Chapter 63
‘One Bowl’ opened its doors.
The sign was incredibly simple.
A large single bowl on a wooden board.
Beneath it, in small letters, were the words hot broth and bread.
“This should be enough for commoners and nobles alike to come in and eat on their own.”
On opening day, I didn’t enter the kitchen.
Of course, I wanted to.
I needed to check the condition of the pots, the doneness of the meat, the customers’ flow through the restaurant, and even how the employees held the bowls.
But if I entered the kitchen, the employees would only look at me.
Then it would mean that the restaurant couldn’t operate without me, and that I would have to take on a commanding role here as well as at Maison Monbel.
That wouldn’t do.
A restaurant for the masses had to run on a system.
So I draped myself in an old cloak, pulled my hat low, and sat in a corner of the restaurant pretending to be a customer.
Marie said the moment she saw me.
“Suspicious.”
“Be quiet.”
“Extremely suspicious. Anyone can tell you’re a chef sneaking around in secret.”
“I’m a customer.”
“Customers don’t stare obsessively toward the kitchen like that.”
I tried to turn my gaze away from the kitchen as naturally as possible.
As expected, the first customers came from the hotel.
Two merchants, a wagoner, and three servants from a noble household who had come to try for reservations at Maison Monbel and failed.
The three servants already looked crestfallen when they entered.
“Fuck, we’re screwed.”
The tallest servant said that the moment he sat down.
“The master clearly told us we absolutely had to get one this time.”
“We submitted our request at exactly nine in the morning.”
“There must have been people who submitted theirs faster than we did.”
“How is that possible? We submitted it the moment the bell rang.”
“Reservations at Maison Monbel are impossible in the first place.”
I pretended to drink water in my corner while listening closely.
They seemed to be servants of some count’s household.
Their master had failed to make a reservation at Maison Monbel several times and ordered them to succeed this time, but they had failed again.
A noble’s servant failing to secure a meal reservation for their master was a bigger problem than one might expect.
If the master was kind, it would end with a sigh, but if not, the whole day would be ruined.
The shortest servant muttered as he looked over the menu.
“Still, let’s eat something before we go back. It’ll be even more miserable if we get scolded on empty stomachs.”
“I heard Maison Monbel set this place up.”
“Then isn’t it expensive?”
“It should be cheaper than Maison Monbel. The cost of one meal there makes my yearly wages look like a joke.”
They ordered two clear meat broths and one spicy broth.
The kitchen sprang into action as soon as the order came in.
Broth was ladled from a large pot, precooked meat was added, and aromatic greens and bread were served alongside it.
The employees still looked a little tense, but their workflow was decent.
The bowls were going out at a reasonable pace, too.
At least the first hurdle had been cleared.
Before long, bowls were set in front of the servants.
The tall servant took a spoonful of clear broth.
At first, his expression didn’t change.
But starting with the second spoonful, his pace changed.
He tore off some bread and dipped it into the broth, picked up a piece of meat, then silently took another drink of broth.
The servant beside him asked,
“How is it?”
The tall servant didn’t answer and simply kept eating.
I smiled to myself as I watched him.
‘It’s a success.’
Spoons don’t lie.
The servant who had ordered the spicy broth took one bite and opened his eyes wide.
Perhaps the spicy aroma was unfamiliar to him, because he coughed briefly, but soon he was dipping his bread deep into the broth.
Then he scooped up a potato and munched on it, and his expression visibly relaxed.
“This is kind of strange.”
“Why?”
“I’m supposed to go get scolded, but I feel a little better.”
The three of them fell silent for a moment.
Then they all laughed at the same time.
It was a weak laugh, but it was definitely a laugh.
“It really is.”
The short servant drank some broth and said,
“It’s warm, so I feel a little more alive.”
“What if the master says something?”
“At least I’ll have a full stomach before they hit me. Fuck, if they want it that badly, they should come themselves…”
“Watch what you say.”
“Who cares? Our master isn’t here.”
They began eating again.
Their initially dejected expressions were fading.
In their place sat customers who were sweating a little, ordering more bread, and debating whether to add extra meat to their broth.
Soon, the tall servant raised his hand.
“Excuse me, could I order another bowl of this?”
An employee approached, briefly looking startled.
“The same?”
“Yes. No, make it spicy this time. I tried my friend’s, and I think that one will be better before I get scolded again.”
“I’ll have another one too.”
The short servant raised his hand as well.
“I’ll have the clear broth. Could you give me extra broth?”
The employee answered with a smile.
“Extra broth is available. Would you like more bread too?”
“Yes, please.”
The three servants began eating their second bowls.
I watched them from my corner.
Customers at Maison Monbel stopped after their first plate, holding their breath.
They took in the aromas, listened to the story, and thought about what kind of experience they had entered.
That was good in its own way.
But the servants in front of me now were different.
They simply ate without thinking.
They blew on it because it was hot, drank water because it was spicy, and used bread to mop up the broth as if wiping their bowls clean.
Then they looked at one another and laughed with faces that seemed a little more alive.
For some reason, I liked the sight.
Cooking could make people cry, surprise them, or make nobles reflect on their lives.
But sometimes, it was enough to fill the stomach of someone on their way to be scolded and make them feel just a little better.
That was a small but powerful thing.
Marie slipped into the seat beside me.
Of course, she hadn’t exactly acted like a customer.
“You look pleased.”
“Do I?”
“Yeah. By my standards, this place looks successful too.”
The restaurant gradually began to fill up.
Wagoners from the hotel came in, and porters working in the market followed the smell inside.
Some people hesitated at the price list, but sat down after seeing the people at a neighboring table drain their broth.
The kitchen grew busy, but it didn’t collapse.
For the first day, this wasn’t bad.
The three servants eventually ate two bowls each and left.
Before leaving, the tall servant hesitated in front of the counter and asked an employee,
“Can we get this to go?”
The employee looked flustered.
We hadn’t prepared for takeout yet.
I made a small gesture from my corner.
The employee’s eyes widened when he saw me, but he quickly composed himself and said,
“Not today, but we’ll have it ready soon.”
“Then we’ll come again—if we survive being scolded by our master.”
He said that and laughed.
The other two servants also left the restaurant with somewhat lighter expressions.
Their footsteps were less heavy than when they had entered.
The moment I saw that, I became certain.
This business would succeed.
Maison Monbel is a restaurant where nobles vie over reservations.
One Bowl is a restaurant for the people enlisted in securing those reservations.
The people who stand in line for their masters, send letters, endure being yelled at, drive carriages, and carry loads.
The people who keep moving outside those expensive tables.
A place where they can come in hungry, eat hot broth, and keep going through the rest of the day.
It was a very good business model.
I stood up and went to the counter.
The employee looked tense when he saw me.
“How was it, Chef?”
I said quietly,
“Don’t call me Chef in front of customers. Here, I’m just a customer.”
“Ah, yes.”
“And the broth was good. But the spicy one may start to taste a little salty from the second bowl onward. If someone orders extra meat, use half a ladle less broth and mix in just a little hot water. Give customers who order extra bread plenty of broth.”
The employee nodded immediately.
“Yes.”
“We need to prepare takeout containers too. Someone will definitely want to take some back to the hotel.”
Marie said from beside me,
“So the servants can eat it without their masters knowing?”
“They can take it to their master, too, or eat it among themselves.”
“Then it’ll sell even more.”
“Yeah.”
I looked at the empty bowls piling up in the kitchen.
For now, today had been a good enough start.
Then the door opened again.
The short servant who had left earlier poked his head in.
He said with an embarrassed expression,
“Um… could I buy just a little more broth to take with me? Our wagoner smelled it outside and said he wanted some too. He has to keep watching the horses, so he can’t leave the carriage, but could I take a bowl out for just a moment…? I’ll return the bowl right away.”
I nodded while suppressing a laugh.
“Of course. Just wait a moment, and we’ll have it ready for you.”
The servant entered with a brightened expression.
Marie said quietly beside me,
“It’s completely different from Maison Monbel.”
“That’s why it works.”
I pulled my hat down farther and returned to my corner.
I wanted to watch a little longer.
I wanted to sit there pretending to be a customer and watch my food being sold without my name attached to it.
This was pretty thrilling in its own way.