"You have to be able to do it by hand before you touch a machine." That's the lesson I took away from school. I learned to whip meringue with a whisk instead of a mixer, to knead brioche dough by hand on the workbench, and to fold feuilletage with just a rolling pin, without a sheeter. Learning these basics first helped me truly understand the principles behind them. Because those principles are now second nature, I don't panic when a machine acts up at the shop or something unexpected comes up. I've developed the ability to solve problems with my own hands.
While I was in school, I gained hands-on experience at several businesses. Many of them were considerate of my class schedule, so I really enjoyed my time as an apprentice. After graduating, I opened my first dessert shop in my hometown of Icheon. I was so bold that I started on the second floor without even putting up a sign. I still remember doing the interior work alone every night and handling problems big and small as I prepared to open. The shop had a number for a name, "24601," and about three years in, I began to want to run my business in a bigger neighborhood. Around that time, I heard that Chef Justin Lee would be running a dessert café with Burberry in Jeju for about two months. I went there to work with him, and that's when I truly decided to relocate, something I had only been thinking about until then. The very next year, I closed the Icheon shop and reopened in Gangseo-gu, Seoul. That shop is today's Kyril.
What has been the hardest moment in running your shop, and how did you overcome it?
Running a food business yourself means facing moments of struggle, big and small, every day. Of all of them, the most memorable challenge comes when I create a new dessert. Beyond the taste, I ask myself so many questions: Does the structure suit its purpose? Does it carry my own style? Am I copying something I saw somewhere? Does it capture the season? Even when I think a dessert is finally finished after a lot of thought, I often set it aside and only present it the following year or the year after. "Geomundo Mugwort" was one of those. It took a long time just to balance mugwort's distinctive aroma with sweetness. Only after shelving it and bringing it back again and again was I able to complete it as it is today. So rather than releasing a dessert as soon as it feels "good enough," I think about it and refine it every day, and launch it only once I've made it as complete as possible.
"Success" is also the title of this alumni story series. What does the word mean to you?
I think success is a somewhat relative word. In the end, it's about being recognized by many people, and perhaps that also leads to financial results. But the kind of success I'm aiming for is becoming an irreplaceable dessert shop: one that suits the tastes of customers of all ages, from children to seniors, and is loved by the people in the neighborhood. With that in mind, I became curious whether that same heart could reach beyond our neighborhood. So recently, wondering "Would Parisians enjoy my desserts?", I held a week-long dessert pop-up in Paris. I made and sold two desserts: "Geomundo Mugwort," which I had spent so long perfecting, and "Soy Sauce Riz au Lait," made with Korean rice and soy sauce. Seeing Parisians line up and enjoy them made me truly happy, and it remains a wonderful memory.
Do you have any words for fellow alumni who are walking, or will walk, this path?
I believe you should do work that makes your heart race. Not every moment will be filled with joy, but finding motivation within it and building the strength to keep moving forward is ultimately up to you. Only when you've built that up can you realize that, in the end, it's your customers who complete you. That reminds me of what Chef Alain Caminade, our instructor, told us at our graduation ceremony: "This is only your beginning. This school doesn't turn you into someone great, so never lose sight of why you started." Don't assume you know a lot just because you've graduated. Stay humble, learn at a variety of workplaces, and only then take on the challenge of opening your own business.
What does Le Cordon Bleu mean to you?
I'd describe it as a "spectrum." As a barista, I could express my ideas in only one form: extracted coffee and milk. Le Cordon Bleu allowed me to express myself through a wide variety of ingredients, from chocolate, butter, cream, and sugar to fruit and liqueur. I'd say Le Cordon Bleu is the place that lifted me from a flat, one-dimensional world into a three-dimensional one.
