Chapter 17
The day after Duke Kalden paid 500 gold and left, I spread out the condolence ledger and began making a price list.
A restaurant needs a price list.
No matter how mysterious we act, run it by reservation only, or give it strange names like downfall, resurrection, and greed, in the end, the guests pay money.
And if we're taking money, we need standards.
Expensive food without standards is a scam, while expensive food with standards is a course.
Of course, the difference between the two is thinner than you'd think.
“Kyle.”
Marie stopped peeling fruit beside me and asked,
“What are you doing?”
“A price list.”
“We have one of those?”
“I'm making one now.”
“Then what have we been doing until now?”
“Impromptu scamming.”
Marie's hands stopped.
“Do you realize you just said something incredibly dangerous?”
“I was joking.”
“It didn't sound like a joke.”
That point made me a little sad, too.
To be honest, it hadn't been entirely a joke.
I'd received 150 gold from Count Klever, 300 gold from the Marquis and Marchioness of Reinfeld, and 500 gold from Duke Kalden.
Everything had gone well, but it had been closer to quoting a price to suit each guest as we went.
Once or twice, that was clever.
Three times, it was business.
And business needed a ledger.
It had been the same when I ran a restaurant in my previous life. Senses and passion alone couldn't carry you very far.
A guest might be moved today, but they'd be hungry again tomorrow, and no matter how dedicated an employee was, payday brought them back to reality.
Ingredient costs rose every day, rent came due with clockwork honesty, and every plate in the world would break someday.
So we needed standards.
“First, I'm going to divide it into courses.”
I put my pen to the first line of the ledger.
“The Count's Course.”
Marie tilted her head.
“Only counts can eat it?”
“No. It's the name of the basic course.”
“If the basic course is for counts, what about commoners?”
“If a commoner can pay 150 gold, they can eat it too.”
“Then I can't eat it.”
“No.”
Marie thought for a moment, then nodded.
“It's strangely honest, which makes it worse.”
“Business is naturally bad when it's honest, and dignified when you package it.”
“I think I understand that now.”
She was growing in an unfortunate direction.
I refocused on the ledger.
The Count's Course could be based on the first dinner I had served Count Klever.
It was a course meant to show that Monbel hadn't completely fallen apart yet.
Goat's-milk cheese, forest mushroom soup, fish, venison, and a small dessert.
The ingredients weren't excessive, but the story was strongly attached to them.
A meal prepared by a house on the verge of ruin, with its last scrap of pride.
It suited guests experiencing Monbel for the first time.
“The price starts at 150 gold.”
“Of course.”
Even at that price, guests would still think it was insane, but Count Klever had already paid it, establishing a precedent.
In high society, precedent was powerful.
Once someone had paid money first, the next person felt as though not paying it would lower their own standing.
That was how business with nobles worked.
“Next is the Marquis's Course.”
The Marquis's Course would be based on the progression we'd served the Marquis and Marchioness of Reinfeld.
A first bite opened with fruit, followed by an appetizer topped with black roe, a spicy, warming soup, a game-bird main course, and a dessert that closed with fruit and cheese.
It didn't merely sell ruin; it included a story of resurrection.
A house believed to be finished was still breathing.
Heat that hadn't yet cooled, and fragrance that could still linger in the mouth.
Guests like the marchioness enjoyed words like that.
They didn't merely want to eat something expensive; they wanted to believe they understood a more delicate story than everyone else.
That belief was expensive.
“So it starts at 300 gold. We only charged the marquis and marchioness 150 per person as a test, but now we can charge 300 per person.”
“Starting at 300 gold?”
Elysia asked from the kitchen doorway.
She had come in without my noticing.
Today, Elysia had the eyes of someone who had learned to smell money—far more so than yesterday.
Until yesterday, that look was something I'd occasionally seen in investors. Now I was starting to see it in a fallen noble young lady, too.
People learned quickly in the face of money.
“Yes. The Marquis's Course starts at 300 gold. If we tailor the story to each guest, we should charge more.”
Elysia nodded very naturally.
“That's right. Even if it's the same resurrection, everyone wants to see a different kind of resurrection.”
“Exactly.”
“Some people will want to see flowers blooming from the ashes, while others will want to see a hand rising from a coffin.”
“My lady.”
“Yes?”
“Please don't use imagery of a hand rising from a coffin before a meal.”
“Why? It's striking.”
“Striking and appetizing are two different things.”
“The duke might like it.”
“That's exactly why I dislike the possibility.”
Elysia gave a small laugh.
This young lady's tastes were still a little dangerous.
But she also had an undeniable advantage.
She knew which words nobles responded to.
I knew cooking and business, while Elysia knew the vanity and cruel sensibilities of nobles.
Together, they made money.
“Next is the Duke's Course.”
I wrote the third line.
Even with only the words written down, the Duke's Course seemed to make the ledger smell of butter.
“The Duke's Course is based on Duke Kalden. Strong flavors, expensive ingredients, straightforward satisfaction. Rather than posing delicate questions, it has to make the guest realize the moment they take a bite that they're eating something expensive.”
Marie frowned.
“That's the course that's hard to wash dishes after.”
“Exactly.”
“Is that an accurate description?”
“Rich courses are always hard to wash dishes after. Even rich people leave grease on their plates.”
Marie had an oddly convinced look on her face.
I wrote the price beside the Duke's Course.
Starting at 500 gold.
Elysia narrowed her eyes.
“What comes above that?”
“Above that?”
“Yes. Business is supposed to have an upper tier, isn't it?”
She was right.
Product tiers had to be open-ended upward.
If a guest ate the Count's Course, they should become curious about the Marquis's Course, and if they ate the Marquis's Course, they should covet the Duke's Course.
And when someone who had eaten the Duke's Course felt there was nowhere higher to go, that was when a ceiling appeared on the price.
Ceilings were bad.
In the restaurant business, the ceiling was where the chef's head hit.
“We can make one more.”
When I said that, Elysia's eyes sparkled.
“What is it?”
I put my pen to the ledger's fourth line.
“The Emperor's Course.”
For a moment, the entire kitchen froze.
Marie dropped the fruit peel she was holding, and Thomas stopped wiping a plate.
Uncle Bernard had just come in and froze right in the doorway.
Elysia looked at me as though I were about to sign not the ledger, but my own death warrant.
“Kyle.”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to lose your head for treason?”
“No.”
“Then move that hand.”
I obediently removed my hand.
“I was only writing the name…”
“The name alone is dangerous.”
Uncle Bernard approached with an extremely serious expression.
“Kyle, using a designation related to the imperial family as a private commercial tier is extremely dangerous. Unless His Majesty has personally granted permission, selling a meal under the name ‘Emperor’ could cause serious trouble, depending on how maliciously someone chose to interpret it.”
“Is it that serious?”
“If you only have one head, it would be best not to do it.”
That was persuasive.
I had one head.
It had been one in my previous life, and it was one in this life, too.
And I didn't want to die twice.
After dying from overwork once, I'd learned that death was a more troublesome process than I had expected.
Elysia still looked incredulous.
“You really are the craziest one here, when you think about it.”
“It's a little unfair to hear that from you, my lady.”
“I thought about going to a gambling house to die, not selling food under His Majesty the Emperor's name.”
“That is true.”
I couldn't argue with that.
I left the fourth line blank and set down my pen.
“Then let's stop at the Duke's Course for now.”
“For now?”
Elysia caught that immediately.
“You are planning to make another one after changing the name, aren't you?”
“I haven't said that yet.”
“But you thought it.”
“A businessman always has to think about the next tier. For now, I'm considering something like the King's Course… but that's for later, too.”
Uncle Bernard sighed deeply.
“Please think in a direction that keeps your head attached.”
“I'll try.”
“I need a firm answer, not an effort.”
“A firm answer is a little…”
“Kyle.”
Elysia called my name in a low voice.
I nodded immediately.
“Yes. We won't do the Emperor's Course.”
“And we won't even use the word ‘Emperor.’”
“Yes.”
“Nor anything similar.”
“His Majesty's…”
“Kyle.”
“Royal…”
“Do you want to hold my hand and jump off a cliff together?”
“We won't use it.”
Only then did the expressions of the people in the kitchen relax a little.
It was a shame.
The name Emperor's Course honestly smelled like money.
But as always, my neck was more important.
It would be absurd to die for treason before I could succeed with fine dining in another world.
A chef who transmigrated into his ex-girlfriend's novel, sold food under the emperor's name, and was executed.
What an idiot.
Elysia looked at the ledger and said,
“But we've decided on the course names, and our restaurant doesn't have a name.”
“The restaurant's name?”
“Yes. What will guests call it? Monbel Manor? Monbel's Banquet? The Condolence Ledger?”
Marie cut in.
“The Condolence Ledger is a little scary.”
Thomas added cautiously,
“It would sound strange if a guest said they came to mourn when they were trying to make a reservation.”
“That would be kind of funny.”
Elysia rested her chin on her hand.
Come to think of it, we'd been doing business without a restaurant name until now.
Count Klever probably called it a meal at Monbel, and the marchioness might have called it Monbel's banquet.
Duke Kalden had probably called it the house with that crazy chef.
If we left things like this, the guests would name it however they pleased.
That wasn't good.
We had to give it a name ourselves. That way, we could set the price ourselves, too.
“How about Monbel's Banquet?”
Uncle Bernard said.
I shook my head.
“Not bad, but it sounds too much like the name of an event. It would feel as though every meal were the last one.”
“We did start with an actual last supper.”
“That's true, but if it's always the last one, we won't stay in business long.”
Marie muttered,
“If it's always the last one, it's just a scam— I mean, packaging.”
“You've grown, Marie.”
She corrected herself automatically now. The results of her education were appearing in a strange direction.
Elysia thought for a moment, then said,
“Then how about just Monbel?”
“With only the family name, people won't know whether it's a restaurant or a manor.”
“Monbel Salon?”
“That sounds centered on alcohol and conversation.”
“Monbel Table?”
“Not bad, but it's a little ordinary.”
“Then you come up with something.”
I placed my pen on the ledger.
I'd spent a long time thinking about restaurant names in my previous life, too.
If a name stood out too much, it felt tacky, but if it was too ordinary, no one remembered it.
A name had to be short, easy to say, and make guests feel a little impressive when they mentioned it to others.
That was even more true for the nobles of this world.
They had to be able to say this at a social gathering:
I went there yesterday.
The moment they said the name, the listener had to turn their head.
I wrote slowly.
Maison Monbel.
Marie tried to read the letters, then frowned.
“What's ‘Maison’?”
“It means house.”
“What language is that?”
“It exists. A language like that.”
There was no point explaining France here; she wouldn't understand.
Elysia looked down at the ledger.
“Maison Monbel.”
She slowly repeated the name.
It fit strangely well.
It could mean Monbel Manor, or mean turning the Monbel family itself into a single dining table.
It was unfamiliar enough for nobles to like, yet simple enough to understand once explained.
Uncle Bernard nodded quietly, too.
“It does have dignity.”
“And it's less scary than the Condolence Ledger.”
Marie said.
Thomas added quietly,
“It should be easy to tell guests as well.”
Elysia stared at the name on the ledger for a while.
“Maison Monbel.”
“You don't like it?”
“No.”
She smiled very faintly.
“It's just strange.”
“Strange?”
“Until yesterday, I thought Monbel was a name that had ended. But today, it's become a restaurant name.”
Her words sounded light, but there was something quite heavy inside them.
To Elysia, Monbel had been a family, a debt, a downfall, and the last burden she'd been planning to take to the gambling house.
But now that name was about to become a place guests paid to visit.
People live by their names.
The same was true of families, and even more so of restaurants.
I reorganized the first page of the ledger and left a blank space at the top.
The ultimate course, one that could charge 1,000 gold for a meal.
If I could make something like that…
“Kyle.”
“Yes.”
“What's that blank space?”
“The future. I'm going to try preparing the ultimate course.”
“How much will you charge?”
“We'll see when we get there.”
“Roughly?”
“As much as possible without getting my head cut off. 1,000 gold as the baseline.”
Elysia burst out laughing.
Uncle Bernard put a hand to his forehead, and Marie resumed peeling fruit as though she were used to it by now.
Thomas still looked as though he hadn't adjusted to the atmosphere of this house, but he would get used to it soon.