35: Chapter 35 Local Flavors

Chapter 35: Local Flavors

In early February, Seoul was still in the grip of a cold snap, and the cherry blossom trees in Hongdae were bare, not even a single bud in sight.

Chairman Wang Shunyi walked into the office wrapped in a black cotton jacket, carrying three Americanos.

Kim Tae-min took them and handed them out to everyone, then walked to the whiteboard, erased yesterday's plan, and wrote a few large characters: "February New Products."

Zhang Junhao walked in holding his coffee, glanced at the whiteboard, and pulled up a chair to sit down.

"President, I've been thinking about the new products for a few days, and I have an idea."

"Go ahead."

"Local specialties," Zhang Junhao said, setting down his cup. "Jeonju Bibimbap, Busan fish cakes, Gangwon-do buckwheat noodles. Making these into convenience foods would be both marketable and sentimental. Consumers aren't just eating a meal; they're eating the 'taste of home.'"

Park Min-ji came in from outside and happened to hear the last sentence.

"Jun-ho, that direction is right. Local specialty foods can be used for emotional marketing. For example, 'You can eat Jeonju Bibimbap in Seoul too' or 'The taste of travel memories'—it's easy to touch people."

Chairman Wang Shunyi didn't rush to express his opinion. He drew three lines under "New Products" on the whiteboard and wrote Jeonju, Busan, and Gangwon-do respectively. Then he stepped back and looked at it for a few seconds.

"Let's do some research first. In-pyo, you're in charge of market research; see which local specialties consumers are most interested in. Jun-ho, evaluate it from a supply chain perspective—which raw materials are easy to source and have controllable costs. Give me a report in a week."

Cha In-pyo and Song Hye-kyo were in the R&D department; one was responsible for product development, and the other was responsible for testing.

In-pyo was a man in his early thirties who had worked at Nongshim for two years and was very serious about his work.

Song Hye-kyo had just graduated, but she had a very keen sense of taste; during tastings, she could tell if the spice level of a batch of products was off by five percent.

Over the next week, In-pyo took Hye-kyo to several traditional markets in Seoul.

Gwangjang Market, Mangwon Market, Namdaemun Market—they tasted their way through every stall.

Jeonju Bibimbap, Busan fish cakes, Gangwon-do buckwheat noodles, Jeju black pork, Daegu spicy rice cakes—they bought everything and brought it back to the office for everyone to taste.

Hye-kyo took notes on the side: which had the best texture, which had high acceptance, and which would be difficult to turn into a convenience food.

Zhang Junhao wasn't idle either. He called several raw material suppliers, asking about the shelf life of buckwheat noodles, the cold-chain shipping costs for fish cakes, and the price of black pork. After making his rounds, he compiled a list in his notebook.

At the report meeting a week later, In-pyo turned on the projector and displayed a table.

"There are five candidate products, and the two with the highest overall scores are Jeonju Bibimbap and Daegu spicy rice cakes."

He pointed to the data and said, "Jeonju Bibimbap has the highest name recognition and strong emotional resonance with consumers, but the downside is that it has many side dishes and the process is complex. Young people like Daegu spicy rice cakes, and the spice level has high acceptance, but the drawback is that it's difficult to replicate the texture of the rice cakes in a convenience food."

Chairman Wang Shunyi looked at the numbers on the table and thought for a moment. "Jeonju Bibimbap. The complex process can be simplified, but emotional resonance can't be replaced. Let's develop this one first, and once it's running smoothly, we'll move on."

In-pyo nodded and wrote it down in his notebook.

R&D work was harder than expected. Traditional Jeonju Bibimbap has at least ten side dishes—bean sprouts, spinach, bracken, carrots, bellflower root, beef, and eggs, plus chili paste and sesame oil. It's impossible to put that many in a convenience food; the cost would be too high, and the packaging wouldn't fit. Chairman Wang Shunyi and In-pyo locked themselves in the small kitchen, reducing the side dishes version by version.

By the fifth version, only four remained—bean sprouts, spinach, carrots, and shredded beef. After tasting it, Hye-kyo said, "It's too plain; it tastes like temple food." In-pyo added a small packet of sesame seeds and sesame oil to enhance the aroma.

The most troublesome part was the shredded beef. Dehydrated shredded beef was tough and dry; when rehydrated, it was like chewing rubber bands. Chairman Wang Shunyi tried three methods—freeze-drying, vacuum drying, and low-temperature slow cooking—but none were ideal. Finally, In-pyo found a method from an old supplier: after slicing the beef, marinate it with starch and egg white before dehydrating; it would retain a certain tenderness after rehydration. They tried it, and it was indeed much better.

Chairman Wang Shunyi formulated the chili paste from the system's recipes. The chili paste for Jeonju Bibimbap is on the sweeter side, not just dry-spicy; it needs a hint of lingering sweetness. He adjusted seven or eight versions and had Hye-kyo do a blind test. She chose the third version—the balance of sweet and spicy was perfect, and the consistency of the paste was just right, so it wouldn't be watery when mixed with the rice.

On the day the sample was made, Chairman Wang Shunyi had the whole team taste it. The instant rice was microwaved for two minutes, topped with the side dishes and chili paste, drizzled with a circle of sesame oil, and sprinkled with a handful of sesame seeds. The conference room was filled with the aroma of sesame oil, and someone sniffed the air.

Park Min-ji took the first bite. She chewed twice, said nothing, and then scooped up another spoonful.

"How is it?" Chairman Wang Shunyi asked, standing nearby.

"It's delicious." She swallowed, wiped the corner of her mouth with a tissue, and said, "It's not quite the same as authentic Jeonju Bibimbap, but as a convenience food, it's enough. The chili paste is very authentic."

Zhang Junhao also tasted it and nodded. "The shredded beef is much better than the last version; it's not dry. The texture of the rice is also fine; it's not all sticky and clumped together."

"Then we'll go with this version." Chairman Wang Shunyi turned to In-pyo and said, "The packaging design needs to keep up. Minji, you're in charge of the copy—emphasize 'Jeonju Bibimbap Flavor' and 'Korean Traditional Cuisine,' and add a short cultural introduction on the back so that consumers feel they aren't just buying a box of rice, but culture."

Park Min-ji nodded and wrote it down on her phone.

At the end of February, the Jeonju Bibimbap flavored instant rice was launched. The packaging used a traditional Korean style with red and gold colors, featuring a picture of a bowl of bibimbap on the front, with "Jeonju Bibimbap Flavor" written next to it. On the back was a short paragraph: "Jeonju Bibimbap, one of Korea's most representative traditional delicacies, originated in Jeonju City, Jeollabuk-do. Shunyi Foods presents this traditional delicacy to you in a convenient and fast way."

It was priced at 3,500 won. It was nearly twice as expensive as regular instant rice. Zhang Junhao was worried it wouldn't sell, asking if consumers would think it was too expensive. Chairman Wang Shunyi said, "People buying for the sentiment won't mind a few hundred won difference."

In the first week of launch, sales were even better than expected. Many people bought it because of the words "Jeonju Bibimbap," especially people from Jeonju who came to work in Seoul. In the comments section, someone wrote, "Eating the taste of my hometown in Seoul makes me want to cry." Someone else took a photo and posted it on social media with the caption, "Certified by a Jeonju local, this bibimbap tastes authentic." That post was reposted over three hundred times, and Choi Min-ju took a screenshot and sent it to the company group chat, saying, "President, I think we've gone viral."

But there were also negative reviews. Some said, "It's far from authentic Jeonju Bibimbap," some said, "Too few side dishes, not enough to eat," and others said, "3,500 is too expensive; might as well go to a restaurant." The proportion of negative reviews was about ten percent—not high, but they existed.

Chairman Wang Shunyi had customer service categorize and organize the negative reviews. The most common category was "The taste isn't like authentic Jeonju Bibimbap." He discussed it with In-pyo, and In-pyo said, "There's no way around it; convenience food is bound to have a gap with freshly made food. What we can do is not overpromise in our marketing and not set consumer expectations too high." Hearing this, Chairman Wang Shunyi asked Park Min-ji to remove the word "authentic" from the packaging and change it to "flavor."

A month later, the sales figures came out—32 million. It was a bit behind the fire chicken noodles and river snail rice noodles, but as a new product, this result was not bad. What made Chairman Wang Shunyi even happier was that the consumer profile showed that 35 percent of the people who bought this product had never bought any Shunyi Foods products before. These people were mainly office workers from Jeonju working in Seoul, as well as some foreign tourists who liked traditional Korean food.

"A new customer base," Chairman Wang Shunyi said, pointing at the data to Zhang Junhao. "Jeonju Bibimbap has helped us attract a new batch of customers. These people might not buy fire chicken noodles, but they are willing to buy Jeonju Bibimbap."

"So the local specialty direction was right," Zhang Junhao said.

"Yes. The next one: Busan fish cakes." Chairman Wang Shunyi wrote a few words on the whiteboard.

In the evening, Chairman Wang Shunyi and Park Min-ji were eating at a small restaurant near the company. The army stew was bubbling away, and she picked up a piece of fish cake and put it in his bowl.

"Jeonju Bibimbap is selling well. Are you going to be busy with Busan fish cakes next?"

"Yeah. In-pyo has already started working on it." He took a bite of the fish cake and chewed twice. "Fish cakes are harder to make than bibimbap. The texture needs to remain chewy; it can't be too soft or too hard. The soup base also needs to be adjusted—it needs to be savory but not fishy."

She didn't respond, just watched him eat.

"What's wrong?" He looked up.

"Nothing. It's just that, every time you talk about products, your eyes light up." She smiled and lowered her head to drink her soup.

He was stunned for a moment, then laughed too. "Is that so? I didn't notice."

"Others look at your company and see sales, profits, and channels. You look at the products." She put down her bowl. "This is your strength, but also your flaw."

"A flaw?"

"Too focused on products; sometimes you neglect other things. For example—when was the last time you went home?"

He stopped talking. The last time he went home was before the Spring Festival. His mother called, and he said he was busy and would go back in a few days. A few days turned into a few more days, and he had been putting it off until now.

"Go back this weekend," she said. "I'll keep an eye on things at the company for you."

"Okay."

After eating, they walked out. The night wind in Seoul was still cool, but it no longer had that biting chill of winter. The streetlights were on, casting long shadows of the two of them. He walked with his head down, his mind still thinking about the fish cake recipe—which kelp to use for the soup base, what the ratio of fish paste should be, whether to add a little minced garlic to enhance the flavor.

"Sunyi."

"Yeah?"

"Stop thinking about it. Go back this weekend and spend some time with your mother."

"I know." He smiled and put his phone back into his pocket.

The two walked side by side on the sidewalk, neither speaking again. In the distance, a subway train rumbled past, the sound muffled, like summer thunder rolling in from far away. He looked up and saw a very bright star in the sky, hanging next to Namsan Tower, motionless.