Resemblance | Oh Sangwoo x Reader

Chapter 1

Wiping my forehead with the back of my wrist for a split second I continue to sive the pan as the variation of golden ingredients sizzle and steam, the warmth of the red patterned cloth heating up my hand as it absorbs the primary heat of the metal handle. Reaching down to my waist I turn the third circular knob and switch the stove off spinning on my heels while shuffling to the rectangular open window snatching a wide tablespoon and begin to plate the now fried meal neatly placing it beside the rice, drizzling some of the warm sauce around the sides and lift the plate to the pick up window. A young man with a neatly folded cloth on his arm and slick back hair arrives and picks up the completed dish while leaning down to the window.

"Table 25, back right corner." I tell him in a quiet yet loud voice as the sounds of other customers eating while chatting filled the room, the sound of meals being prepared and forks against plates scraping as others finish their food blending in with all the clatter. The man nods and begins making his way over to said table while quickly tending to a few other stray customers.

"(Y/n)! Table 12 said that their meal was wrong, they ordered the chueotang but received japchae. Who was in charge of that?" a loud booming voice from somewhere in the back of the kitchen suddenly rung out startelling me and the dish boy who was returning with a couple of plates as a table began to empty out.

"That would have been Ho-Sooks job, chef," I responded while washing my hands off in the sink before drying them knowing that I now had another meal to dish up as soon as possible, "I'll get started on it now." I shout over to him as the sounds of a knife rapidly chopping ingredients roared throughout the room.

"You're a saint (Y/n), a saint I tell you. Ho-Sook you stupid woman that was your last straw, my office at the end of today you understand?" a loud 'yes chef Kyung' is heard from a shaky voice answering back. Sighing deeply I squeeze past the head chef and grab one of the hanging pots sliding my way back to my stove and place it over the blue flame, pouring in the water while throwing in a handful of salt letting the little translucent crystals dissolve before throwing in some of the loaches. Was tonight going to be a stressful night? Possibly, if these bozo women knew how to actually cook the right meal, half of our staff consists of daughters of wealthy men who just wanted an easy job. Thankfully our head chef isn't our employer rather he's our co-worker because I'm telling you now, there would be little to no one in this place though it would run a lot more faster than it does now.
Almost as if he knew, chef Kyung places another pot of water on the stove as it begins to boil, he waves his hand at me and I begin to make my way over to the fridge to retrieve the beef stock cubes correcting some of the mistakes that the new trainee was making briefly which he thankfully picked up rather quickly along the way. Dropping the cubes into the water I begin making the chilli paste, soybean paste, grated ginger and the ground pepper while Kyung begins the vegetables.

-- --

Placing the warm bowl on a small plate I slap the little golden bell as the same waiter makes his way over placing down empty wine glasses which I swiftly take as he picks up the bowl and raises a brow at me waiting for me to say something almost like a dog.

"12." I blurt out while washing the wine glasses that he had bought over. He nods and makes his way over to the table serving the meal with a smile, he says a few words and the table erupts into laughter as he bows and leaves.
Thankfully rush hour dies down and the kitchen staff finally shift down into cleaning and sanitation as we began to receive hoards of empty plates and used utensils, the once loud chatter of customers had reduced to a few tables of four or two with a stay table for one along with the quiet jazz music playing in the background. I slap the now damp cloth down over my shoulder and lean back on the counter crossing my arms over my chest while we wait for the last few plates to come in chatting with some of the good chefs by either complaining about the rookie chefs who paid to get the job and how much of a hassle they are to continue training even though they've been employed for months.