Isabelle nibbled at a piece of napa cabbage kimchi before answering. “Maylin would’ve felt bad about the earlier food being left behind. She’d have wanted a challenge to make up for us not being able to enjoy it. He probably told her to go for Korean to stretch her skills and give her something she could roll up her sleeves and dive into. He cares about the people around him that way.”
“A good leader does those things.” Kyle could acknowledge the consideration. And it was obvious Isabelle was very loyal to the other man. Considering her fiery personality and independence, Gabriel Diaz must be a man worth following. The kind of person Kyle hoped to be if he survived all of this.
“Yeah.” She paused in her eating, setting her chopsticks down.
Studying her, Kyle deliberately placed a piece of food in her rice bowl. An offering of sorts.
She huffed out a quiet laugh and picked her chopsticks back up. “He is a good leader. Let’s just say leadership is not one of my strong points.”
“I find that hard to believe.” Kyle helped himself to more food. If he was eating, she might be inclined to share more. And he wanted to hear it.
Isabelle shrugged. “When you work with a new team, there’s a key time frame in which you establish yourself, earn their respect, so they will follow your orders. Otherwise, they question, hesitate. And in combat, none of us can afford that split second. Not everyone who meets me gets the best impression.”
And people may have died because of it. It went unsaid, weighing down the silence.
“Anyway, depending on the nature of my assignments in the foreseeable future, proving myself to the people around me continues to be a work in progress.” She deliberately popped a piece of food into her mouth and chewed.
Kyle considered her words. It explained a lot about the way she confronted the men in the elevator lobby. He’d been intrigued but others might have found her attitude grating, intimidating. He wasn’t sure if she altered her approach based on the people she met but perhaps it was as she said, a progression.
“What you’re eating is called tongbaechu-kimchi, by the way.” He paused to taste it himself. “Please pass on a message to the chef that her cooking is quite good.”
“Yeah? On par with the restaurant quality you prefer?” Isabelle reached for a dish of soybean sprouts.
“Better.” He used his chopsticks to separate the fillet from the fish and place a portion on his rice. She hadn’t tried for the larger main dish yet. Perhaps she wasn’t familiar with how it was served. “Her food has a home-cooked quality to the dishes that is sometimes lost in restaurants when they substitute for more easily obtainable ingredients here in the United States.”
Isabelle had been watching him. Carefully, she placed her rice container back on the table and copied his motions to acquire her own helping of fish. She didn’t lift her rice back off the table again.
Different cultures ate with different table manners. He appreciated the way she respected his and followed his example. Not many people in his life ever had.
“I’ll let Maylin know.” Isabelle continued to eat.
“The soybean sprouts you tried earlier are kongnamul-muchim and these are seasoned dried anchovies or myeolchi-muchim.” He indicated a container next to the soybean sprouts. Really, this was an enjoyable meal.
“Crazy range of texture between dishes. Won’t get bored.” She was trying a little bit of everything and she’d gone back to the grilled fish a few times. “Aren’t these the same kind of little fish?”
“Dried anchovies, yes. Those are stir-fried. Myeolchi-bokkeum.” He was also amused to note she had no trouble with fish served whole. The larger grilled fish entrée had the fish head and tail intact. The tiny dried anchovies were to be eaten whole. Isabelle had met both without hesitation.
There were a lot of people who’d have balked at any of those.
Isabelle let out a happy sigh. “I’m never going to remember all of these but they are good. Really good. What are these?”
He studied each in turn. “Kkaennip-jangajji. Perilla leaf pickles. And those are ojingeo-bokkeum. Stir-fried squid. The last one there is sukjunamul. Mung bean sprouts.”
“And this is the way every meal is served? Seriously?” She surveyed the table covered in dishes. Even though they’d sampled everything and finished their rice, there was plenty for another meal or two.
“Traditionally, yes.” Kyle eyed the table. “The banchan can vary greatly depending on the cook and the region, the local vegetables and the season. Many restaurants I’ve visited here specialize in serving just the entrées or dishes ordered à la carte instead of providing all of this.”