Absinthe

Chapter 33 : Questions and Answers: Part 2

"Once an asshole, always an asshole," I managed to say. "Just because I'm gay doesn't mean I sleep

with every single man I come across. I have taste, too."

Jiwoo shrugged. "Yeah, and I match your taste, right? That's why I think I have a strong chance with

you."

He wasn't wrong—he was exactly my type. But I hated him at that very moment. I felt nothing else for

him apart from hatred and annoyance.

I sneered. "Unfortunately for you, I have extremely high standards in men. You seem to tick only one of

the many boxes on my list."

"And what's that?"

"You may be my definition of 'attractive,' but I don't date guys based on their looks alone. They need to

have a degree from a reputable university." While I spoke, Jiwoo just sat there, smiling in the most

irritating way possible. "Then, they need to have a good profession, like being a lawyer or a doctor.

And, oh, they should also have at least 7 figures in their bank account."

"I see," Jiwoo said, still smiling. "Why'd you date that Gold-Digging Mofu guy on your phone then?"

Fuck! I'd totally forgotten that he knew about JM. But I was not about to admit defeat!

"I decided to scrap my rules about relationships when I came back here, so I dated someone like him,"

I said, not breaking eye contact." But look at how that turned out: I got scammed for half a million

pesos. That's why I'm never dating anyone less privileged than me ever again."

Rachel came back with our third course for the evening. It had all the appearance of baked Alaska. But

why on earth was Chef Maxwell serving us dessert at that point in the dinner? Rachel poured some

rose wine on top of the dish before setting it on fire.

I took a bite, and God was I ever so wrong. The inside of the baked Alaska was savory, with hints of

sweet ham, garlicky sausage, and the intense flavor of smoked beef enveloped in rich, decadent ice

cream.

The ingredients were pretty easy to guess, but Jiwoo beat me to it.

"That's right again, Monsieur Jiwoo. This is our take on baked Alaska, but instead of sweetness, we

went for savory flavors."

"Looks like it's my turn again," Jiwoo said smugly, our previous conversation already seemingly NôvelDrama.Org © 2024.

forgotten.

"Fine."

"Did you enjoy our kiss back then?"

It was the baked Alaska's turn to shoot out of my mouth. I silently cursed myself for not knowing how to

control my emotions. With Jiwoo asking such provoking questions, I was slowly getting defeated.

I took a gulp of water and wiped the crumbs off my plate. Jiwoo chuckled at me teasingly.

"No," I said flatly. The memories of that night flooding back triggered my anger.

"That's not how I remembered it," Jiwoo said. "C'mon, you agreed to answer truthfully, and I won this

round fair and square."

I wanted to scream at him, but I couldn't lose to him. He was not worth it.

He smirked with extreme confidence. "If you want me to, I'll do it again so you can properly recall how

you reacted."

I took a deep breath before saying, "If the price is cheaper than what you offered me last time, then

maybe I will." Jiwoo's smile instantly vanished, so I pressed on. "50,000? I don't think you'd sell for that

much. I'd say fucking you is worth around 5,000—max."

Jiwoo kept quiet, but he did not take his eyes off mine. And I did not back down, either.

Gabriel came to clear our table, followed closely by Rachel who served us the prettiest washoku dish I

had ever seen. I immediately devoured it in an effort to beat Jiwoo in naming the ingredients.

"This is clearly ootoro, or the fattiest belly portion of the tuna," I said. "There is vermicelli infused with

sesame oil and, of course, shaved truffles. This has to be the most expensive dish of the evening!"

Rachel smiled. "You are right, monsieur. The black truffles were imported directly from France. You

have correctly named every single element of the dish."

Jiwoo didn't say anything and sipped on his champagne instead.

"Why did you do it?" I asked.

He slowly placed his glass back on the table.

"I told you I was angry."

"What the fuck, Jiwoo? You kissed me in front of everybody and told them you'd be willing to fuck me

for money! And you're telling me you did that simply because you were angry?"

He didn't respond.

"You said that for 50,000 a month, you'd fuck me whenever I want. For 50,000 a month, you promised

to pretend you love me so I'd feel special. You did all that because you were angry?"

"I'm sorry, BJ. I really am."

"Fuck that!" I couldn't stop myself from standing up. I was so close to leaving and hailing a taxi outside.

"You really think I'm that kind of guy, that the only way for me to be in a relationship is to pay for it?"

Jiwoo also got up from his seat. "I don't know what to say except I'm sorry."

"Tell the fucking truth!" I shouted just in time for Gabriel and Rachel to hear it. Gabriel cleared our table,

and Rachel served the next dish. I wasn't finished with my burst of anger yet, but I had to show

cadence.

"You know what, forget it," I said as I sat back down. "I'm not interested in that anymore. There's got to

be no other reason aside from the fact that you're a homophobic asshole."

Jiwoo sat back down, too, and we started eating our food in silence. The dish was rather plain, though:

a single huge wonton served with a bamboo straw. Rachel instructed us to pierce the top portion with

the straws and sip the soup inside.

The soup was not scalding hot—it was warm and pleasing to the tongue. It was good but not

extraordinary.

"This is pork and chicken broth prepared using mirepoix and added to a broth made from lobster

shells," I said. "The other ingredients are fresh chives, cilantro, spring onion, toasted garlic, and chili

oil."

"Exactamente, monsieur!" Rachel declared with a smile. "Please enjoy."

I took my time in finishing the giant wonton before Jiwoo broke the silence.

"It's called xiao long bao. I knew the answer, too, but it looked like you wanted to ask more questions,

so I let it go."

"What have I done to you to deserve that kind of humiliation?" I said before I could stop myself. I did a

mental face-palm upon realizing how idiotic I was.

"I'm really sorry, BJ. I didn't mean it."

"See? There's no other way to explain what you did, is there? It was simply all in your nature as a

homophobic douchebag."

"You won't believe me even if I tell you the truth."

"You don't get to decide that." I subconsciously raised my voice again.

"Fine," Jiwoo said, also raising his. "You really want to know why?"

"No, I don't want to know why," I replied as sarcastically as I could.

Jiwoo's hands were balled into fists.

I tried my best to imitate Jiwoo's condescending and arrogant tone that night. "Why not, BJ? It's just

50,000. That's nothing to you, right? You always pay for cocks anyway. Why not pay me instead? I'm

the hottest guy you could ever get! Plus, I'll make sure to fuck you right so you can get more than your

money's worth.

"How much did you pay that JM guy again? My rates are way cheaper! And I'm going to act like a

loving boyfriend so you get to know what having one feels like."

Not surprisingly, I still remembered everything Jiwoo had said that night. It's not like I wanted to

memorize his words—it was just difficult forgetting something so revolting. Being accused that way was

akin to being told that I don't deserve a real relationship and that I'll grow old lonely and alone if I don't

pay for love.

Jiwoo was still quiet, but it looked as though he had calmed down after my outburst.

"I like you," he said out of nowhere.

"What?"

"I said I like you. But I didn't understand how I felt back then—"

"Bullshit!"

"—Which was why I reacted poorly. I figured you weren't going to believe me even if I told you the

truth."

"How can you be so twisted?" This man was really good at riling me up. "You already humiliated me,

and now you're trying to toy with my feelings?"

"I'm sorry."

Rachel and Gabriel came back this time with a trolley. They cleared the table first before placing the

next dish in front of us. Oh wait. Dishes.

There were three items neatly arranged and spaced out on a long plate. The first one was a clear soup.

The second looked like a piece of hash brown with some leaves on top. The final one was a beautiful

mini tarte tatin.

"Enjoy," greeted Rachel before bowing out.

The flavors of all three were amazing, but I couldn't completely enjoy them as I was still fuming about

my conversation with Jiwoo.

When Rachel came back, Jiwoo spoke.

"This is tomato three ways. The soup is tomato consommé with lemon grass, mint, and jalapeno

peppers. The one next to it is fried green tomatoes with basil mayonnaise. The last dish is a cherry

tomato tarte tatin and whipped goat cheese with thyme."

"Well done, monsieur. You guessed all the ingredients correctly."

I wasn't in the mood to answer. There was no point in asking any more questions. Jiwoo was bound to

give horseshit answers anyway.

"Do you want to watch a movie with me tomorrow?"

"No."

"My treat?"

"Not interested."

Rachel came to serve our seventh dish: three mini burgers. They were so delicious yet so small that I

found myself craving for more. It must have been a technique Chef Maxwell used to prepare us for the

next dishes to come. The ingredients were also pretty easy to guess, but I didn't care about the stupid

game anymore. There was no use in trying to make sense of what happened that night.

"The first burger's a beef burger with melted cheddar cheese, caramelized onions, grated pickles, and

a sauce that's a blend of tomato ketchup and mayonnaise," said Jiwoo. "Oh, and the bread is brioche.

The second one is ground turkey on a ciabatta bun, with some pimiento cheese, bacon aioli, dried

cranberries, roasted grape tomatoes, and baby spinach.

"The third one's my favorite. It's a vegetarian burger made from shitake and button mushrooms, isn't it?

The bread is sourdough. I can taste both mozzarella and brie. There's pickled relish and some Dijon

mustard with balsamic vinegar. There are sliced almonds, roasted red peppers, alfalfa sprouts, and

guacamole."

"Correct. I'll have the main stars of the dinner coming right up," Rachel promised, beaming at us as

always.

"Would you like to come to our house tomorrow?"

"Is that your question?"

"Well, technically it's an invitation, but it's still a question, isn't it?"

"No. I'm saying no either way."

"Is there any explanation that would be acceptable for you?"

I stared at Jiwoo. The nerve of this guy! He was now making it look like I had been the unreasonable

one for not believing his pathetic excuse for his vileness that day.

"How about you're a homophobic piece of shit so you hate on gays like me?"

"I thought I hated you," Jiwoo said, his voice barely audible despite the quiet atmosphere in the

restaurant. "I thought I hated you for winning that challenge. I thought I hated you for making better

éclairs. I thought I hated you for not having to think about money. I thought I hated you because you

looked so...happy."

Gabriel approached us once more to take away the plates and refill our tulip glasses with champagne.

Rachel then came with an exquisite lobster dish. Neither I nor Jiwoo acknowledged it, and she seemed

to have felt the tension because she went away without a word.

"And then I realized it wasn't you I hated but the world."

"I don't believe that."

"I never expected you to," Jiwoo replied. "I just need a second chance."

"A second chance for what exactly?"

"A second chance to act more truthfully to myself and to how I feel."

I laughed out loud. Did he really think I would fall for that? Talk about over-the-top drama! I didn't need

anyone dumping that kind of baggage on me, not even a friend. And what did I stand to gain in

extending the arm of friendship to him? Nothing.

"Sorry," I said after a few minutes of silence. "It was funny."

"I'm serious," he said.

"Let's eat. These lobsters look amazing!" I had lost interest in continuing the conversation. Jiwoo was a

homophobe. And a jackass. No more, no less.

When Rachel came closer to the table, Jiwoo immediately recited the ingredients of the latest dish.

"This is pan-fried lobster with scallop raviolis. The sauce is a combination of veal, fish, and lobster

stock. For the fish stock, I'm guessing you used dried tuna flakes. There are also traces of brandy, dry

white wine, mirepoix, and olive oil."

"Very good, monsieur. I see now why Chef Maxwell calls you his best shot."

What the hell? So Chef Maxwell thought Jiwoo was the best out of the four of us?

"Thank you, Rachel."

Rachel nodded and motioned for Gabriel to clear the table. She then set another big belter of a dish: a

chilled salad with ginormous lobster claws and madeleines.

Out of curiosity, I immediately tasted the madeleines. The flavors of lemon, thyme, and almonds

flooded my tongue.

We ate it rather quickly, and when Rachel returned, I couldn't stop myself from naming the ingredients.

"Mint, cilantro, basil, dill, Parmigiano-Reggiano, thyme, avocado, lemon juice, olive oil, red grapefruits,

sugar, and almonds."

"You missed the flour," Jiwoo interjected.

"Of course there's flour. These are madeleines, so you can't bake them without it. But we're guessing

the tastes, right?"

Jiwoo smiled, and Rachel nodded before leaving us.

"You thought of a question again?"

"Let's see..." I didn't really want to ask any more questions, but I wasn't going to allow Jiwoo to annoy

me further. It was time for some diversionary tactics. "What did you cook for Chef Maxwell? I mean,

what dish did you serve him that made you win this challenge?"

Jiwoo smiled before he spoke, which was something he kept doing. He was probably thinking he could

win me over, but I was so over him now. Although I may have had a crush on him before, when you find

out how disgusting someone's personality is, there's just no turning back.

"I made him éclairs," he said. "Savory éclairs with hotdogs, bacon, salmon, and crab meat."

"Huh?"

"I also made some sweet éclairs with hazelnut cream, rose chocolate, vanilla... I've forgotten the other

flavors."

"You won with your soggy and collapsed éclairs?"

"Hey," Jiwoo complained. "Who said they were soggy? My éclairs were perfect!"

"I highly doubt that," I said, remembering his performance during our palate test.

"Well," Jiwoo started. "They turned out perfect because I followed your advice."

"..."

"It was difficult for me to understand how someone can be that generous," he continued. "Every time

someone offers me something, it's always because they want something in return."

I glanced at him and saw his eyes focused on the dish before him.

"When I was in high school, my math teacher... Funnily enough, his name was Jesus." Jiwoo chuckled

before continuing. "He also happened to be the Prefect of Discipline. He was very good to me. He

started giving me food, exempting me from homework."

I was afraid of where his story was going, but I couldn't stop listening.

"Then, he started giving me meats and fruits to take home. After that, it was sacks of rice. And then it

was money."

Jiwoo paused, and I could see that he was forcing himself to smile.

"You don't have to continue," I told him.

"Eventually, he started touching me here and there. He said he wanted to give me a blowjob."

"You really don't have to say anything else. I understand now." I was practically pleading, partly

because I was ashamed of being a gay guy when people like Jiwoo's teacher abuse their authority and

commit sickening acts of perversion, and partly because vulnerable Jiwoo was starting to gain

sympathy from me again. I didn't want that.

"And when I refused, he threatened to fail me and kick me out of school."