Chapter 60
The recording popularly known as <Kyle Pratt's Devil's Kitchen>—I don't even know its official title, but that's roughly what people called it—became wildly popular and was sold far and wide.
Count Klever was itching to film a follow-up as soon as possible, but I wasn't nearly as eager.
“I think making it is a good idea too, but if I devote myself solely to that, Maison Monbel will go under. I became famous as Maison Monbel's head chef, first and foremost.”
It wasn't a joke.
I had seen it in my previous life too.
The moment a head chef started running around appearing on broadcasts, working events, serving as a judge, consulting, and trading on their name, the establishment would gradually begin to wobble.
At first, more customers flocked in.
Because it had been on television, because it had become famous, because everyone said the place was so delicious.
But if the chef wasn't in the kitchen, the distinctive character that had made the restaurant famous gradually faded.
The sauces no longer tasted the same, the meat was cooked inconsistently, and the employees grew lax.
Customers didn't notice at first.
But customers at expensive restaurants eventually noticed, and stopped coming back.
I'd seen it far too many times.
Of course, fine dining had profitability problems to begin with.
Labor costs were high, ingredients were absurdly expensive, there were few seats, and the customers were demanding.
Maintaining stars cost money, and to earn money, you needed more seats—but adding seats made the quality waver.
It was a hellish structure.
Maison Monbel was no different.
We charged high prices, but spent just as much.
Of course, compared with my previous life, when almost nothing remained after paying the employees' wages, rent, and everything else, we had solved the profitability problem by charging nobles absurdly high prices. But that meant expanding our profits any further would be difficult.
If I wanted to earn more here, I would have to give up quality. Then Maison Monbel could no longer live up to its reputation.
“Then it won't be easy to generate additional profits from Maison Monbel.”
Count Klever looked crestfallen.
Elysia said while looking over the ledger,
“Does that mean Maison Monbel itself has reached its limit?”
“Yes. If we recklessly increase the number of seats to earn more, the food will eventually suffer.”
“That can't happen.”
“That's why we need another source of income.”
Marie asked from beside me,
“What are you trying to sell this time?”
I thought for a moment.
“Food.”
“We already sell that.”
“Cheap food.”
The kitchen fell silent.
I wrote a new name on one side of the ledger.
A mass-market restaurant brand.
Elysia narrowed her eyes as she read the words.
“A restaurant cheaper than Maison Monbel?”
“Yes. But we'll sell a lot. There'll be no set course, reservations won't be complicated, and explanations won't be long. We'll use good ingredients while increasing table turnover, simplify staff training, and reduce the menu to a few items.”
Marie's eyes lit up immediately.
“Like staff meals?”
“That's where we can start.”
The staff meals at Maison Monbel had been unusually well received.
Spicy meat broth, crispy potato pancakes, a grain dish similar to fried rice, chicken-broth rice soup, and baked potatoes topped with Western cheese.
The nobles ate them out of curiosity at first, then came to genuinely like them.
All we had to do was organize them a little.
I said,
“At expensive restaurants, you build a reputation; at cheap restaurants, you have to make money.”
Elysia's eyes lit up.
“That's a good way to put it.”
“Don't get too excited. Selling cheaply is difficult. At an expensive restaurant, one mistake can be spun into a story, but with cheap food, customers notice immediately. It has to fill them up, be fast, and make them want to come back.”
“Then what's the first menu item?”
I didn't hesitate.
“Broth.”
“Broth?”
“Something hot and rich that can be eaten with rice or bread. We'll simmer meat and root vegetables until tender, adjust the spiciness, and offer it in three levels. Customers can choose according to their tastes, then pay extra for additional meat, cheese, or bread.”
Marie raised her hand.
“I like that.”
“I know.”
“When are we opening?”
“We haven't even settled on a name yet.”
“As for the name…”
“A Restaurant for the Masses. Customers should know immediately just by looking at the sign.”
Count Klever made a suggestion.
“Then how about something like ‘Monbel Table’?”
Elysia shook her head.
“It's too closely associated with Maison Monbel. It could dilute the high-end image, so I'm against it.”
She was right.
I thought for a moment, then said,
“Then let's use a separate name. Monbel will run it behind the scenes, but to customers, it'll just look like a casual place to eat.”
Uncle Bernard asked,
“Where would be a good place for the first branch?”
“Near the Klever Hotel.”
Everyone looked at me.
“That's already where the customers with Maison Monbel reservations gather. There are plenty of people who failed to get reservations, servants, attendants, travelers, and merchants. We can sell them a quick, tasty meal.”
Elysia immediately began calculating.
“If we coordinate with the hotel, we can secure meals for hotel guests too.”
Count Klever nodded as well.
“Good. In any case, everything sold in this town earns revenue for House Monbel and me, so the more sources of income we have, the better.”
“But it has to be separate from Maison Monbel's kitchen. We can't run it with the same staff. If the employees here take that on too, both places will fail.”
Marie said,
“Then who will run it?”
“Good candidates among those eliminated in the selection. People working in the hotel kitchen. And people who can follow the recipes we've taught them.”
“Will it taste exactly the same?”
“It doesn't need to be exactly the same. It just needs to be consistent.”
A restaurant for the masses didn't need a genius like me.
Instead, it needed a system that would keep running no matter who was put in charge.
It had to serve the same broth every day, send it out at the same speed, and fill people up for the same price.
“I want people to be passing by and naturally think, ‘Should I eat there today?’ Not on a special occasion, but on an ordinary day.”
Elysia smiled quietly.
“Then Maison Monbel is where you eat on special occasions, and the new restaurant is where you eat on ordinary days. You intend to capture both markets.”
“Yes. If we sell one expensive meal a day, we can only earn that much, but if we sell expensive and cheap meals at the same time, we can earn from both sides.”
“Excellent!”
Count Klever's eyes shone.
I closed the ledger.
In my previous life, I had pushed myself too hard trying to do everything.
I did broadcasts, made meal kits, ran events, and looked after the restaurant at the same time.
In the end, I died of overwork on the kitchen floor.
I had made a mountain of money, but died without ever getting to spend it.
I didn't even have a family, so all that wealth simply vanished into thin air.
I had even lost all the people who cared about me, including my ex-girlfriend.
This life would be different.
I couldn't do everything myself.
I would look after Maison Monbel, but for something like the restaurant for the masses, I planned to stay only lightly involved in its operations.
That was the only way to make it last.
Marie asked,
“So are today's staff meals the test menu for the new brand?”
I smiled.
“Yeah.”
“What are you making?”
“Spicy meat broth and baked potatoes topped with Western cheese.”
Marie jumped to her feet.
“I'll help.”
As expected, she moved quickly whenever staff meals were involved.
Elysia stood as well.
“I want to taste it too.”
“I'll bring two servings.”
Count Klever stepped forward too.
“I'll taste it as well.”
“Your Excellency, would you be all right without a proper course?”
“We need to eat quickly and get moving. Time is money, Kyle Pratt.”
I was impressed all over again.
If you dropped this man into modern-day South Korea, he'd probably become a huge business success within a year.
Back in the kitchen, I took out a pot.
As I prepared today's meal, I casually thought about what I would do going forward.
Maison Monbel would remain an expensive restaurant.
A restaurant where nobles fought over one meal a day, the emperor requested catering, and mages did somersaults in midair.
But beneath that, a restaurant would appear where people could come in more easily, eat a bowl of hot soup, and leave.
I muttered as I turned up the heat,
“This time, I won't cling to a single kitchen until the day I die.”
Marie, who was helping beside me, asked,
“What did you say?”
“Nothing. Wash the potatoes.”
After washing potatoes in silence for a while, Marie tossed out a comment.
“You know you need to rest when it's time to rest, right?”
“Of course…”
I was about to say that of course I knew, when I suddenly realized once again that I still didn't really understand it.
“…Got it. I'll try.”