The God of Cooking Possesses Socrates🍳 "The unexamined life is not worth living" | Possession | God of Cooking | Socrates | Rap | Philosophical Words |

The God of Cooking possesses people on a whim!

Socrates Edition

"The unexamined life is not worth living"

That night, I (Socrates) was standing still in front of the refrigerator.

My body was heavy from working overtime, and my heart was crushed.
I didn't care what I had for dinner anymore.

In the fridge, there was one shriveled eggplant.
Some leftover tofu.
Yesterday's miso soup.
Two eggs.
And some shiso leaves I forgot when I bought, which had lost a bit of their pride inside the bag.

"I guess I'll just throw everything in and stir-fry it."

It was the moment I muttered that.

The kitchen fluorescent light flickered.
The sound of the ventilation fan faded away, and instead, a breeze like one from an ancient Greek square blew in.

And then, a voice that wasn't mine came out of my mouth.

"Wait a moment."

It was a low, deep, and strangely calm voice.

I froze while holding the frying pan.

"Is cooking merely something to fill your stomach?"

　　　It appeared.

The God of Cooking.

And the one possessed today was, by any account, a troublesome type.

"Are you　　　"

I said timidly.

"Socrates?"

My mouth smiled on its own

"Indeed."

I knew it

Socrates, borrowing my body, stood in front of the refrigerator and took out an eggplant
Its surface was slightly wrinkled, and it was dull near the stem

"Is this eggplant still edible?"

"Yes, it is."

"Why do you think so?"

"Because it's not moldy and it doesn't smell strange."

"Then, is the judgment that withered things have no value incorrect?"

"Well, I suppose so."

Socrates nodded with satisfaction

Next, he took out some tofu

"Is this tofu a protagonist or a supporting actor?"

"Uh, tofu doesn't have such..."

"Have you not been forcing roles onto ingredients until now?"

I fell silent

It was true that the leftover items in the refrigerator were always called "leftovers"
But from their perspective, perhaps they never intended to be left over at all

Socrates drizzled sesame oil into the frying pan

There was a small sizzling sound
A savory aroma spread through the kitchen

He cut the eggplant as if tearing it lengthwise and seared it from the skin side
The cut surface absorbed the oil, and the purple skin regained its luster

"Look here."

Socrates said.

"An eggplant that has been heated knows its own softness."

That sounds suddenly like a famous quote.

Next, he crumbled the tofu by hand.
Not with a knife, but with his hands.

The white tofu crumbled into pieces and fell into the gaps between the eggplants.
He added just a little bit of yesterday's miso soup to it.

The scent of miso rose up, not from a pot, but from a frying pan.
The smell of dashi.
The depth of dried sardines.
The roundness of the miso.
Even things like yesterday's fatigue seemed to unravel into steam.

"Do you call yesterday's miso soup old, or do you call it a ripened memory?"

"Isn't that just a matter of how you phrase it?"

"How you phrase it is a matter of your attitude of mind."

I had no words to reply.

He cracked an egg.
The yolk fell like a small sun in the night.

Socrates lowered the heat and gently stirred everything with cooking chopsticks.
He didn't let the egg set immediately, but gathered it into a creamy consistency in the residual heat.

Finally, he shredded some shiso leaves and scattered them over the top.
The leaves, which had lost a bit of their vitality, released their fragrance the moment they touched the steam.

It was a scent like someone who had almost given up, finally giving a proper answer at the end.

When served in a bowl, the dish had become something mysterious.

Grilled eggplant and tofu simmered with miso and egg.
If I had to name it, that would be it.

But it was much deeper than it looked.

The eggplant was creamy, with a faint bitterness in the skin.
The tofu embraced the miso, and the egg gently bound everything together.
The shiso leaves scented the dish as if to wake it up at the very end.

I took a bite.

"Ah"

Dinner, which should have been anything at all,
was no longer just anything.

Socrates said quietly inside me,

"The unexamined life is not worth living."

Those words suited the kitchen much better than when I saw them in a textbook long ago.

I used to think that examining one's way of life was an exaggeration,
but in reality, whether to throw away or grill today's eggplant,
whether to treat the leftover miso soup as a nuisance or use it as a memory,
whether to feed my tired self just anything,
or to stop for a moment and ask a question,

perhaps it is just the accumulation of such small choices.

I took another bite.

It was warm.
It was very, very warm.

At that moment, the possession ended.

In the kitchen, I was alone.
There was still a little bit of egg drop left in the frying pan.

I looked at it and couldn't help but laugh.

"So, Socrates is good at cooking with leftovers."

And I scooped up the miso broth left at the bottom of the plate with a spoon.

Examination is not about judging life with a stern face.
It is about properly asking yourself what flavor you truly need today.

The next morning, I put a note on the refrigerator.

Know thyself.
However, also check the expiration date.

The God of Cooking was surely laughing somewhere.

Rap: Did Socrates find philosophy in cooking!?

Yo
In front of the fridge, midnight
My heart is lost, but my stomach is honest
One eggplant, half a block of tofu
Yesterday's miso soup, the leftovers have arrived too

The moment I threw it away saying
"Whatever, I don't care anymore"
An Athenian atmosphere blows through the kitchen
The fluorescent light flickers
The exhaust fan hums
The roots of philosophy have come inside me

Who is it, who is it
Who is this voice
Asking and being asked
There's no place to run

I am Socrates
With a strong kitchen personality
With a frying pan in one hand
Cook even your soul

Examine, examine
Examine that eggplant
In its withered form
There is still meaning

Throw it away or grill it
That is the fork in the road
Is value in the appearance
Or is it in the truth

Yo
If it's not moldy
It's still good, right
Smell it
See for yourself

Leftovers?
No, that's not it
They weren't left behind
They were just waiting

Drizzle some sesame oil
And it starts with a sizzle
The light returns
To the purple skin

The eggplant bathed in heat
Becomes soft
The heart bathed in questions
Becomes naked

Break the tofu
With your hands, crumbling it
White silence
Melting into the night

Protagonist or supporting role
Who decided that
Roles and such
Who decided that

Yesterday's miso soup
Don't call it old
It's just memories
That slept for a night

The scent of the dashi
Reaches my chest
The tired day I had
Unravels into steam

An unexamined
Life is sleepy
A meal that forgets
To ask is flavorless

What is a bite
Worth living for
Not just the stomach
But the soul also bit into it

If you crack an egg
A small sun
Body temperature falls
Into the night kitchen

Wait on low heat
Don't rush tonight
The answer is always
On the edge of soft-boiled

Don't mix it too much
Don't destroy the meaning
Connect this day
With the residual heat

When you chop the green shiso
the aroma rises
the voice that almost gave up
wins once again

The last leaf
is still green
even in a withered dream
there is plenty of fragrance

Yo
Question, question
at the tip of those chopsticks
question, question
deep inside that heart

What do you eat
how do you live
what do you discard
what do you believe

In a night without questions
flavor will not dwell
without knowing yourself
the meal will not speak

Eggplant, tofu,
miso, and eggs
from the leftovers
an answer is born

When served on a plate
the steam rises
a small universe
spreads in the rice bowl

Take one bite
and you'll understand
"Anything is fine"
was a lie, wasn't it

Actually, you too
wanted to be heard
you wanted someone to see
your tired heart

Examination
is not about blaming
isn't it about not throwing away
the self of today?

A question
is not a blade, but a light
a warmth that glows
in the kitchen at night

To live
is not a luxurious plate
it's the love that finds meaning
even in what remains

Yo
Socrates in the kitchen
heat control is the mission
starting from the eggplant
a vision of the soul

Miso soup remix
the physics of tofu
connecting with eggs
the lyrics of life

Open the fridge
open your heart too
more than the expiration date
look at yourself

Know thyself
but check the date too
doubt, taste,
and live properly

Examine, examine
examine this night
even in a withered eggplant
truth resides

Examine, examine
examine this meal
the ethics that begin
from eating

The unexamined life
is not worth living
but an examined meal
is warm enough to bring tears

The last spoonful
left in the frying pan
that is not the answer
it is proof of continuing to question

Yo
The God of Cooking
possession complete again
even after Socrates leaves
the lingering aftertaste is rich

When morning comes
leave a note on the fridge
write it in bold
a demo of life

Know thyself
but look at the miso too
before you throw away the eggplant
ask yourself once more

What is living?
What is eating?
The answer is tonight's
miso egg scramble

Yeah
examine what you eat
examine how you live
from the kitchen
awaken your soul