The Test Kitchen – Part 1: Too Much Gochujang

"Too much," said Matthew.

"It's balanced."

"It's a crime."

"Eat the second bite."

He glared at the brownie, then at her, then took a second bite. Ji-woo watched, arms folded. The test kitchen was a gleaming cube of steel and white tile on the ninth floor of a Seoul food company, smelling of butter and chocolate and fermenting chilli.

She was thirty, the head of recipe development, small, fierce, in a crisp white jacket, with her hair in a tight bun. He was thirty-four, the recipe tester, an Australian-Korean with a soft voice, rolled sleeves and the hopeful, sceptical air of a man who had eaten ten thousand failed experiments.

He chewed. His expression changed.

"Oh," said Matthew.

"Yes?"

"It's... that's actually extraordinary."

"I told you."

"The heat comes after the sweetness."

"That's the point."

"And the salt..."

"Miso."

"You put miso in a brownie."

"And gochujang. And dark soy. A little."

He put down his fork and looked at her with such pure admiration that she nearly dropped the tray. "You're mad," he said.

"I'm very good."

"You're mad and very good."

For three weeks they tested variations: more heat, less sweetness, a sesame crust. They argued. They tasted. They fought over portions, textures, pan sizes. She learned that he kept a notebook of failures, each annotated with a joke. He learned that she hummed K-pop when the oven was on.

"Can I ask you something?" said Matthew, at the end of a long day.

"Yes."

"Why did you want me on the project?"

"Because you tell the truth about food," said Ji-woo. "Even when it hurts."

"Green?" he said, a label colour.

"Green," said Ji-woo, with a rare smile. "Very green. Let's make it again."

Continue the story: Part 2 – Launch Day.