Chapter 29
Once alcohol entered the picture, the guests' reactions to the meal changed.
They started letting themselves be won over more easily.
This was only natural. Delicious food persuaded people, but good liquor made that persuasion go down smoothly.
People naturally opened up a little when their tongues loosened.
Nobles were no different.
If anything, the wealthier people were more likely to believe that their impressions became more refined when they held a glass of liquor.
That belief was expensive.
Which meant we had to sell it.
“You may add a wine pairing to today's course.”
The moment Uncle Bernard gave the guest that explanation, I pricked up my ears in the kitchen.
That day's guest was the second son of a marquis's house.
His meal request said he wanted us to capture the young anxiety of someone who had yet to decide the direction of his life.
I had no idea why nobles brought so much of their sense of self along when they came to eat.
Still, the material itself wasn't bad.
The first plate was cold white fruit and herbs.
We paired it with a very small amount of the white wine we'd obtained this time.
It was a bottle with clean acidity and a restrained aroma.
It didn't clash with the fruit and brought out the herbal aroma.
The marquis's second son widened his eyes slightly after taking his first sip.
At that expression, I knew it had definitely been worth the money.
“Where is this wine from?”
the guest asked.
Uncle Bernard answered naturally.
“It's white wine from a vineyard to the west. The chef selected this bottle himself to match the flow of today's first plate and soup.”
The words selected this bottle himself were important.
It wasn't merely liquor we'd set down; it was liquor selected to match the course.
At that moment, the guest no longer regarded the liquid in the glass as something to drink separately, but accepted it as part of the meal.
Then even the same wine felt more expensive.
The guest nodded.
“Excellent.”
I smiled faintly in the kitchen.
That meant his purse had opened a little.
I paired the second glass with the main course.
This time, it was red wine.
A bottle that wasn't too heavy, but left the scent of earth and dark fruit lingering at the end.
Paired with the young lamb and dried-fruit sauce, the guest fell completely silent this time.
There were different kinds of silence.
There was the bad kind—silence from a lack of flavor, or silence from not understanding.
And then there was the silence that came when something clicked into place on your palate, and you stayed still for a moment because speaking might break it. That was the best kind of silence.
This was the third kind.
“There we go.”
When I muttered that, Marie asked beside me,
“Is it good?”
“Yeah.”
“What's so different just because you paired it with liquor?”
“The guest finds it easier to believe in his own feelings.”
“What does that mean?”
“Being moved while sober is a little embarrassing, but being moved after drinking makes you think you're a deep person.”
“You're really mean to the nobles.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“No.”
But it was true.
Alcohol didn't merely enhance the flavor of a meal; it sped up the rate at which guests accepted their own impressions.
Especially at a place like Maison Monbel, where we attached strange stories to every plate.
Ruin, revival, greed, settling accounts, the anxiety of childhood—hearing about things like that while sober was embarrassing.
But once a glass entered the equation, it suddenly became contemplation.
Good liquor made guests mistake themselves for poets.
Poets might be careful with their money—or have no money to spend—but nobles who felt like poets spent freely.
That day's guest paid the wine surcharge without a word.
And at the end, he said,
“Next time, I'd like the arrangement to include alcohol from the very beginning.”
That was how it started.
After that, most guests added wine.
Of course, wine was entirely optional.
We stated it clearly in the notice, too.
Wine and other alcoholic pairings were not included in the course price and could be added at the guest's request.
Some courses were complete without alcohol, and depending on the kitchen's judgment, we might not recommend alcohol for certain courses.
That was what we said.
But there was no way the nobles would see that and decide to leave out the alcohol.
The moment word spread that other people had eaten with wine, leaving it out started to look like admitting that one's own meal was less complete.
Especially for marquis-level courses and above, almost everyone added it.
Some guests said they couldn't drink much and would only smell the wine.
We charged them even for wine they only smelled.
Marie didn't understand at first.
“You charge them when they don't even drink it?”
“Yeah.”
“Isn't that a little too much?”
“The aroma is an experience, too.”
“You're really scary.”
“The guest wanted it.”
“That's the scariest part.”
Once alcohol entered the picture, the ledgers changed, too.
The course prices stayed the same, but surcharges began piling up.
A glass of white, a glass of red, a sip of something mild with dessert, or a glass of grain spirit after the duke's course.
Whiskey in particular got a good response.
That liquor was unfamiliar to the nobles of this world.
Rather than releasing its aroma elegantly like wine, it struck directly through the mouth and down the throat.
The male guests liked that, while some ladies called it a rude but strangely memorable flavor.
When I heard that, I quietly raised the price.
Even rudeness was a product if it remained memorable.
About five days after the wine options had settled in, I was looking over the ledger when I became certain.
“We can split lunch and dinner.”
Elysia looked up.
“Two tables a day?”
“Yes.”
Marie reacted immediately.
“No.”
“Why?”
“We'll die.”
“I'll make sure we don't.”
“Can I trust that?”
“I once almost died from overwork…”
I stopped speaking.
Marie narrowed her eyes.
“What?”
“Anyway, I'll make sure we don't die.”
Her face was suspicious, but she let it go.
I spread out the ledger and explained.
“Accepting only one table a day was the right decision until now. The kitchen was small, we had no staff, the restaurant had no name, and the courses hadn't stabilized. But things are different now. We've expanded the kitchen, hired more people to handle odd jobs, and secured wine. More than anything, our guests have gotten far too used to waiting.”
Elysia listened quietly.
“We'll keep lunch a little lighter. We'll focus on the count's courses and some of the marquis's courses. For alcohol, we'll offer only white wine or a light red. We'll make the price look slightly lower than before, while allowing it to rise through the wine options.”
“What about dinner?”
“We charge more.”
Marie said quietly,
“You really don't hesitate for even a second.”
I ignored her and continued.
“Dinner is the main event. Marquis's courses, duke's courses, and custom courses. We'll include everything from the lighting and service to the wine and dessert. From the guest's perspective, dinner will look more prestigious, too. So it can cost more.”
Elysia propped her chin on her hand.
“Lunch is an experience, and dinner is an event. We can sell it that way.”
“Yes. I think we should go with that feeling.”
“Taste Maison Monbel at lunch, and experience Maison Monbel at dinner.”
“My lady.”
“Yes?”
“Lately, you've been doing so well that I feel praising you for being talented has become meaningless.”
Elysia smiled brightly at that.
She had once been ready to die, but now she smiled at price tags.
People recovered in stranger ways than you'd expect.
Of course, it wasn't as if there were no problems.
Taking two tables a day wasn't simply a matter of putting out twice as many plates.
Ingredient preparation became twice as complicated, the prep routes got tangled, there were more dishes to wash, and we had to read even more meal requests.
Above all, we had to distinguish the atmosphere of lunch from that of dinner.
It meant selling day and night differently in the same room.
I looked around the parlor.
We'd somehow managed to hold out until now.
We'd packaged the atmosphere of the old manor under the name of ruin, and covered the cracked windows and old candlesticks with stories.
We'd wiped away the dust, put away the vases, and changed the smell with bundles of herbs.
But now, I could see the limit.
“We need to work on the interior, too.”
At my words, Uncle Bernard closed his eyes.
“Are we tearing everything up again?”
“We're not tearing everything up this time.”
“That makes me even more nervous.”
“We need to divide day and night. Lunch is a meal that lets in the light: windows, bright fabrics, and light flowers. Dinner is candlelight, dark wood, silverware, and reflections in the glasses. It has to be the same space with a different face depending on the time of day.”
Elysia looked around the parlor.
“Monbel by day and Monbel by night.”
“Yes.”
“By day, it should look like a house that is still alive, and at night, like a house everyone thought was dead secretly breathing again.”
I paused for a moment.
“My lady.”
“Why?”
“That's a good expression, but it might sound a little frightening if you say it to the guests exactly like that.”
“Then make it less frightening.”
“I'll do my best.”
To be honest, I liked it.
There was no better way to divide Monbel's day and night, its lunch and dinner.
Light, clear meals during the day, and deeper, more expensive meals at night.
If we made the same space look different, guests would want to come twice.
And if they came twice, they would pay twice.
It was a beautiful structure.
Marie looked around the parlor and said,
“So does that mean more cleaning again?”
“Yes.”
“Are we changing the curtains, too?”
“Probably.”
“And polishing more candlesticks?”
“Right.”
Marie was quiet for a moment before saying,
“Let's not serve lunch.”
“Too late.”
“This is so unfair.”
“Your wages will go up, too.”
“How much?”
“If you're doing twice the work, your wages should double, right? Isn't that right, my lady?”
“Of course. If our income doubles, your wages should go up, too.”
Marie's expression changed immediately.
“What color curtains would be good?”
As expected, wages quickly changed a person's philosophy.
That night, we finalized the lunch and dinner operating plan.
Lunch would be offered only on limited days, while dinner would focus on existing reservations.
We would keep our two days off.
There would always be a cleaning period between lunch and dinner.
Alcohol would be an optional add-on, but we would recommend pairings for each course. Naturally, the dinner pairings would cost more.
We'd start by renovating the parlor and dining area.
Maison Monbel would now become an even crazier restaurant, going from a one-table-a-day madhouse to one that sold day and night separately.
Elysia muttered blankly,
“…We're doing incredibly well.”
The lights in the village beneath Monbel Manor were multiplying.
Lanterns were lit at the construction site for the new lodgings, and people continued coming and going at the inn and tavern until late.
The meal Maison Monbel had begun selling was changing even the nights at the manor and in the village.
I watched the sight and thought,
A restaurant doesn't make money only from what's on the plate.
It sells waiting, it sells a name, it sells glasses of liquor, and it even sells the atmosphere of day and night.
And now, we were learning how to do that little by little.
“Good. Next are the curtains and candlesticks.”
Marie despaired.
“So it's cleaning in the end.”
“That's right. All luxury ultimately begins with someone cleaning.”
“Haaah.”
Marie sighed.
“Your wages are doubling.”
“Where should I start cleaning?”
“Isn't that change of attitude a little too fast?”
Elysia burst out laughing, while Uncle Bernard had already begun writing down a list of the necessary supplies.
I poured the wine the guest had left unfinished into a fresh glass and drank it.
“A toast to our future as rich people.”
The manor reflected in the wineglass looked a little more expensive than before.