Cheat day

Sadang (1)

Woojin was flustered.

“When you look at the rankings, rice cakes on skewers and hot dogs come in at 7th and 8th place, respectively. Fishcake udon and tofu-skin udon are 9th and 10th. Where exactly is ‘hot bar’ on the list?”

“Rice cakes on skewers or hot dogs should be considered as part of the ‘hot bar’ category. They’re all served on sticks.”

“Did you really think that would work? Rice cakes on skewers, hot dogs, and hot bars are distinctly different foods.”

“They’re different, yes.”

“Absolutely, different.”

As Jiseung and Jichan nodded in agreement, Woojin jumped to his feet.

“Hold on! What is this? If you’re supposed to be commentators, just comment! Why are you interfering? And what is the referee doing?”

Woojin pleaded to PD Park. After a moment’s consideration, the PD spoke up.

“I’ll allow it. Just please make sure you don’t disrupt the flow of the debate.”

“Wait a moment.”

I stepped in.

“Jiseung and Jichan are doing their job as participants. Isn’t reacting naturally part of their role?”

PD Park’s eyes darted around, calculating.

“If it’s just the two of us talking, where’s the fun in that? We need side comments and laughter to make the broadcast richer.”

“Right?”

“Absolutely.”

“Chan-yong’s right. It wouldn’t make sense to stop their reactions since it’s a necessary part of the program. Woojin, please understand.”

“…What?”

Woojin was visibly caught off guard by this unexpected scolding.

“So, I’m the one who has to understand?”

No one answered.

Woojin looked around, but no one offered help or even met his gaze.

“Are you all ignoring me?”

“Pfft… hahaha.”

“Don’t laugh!”

Everyone burst into laughter.

“I’m asking! Are you all ignoring me?”

PD Park hid his laughter behind his script but finally raised his head.

“It’s not like that. We still have a show to run, don’t we? Jiseung and Jichan are just doing their jobs.”

“Right. This is part of my job.”

“Exactly. You’re getting paid, so you’ve got to do your best.”

Woojin seemed lost for words.

He sighed, glancing around the area with a slightly dazed expression.

“If you don’t have anything to say, I’ll go first this time.”

“I do!”

Woojin shouted loudly.

“The ‘hot bar’ was originally a product created by the corporation Great Road. After its success, any similar product came to be called a hot bar. It’s like how oil pastels are all called crayons, or laptop computers are just called laptops. Staplers are called ‘hochikis,’ bleach is ‘Rox,’ and instant rice is ‘Hetban’—a case where the brand name becomes a generic term.”

“You’re getting rather long-winded. Are you feeling desperate?”

“No. This just proves how hot bars are an iconic product.”

Indeed, it’s not easy for a brand name to represent an entire category of products. That’s only possible when it dominates the market overwhelmingly.

“So, hot bars—derived from Japanese kamaboko fish cakes—have become a perfectly adapted Korean food. But udon?”

Woojin can be tricky to debate against.

He has a vast pool of knowledge, and his arguments based on facts have a natural persuasiveness.

If I get caught on one unknown fact and he disproves me even once, it’s game over.

That’s why I always have to rely on rhetoric and manipulation.

“Are you saying udon isn’t Korean? Are you disrespecting our country’s udon masters?”

“No, of course not.”

Woojin regained his composure. His voice was calm, and he’d returned to his usual tone.

That meant the conversation was steering in the direction he wanted.

“Just as we’ve adapted fish cakes into hot bars, we’ve also taken udon and created a uniquely Korean version. We call it ‘garak guksu.’”

“…”

“I’m sure you know, Chan-yong. While waiting for the train, the warm and filling garak guksu—though inspired by udon—uses anchovy broth instead of soy-based stock. It’s truly a Korean adaptation of udon. As proof, the National Institute of Korean Language suggests garak guksu as a refined native word for the borrowed term ‘udon,’ but people already consider udon and garak guksu to be separate dishes.”

“And?”

“To stand against hot bar, shouldn’t you at least bring up garak guksu?”

“And why is that?”

“Well, if it’s between Korean foods, there’s something to discuss, but this is Korean food against Japanese food. Are you trying to say that Korean hot bar is inferior to Japanese udon?”

Ah, turning it into a Korea-Japan rivalry.

Woojin countered with a tricky argument. It seems he’s not just taking the hits but using some rather underhanded persuasion tactics.

“Ah, that’s dirty.”

Jichan, who’d been watching, chimed in.

“It’s downright dirty. When it looked like hot bar couldn’t beat udon, he shifted the focus to Korea-Japan relations. The intention is obvious.”

When Woojin shot a glare at Jiseung and Jichan, they both cleared their throats awkwardly.

They seemed conflicted—wanting a meal but feeling a bit guilty about it.

“Come to think of it, isn’t this kind of tactic usually something Chan-yong would do?”

“It is. Today, though, they’ve switched roles.”

“Let’s see how Chan-yong plans to handle this crisis.”

After they finished speaking, I waited for a pause to avoid overlapping before I spoke.

“Woojin.”

“Yes, go ahead.”

“When you’re arguing a point, it should always be based on facts.”

“I’ve never lied. Unlike some people.”

“I’m not saying you lied, but that there are relevant points you didn’t mention.”

“Oh, so you’re saying it’s actually a Chinese food?”

I recall hearing somewhere that udon was introduced to Japan from the Tang Dynasty in China.

However, that wouldn’t change the situation; it might even make it worse.

“No, that’s not it. But it seems like you have a slight misconception about the name udon, so I thought I’d clarify.”

Woojin tilted his head in curiosity.

“April 17, 1908.”

Woojin looked puzzled.

“Do you know what happened on this date?”

“No, I don’t.”

“When I was working as an editor for the Woojinious channel, we covered this in a special Liberation Day video. On April 17, 1908, a Korean detained by the Japanese Empire seized a rifle from a Japanese soldier late at night and killed eight soldiers.”

“Ugh.”

Finally, he realized where this was going.

I didn’t give him a chance to respond.

“This individual was so remarkable in his spirit that his comrades hailed him as the Commander of Justice, driving the Japanese forces out of the Hwanghae Province area countless times. In 1962, he was posthumously awarded the Order of Merit for National Foundation.”

After taking a slow look around, I carefully enunciated his name, syllable by syllable.

“Woo Dong-seon.”

“…”

“Despite being captured after taking a bullet to the leg, he managed to kill eight Japanese soldiers. His great name, Woo Dong-seon, embodies the Korean spirit. The name udon within his name is more remarkable than any other.”

Baek Woo-jin’s mouth twitched.

“Alright, now that we’ve clarified the meaning behind the name, let’s get to the main point. Woo-jin, do you know about Eo-woo-dong?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Her skin was fairer and more beautiful than anyone else’s. Anyone who encountered her would fall for her charms.”

“What are you talking about now?”

“Is that all? When they kissed her, they were entranced by her soft, springy touch. And if they held her with both hands to savor her, they’d be captivated by her deep flavor.”

“What are you even saying? What is he talking about? This guy’s lost it!”

Woo-jin looked at PD Park Sang-chul for help.

The PD, also taken aback, stared wide-eyed before waving his hand.

“Chan-yong, remember this is a family-friendly show.”

“I don’t care. My three meals are on the line here.”

I turned to continue with my argument.

“Eo-woo-dong—a pleasure unmatched for those who have tried it. Do you really think something as plain as hot bar can even compare?”

“This guy is seriously going off the rails! Sure, it’s a night show, but isn’t this a bit much? What are you even thinking?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re making all these inappropriate remarks!”

“Inappropriate remarks?”

“Eo-woo-dong!”

“Oh, so you admit it’s that captivating? Is that how you really feel?”

“Come on! She was someone who committed adultery back in the reign of King Seongjong!”

“What are you talking about? I was talking about Eo-woo-dong, a product currently sold by a food company.”

There was a moment of silence.

“What did you just say?”

“It’s a product that combines fish cakes in the form of udon noodles. Unlike wheat noodles, these pure, bouncy noodles have an unmatched texture.”

“…And all that about holding it with both hands?”

“You have to hold the bowl with both hands to drink the broth, don’t you? Now, let me ask—just what were you thinking, Baek Woo-jin?”

He couldn’t respond.

I turned to the PD.

“What were you thinking, PD?”

Park Sang-chul, too, averted his gaze.

“It seems I’m the only one taking this debate seriously. Unbelievable. Adultery, really? And that incident was steeped with noblemen involved, yet only Eo-woo-dong was punished.”

Woo-jin’s eyes wavered.

If this was just about dinner, I’d let it slide, but today’s stakes are three meals. I can’t back down.

“Eo-woo-dong was born into a noble family, but her husband despised her. He falsely accused her of infidelity, only for her innocence to be revealed. Even so, her husband cast her out. Surely, Baek Woo-jin, you’re not going to say you didn’t know that?”

“Uh… no, I…”

“Abandoned by her husband and then betrayed by those she was with, how much longer will you go on disgracing this tragic woman? Am I wrong?”

When I looked at the staff and raised my voice, a few applauded.

“Committee Member Baek Woo-jin, I’ll ask once more. Do you see Eo-woo-dong as a hot bar?”

“…No.”

“What was that?”

“I said, no!”

“You just admitted, out of your own mouth, that it’s not a hot bar. You yourself stated that hot bar falls beneath udon. Could there be a clearer conclusion?”