimchi fried rice?”
“You said you wanted Korean food.” I gesture to the bowls. “I found the kimchi in your fridge.”
“Kiera.” He looks at me, then back at the food, then at me again. “This looks exactly like what they eat in the dramas. Theegg and the beef and—” He stops, and I swear his eyes are actually shining. “I’ve never had this before. I’ve watched people eat it probably a hundred times, but I’ve never actually tried it.”
Something warm unfurls in my chest at his genuine excitement. It’s not sophisticated or restrained—it’s pure, childlike enthusiasm, and it makes him impossibly more appealing.
“Well, come on then.” I pick up both bowls and head to the dining room. “Let’s eat before it gets cold.”
I set the bowls down at our places and sit down. I’ve already accepted that we’re eating together, that the professional boundaries I tried to establish are basically nonexistent at this point, but I have to admit I don’t hate it. River practically bounces into his chair, grabbing his chopsticks with more enthusiasm than I’ve seen from him yet.
He picks up a piece of the beef, examines it like it holds the secrets of the universe, and brings it toward his mouth.
I hold my breath, watching carefully as he takes his first bite.
CHAPTER 6
RiverStone
Monday, May 31
The beef meltson my tongue. I close my eyes, savoring the perfect balance of sweet and savory, the way the soy sauce has caramelized on the edges while keeping the meat tender. The sesame oil adds this nutty richness to it.
“This is delicious,” I say, opening my eyes to find Kiera watching me with barely concealed nervousness. “Kiera, the beef is cooked to perfection. Seriously. This is restaurant-quality.”
Her cheeks flush pink, and she looks down at her own bowl. “It’s just grilled beef.”
“It’s notjustanything.” I pick up another piece with my chopsticks. “You’ve got the char on the outside, but it’s still juicy inside. And the soy sauce—” I take another bite. “Yeah, this is delicious.”
She’s trying not to smile, but I can see it tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I’m glad you like it.”
Using my chopsticks, I break the egg yolk. The golden liquid spills across the rice and beef, coating everything in rich color.I stir it all together—the crispy rice, the kimchi, the beef, the runny yolk—until it’s all combined into one glorious mess.
“What are you doing?” Kiera asks, her eyebrows raised.
I pause mid-mix. “This is how they eat it in the dramas. The egg yolk is supposed to coat everything. It makes it creamier.” I gesture to her bowl with my chopsticks. “Try it.”
She looks skeptical but picks up her chopsticks and breaks her own egg yolk, watching as it spreads across the rice. Then she mixes everything together like I did, the golden yolk disappearing into the food.
