Chapter 31
I was serious when I said we wouldn't sell staff meals.
Staff meals should belong to the staff.
The moment you serve it to a guest, it stops being a staff meal.
The hot broth shared only by the people in the back of the kitchen, the fried rice roughly spooned out, and the feeling of setting the whole pot on the table to eat would all disappear.
But business always pokes at the tender spots beside your convictions.
“So you're saying we won't sell what we eat?”
Marie asked.
“Yeah. Staff meals belong to the staff.”
“But you're thinking of a way to sell it, aren't you?”
“Of course.”
I wrote a new item on the ledger.
Kitchen Table, Price: 100 gold.
Marie's eyes widened when she saw the number.
“You're selling staff meals for 100 gold?”
“We're not selling staff meals.”
“Then what is this?”
“A guest meal that starts from a staff meal.”
“That's the same thing.”
“No. Staff meals are what you eat, and this is what guests pay to eat.”
“That sounds like wordplay.”
“Most of business is wordplay.”
Marie looked at me with an exasperated expression.
To be honest, I did feel a little guilty, too.
But I had my reasons for setting the price low.
100 gold was an insane price for an ordinary person, but by Maison Monbel's standards, it was low.
Since the count's courses started at 150 gold, this could serve as an entry-level offering beneath them.
However, we would leave out the trappings of a course.
No empty space on the plate, lengthy explanations, bite-sized appetizers, or a wine-pairing-focused arrangement.
Instead, there would be hot food, large bowls, generous portions, and refills.
“What's a refill?”
Marie asked.
“If you ask for more, they give you more.”
“You do that for nobles?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because nobles have never experienced anything like it.”
Many nobles had eaten their fill before.
They were probably accustomed to eating meat piled as high as mountains at banquets.
But eating a steaming bowl made directly by the chef and asking for more of the same broth was different.
It was less like abundance and more like permission.
And nobles were weak to forbidden ordinariness.
Food the staff ate, food not sold to guests.
We would refine it for guests, but still make it generous, hot, and refillable.
The nobles probably wouldn't understand.
But after eating something they didn't understand, they would attach meanings to it among themselves.
That's where the money came from.
Elysia stared down at the ledger for a while after hearing my explanation.
“It's cheaper than the count's course, but you give them more food.”
“Yes.”
“Isn't that strange?”
“It should be strange.”
“Why?”
“They mustn't feel that it's cheap. This isn't an inexpensive course; it has to be a different meal.”
“A different meal.”
“Yes. The count's course is a formal course for experiencing Maison Monbel for the first time. The Kitchen Table is a meal that lets them taste the heat of the kitchen's inner rooms. It has less formality, but it should also seem like a meal that's less accessible.”
Elysia nodded.
“So even though the price is lower, it mustn't be treated as inferior.”
“Exactly.”
“Then you can't sell it to just anyone.”
“We'll open it on a limited basis at lunchtime for guests who already have reservations. In the evening, we'll just tell them to pay for an expensive course.”
“And the alcohol?”
“Alcohol is separate.”
Marie muttered softly.
“So that's what this is really about.”
Yes, that was ultimately what it was about.
The 100-gold meal itself wouldn't produce a huge profit.
There would still be a profit—in fact, considering the cost of ingredients, the margin was absurd—but it was low compared with Maison Monbel's other courses.
But once alcohol was added, the story changed.
Especially whiskey.
It was likely to go well with the hot, powerful flavors of the Kitchen Table.
“What are you going to make for the first Kitchen Table?”
Marie asked.
I thought for a moment.
“Kimchi stew.”
Marie's expression brightened.
“That sounds delicious.”
“We'll make it less spicy than the staff version, use better meat, and serve stir-fried vegetables, toasted bread, and something like grain rice on the side. If they want more, we'll give them another serving of broth and rice.”
“Only once?”
“I think it would get strange if nobles refilled their bowls twice.”
“Why?”
“By then, they'd just be hungry people.”
A few days later, the first Kitchen Table guests arrived.
The guest was Count Bainford.
He had failed to get a reservation for a marquis's course, then grown interested after hearing about the newly introduced 100-gold meal.
He had brought his younger brother and butler with him.
All three wore slightly nervous expressions.
Nobles being nervous about a 100-gold meal was a strange sight, but these days, strange things were ordinary.
Uncle Bernard escorted them in.
“Today's meal is not a formal course. It is a hot and generous table inspired by the meals eaten by the people who work in Maison Monbel's kitchen. It is closer to warmth and strength than formality.”
Count Bainford nodded with an intrigued expression.
“I heard refills are available.”
“Yes. We can prepare one additional serving of the broth and side dishes.”
“How interesting.”
There was a hint of superiority in his tone.
He probably thought he was tasting commoners' food out of aristocratic curiosity.
That itself didn't matter. No matter what thoughts brought a guest to the table, once the food entered their mouth, the kitchen had to win.
I ladled the kimchi stew into a large bowl.
The broth was red. The meat fell apart tenderly, and the root vegetables had absorbed the broth.
The acidity of the pickled vegetables, the deep flavor of fermented bean paste, and the heat of the red spices had blended together.
Beside it, I served stir-fried vegetables, toasted bread, and grain rice in a small pot.
The dishes weren't pretty, but they were steaming.
That was the important part.
Marie carried the bowls out.
“This is today's Kitchen Table. We've prepared meat and vegetables simmered for a long time, a spicy broth, and stir-fried vegetables and grain rice on the side. Please eat comfortably.”
Count Bainford looked momentarily flustered.
“Comfortably?”
“Yes. That's the best way to eat this meal.”
Telling a noble to eat comfortably only made them uncomfortable.
At first, he held his spoon very elegantly and lifted only a small amount to his mouth.
Then he stopped.
I watched his face from behind the kitchen door.
The heat came immediately with the first spoonful.
But it wasn't heat that merely struck the tongue. The rich flavor of the meat and fermented bean paste supported it from behind, while the acidity of the pickled vegetables kept opening up his palate.
It was unfamiliar, but his body understood it.
Count Bainford scooped up a second spoonful.
This one was larger.
The count's younger brother's eyes widened as soon as he tasted it, too.
The butler was cautious at first, but soon his body began to lean slightly toward the bowl.
The fact that they were speaking less was a good sign.
When a noble forgot to speak elegantly and focused on moving his spoon, a chef could smile.
“This is…”
Count Bainford finally said after a long while.
“It's rough.”
Elysia asked calmly,
“Is it not to your taste?”
“No.”
The count took another spoonful of broth.
“Strangely, I like it.”
He mixed a little grain rice into the broth and ate it.
I applauded inwardly.
He had reached the correct answer without even being taught.
A request for a refill came soon afterward.
It came from the first guest.
“Could I have a little more broth?”
Marie answered with complete seriousness,
“Certainly.”
But the moment she returned to the kitchen, she whispered,
“Kyle, he wants a refill.”
“I know.”
“He really wants a refill.”
“Give me the bowl.”
Marie handed it over with an oddly proud expression.
I filled it with a second serving of broth.
There was slightly less meat than in the first bowl, but the broth was hotter.
A refill shouldn't be identical to the first bowl.
It was the same flavor, but the second serving was being requested by the body, so it could be a little hotter.
Count Bainford nearly finished the second bowl, too.
And toward the end of the meal, he ordered whiskey.
“You have that grain spirit as well, don't you?”
I smiled in the kitchen.
‘There it is.’
Uncle Bernard explained,
“It is a strong liquor aged in wooden barrels. It is good for finishing off the heat and oily aftertaste of today's meal. However, as it is high-proof, we recommend drinking it in small amounts.”
“Bring it.”
The whiskey was served in a small glass.
The count smelled it, took a sip, and tried to endure with dignity without coughing.
He failed.
“Ahem.”
His younger brother took a sip as well and immediately grimaced.
But neither of them put down their glasses.
Whiskey was that kind of liquor.
At first, it felt as though you had been attacked, but after swallowing it, you wanted to check it again.
“Another glass.”
Count Bainford said.
I snapped my fingers in the kitchen.
The meal cost 100 gold, but the whiskey was expensive.
And nobles wanted to prove that they could handle strong liquor.
Especially when someone was watching.
Count Bainford and his brother soon began adding glasses as if they were subtly competing with each other.
The liquor cost more than the meal.
Marie looked at the ledger with her mouth hanging open.
“Is this right?”
“Yeah.”
“It was a 100-gold meal.”
“The alcohol is separate.”
“Whiskey costs this much?”
“They drank a lot.”
“Nobles are strange.”
“You're only realizing that now?”
The first Kitchen Table was received with surprisingly high praise.
Apparently, Count Bainford said this at a social gathering:
“Maison Monbel has a meal hotter than its formal courses. It's rough, but I strangely keep thinking about it. And the grain spirit you drink afterward is very rude and excellent.”
Reservations increased because of the phrase rude and excellent.
Male nobles in particular showed interest.
Hunters, people with military experience, and those who usually found delicate courses a little stifling flocked to the Kitchen Table.
Of course, some ladies also showed curiosity.
They responded to the idea of a heat nobles had never been able to touch.
I didn't know who had come up with that phrase, but it was probably Elysia.
Usually, anything I hadn't touched was Elysia's idea.
“My lady, did you put up some strange wording for the Kitchen Table?”
“A little.”
“What did you write?”
“Warmth Beyond the Silverware.”
I was silent for a moment.
I had thought she only had a knack for management, but her marketing sense was pretty good, too.
I raised my opinion of my lady another notch in my mind.
I'd thought she was A-rank, but she was S-rank.
“…It's good.”
Elysia smiled with satisfaction.
Marie muttered softly beside her,
“Our food is getting farther and farther away from us…”
“The staff meals are staying the same. The Kitchen Table is for guests, and staff meals are for the staff. We won't cross that line.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Marie looked a little relieved.
I looked at the new pot.
Today's staff meal was fried rice.
I planned to stir-fry leftover meat trimmings, vegetables, and grain rice in a large pan, then top it with a soft-fried egg.
It was different from the Kitchen Table served to guests. This was something we would eat among ourselves.
At least today.
“Lady Monbel, I hear there's a dish made by frying rice, and apparently it's that delicious-”
Of course, it took less than a week for the rumor that the fried rice was delicious to reach the nobles' ears.