Chapter 6 It’s MeYour Work Chocolates
It’s Me or Your Work Chocolates
“I’m not sure if I even want to know, but what exactly is going on with you two?” Iori, who’d returned from buying coffee beans, said in a mocking tone. Sitting at the counter, Hozumi and I were in the middle of a small conflict.
“Oh, hi,” I said to Iori. “Hold on, I’ll get started on the prep as soon as I’m done with this.” Firmly gripping Hozumi’s thumb with both my hands, I forcefully pushed it toward his phone. Shown on the screen was a review app.
“Come on, we can’t keep Iori waiting. Please, Hozumi. Just do it. Just tap on it!”
“I will not! I will never give it five stars!”
“Why the hell not? The new dish is so good. It’s worthy of five stars, isn’t it?”
“Listen, my reviews are sacred. I put my heart and soul into them. I’m not going to ruin that with favoritism. Besides, I told you already that I have a policy of only reviewing sweet foods.”
“Stop being so stubborn!”
“I’m the stubborn one?”
“Where do you guys get all your energy from?” Iori said coldly as he heaved a paper bag onto the counter.
But this was a matter of life and death! I’d finally managed to come up with a new dish to add to the menu. The ruthless saleswoman inside of me had awakened, and I wasn’t about to give up on an opportunity for a good review.
I knew in my head that one little five-star review from Hozumi wasn’t going to solve my problems. But still, I was so desperate, I couldn’t help myself. October was here, and that meant we were now in a period I called “the Month of the Devil.”
Generally speaking, the restaurant industry experiences a slowdown during the months of February and August. It even has a name for it: nippachi (ni as in two, and pachi as in eight).
But for whatever reason, in every single branch that I was ever in charge of, October was the month where we saw the most decline in sales.
I must have jinxed myself, because just as I feared, Amayadori was suffering from a huge drop in the number of customers.
As a desperate measure to improve the situation, I had invented a new meal, the “Meat Feast,” that Hozumi was now trying for the first time.
“I admit that it is delicious,” Hozumi said, breaking free from my grip and pushing his phone back into his pocket.
“Of course it is. I begged Adachi to give us the highest-quality meats. It has to be good.”
As the name suggested, my concept behind the Meat Feast was a meal that allowed customers to “indulge themselves in meat.” The meal included a bowl of rice, miso soup, pickled vegetables, a rolled omelet, and fermented soybeans, as well as the meat dish of the day (although on most days, that dish was going to be grilled chicken with herbs, which was guaranteed to fill up people’s stomachs despite its low cost).
With many of our recent customers being office workers, I’d wanted to serve them a hearty meal they could tuck into during their lunch break quickly.
But glancing around the deserted café, I let out a sigh.
“The dish itself is pretty good, I think. What am I missing?”
Just as I was beginning to ponder this question, I heard the door creak. I felt a rush of cold air as the autumn breeze swept inside.
I jumped out of my seat, smoothed down my apron, and turned toward the door.
“I-ira…irasshaimase!” I was so startled, I stumbled over my words.
The woman standing before me was tall. Really tall.
I had to lift my head quite a bit to get to her level.
She was almost a head taller than me, likely standing around six feet tall.
She wore a simple blazer in light gray and white tapered pants.
Her hair was tied back, and although she was dressed rather plainly in business casual attire, there was something about her that drew my gaze.
Her eyes darted around the café inquisitively. Before setting herself down on the sofa by the window, she said in a quiet voice, “Could I have the one written on the signboard outside? The Meat Feast.”
“Oh, of course. Coming right up!”
Yes! Not only was she having the new dish, she was also a first-time customer.
I hurriedly prepared the grilled chicken with herbs.
She must be on her work break right now, I thought to myself as I ladled out the miso soup. I hoped that she would find the meal nourishing.
—
“Excuse me, I’m still waiting for the Meat Feast?” The woman raised her hand with a deadpan expression on her face.
Around forty minutes had passed since I had served the woman her meal, and I had been recounting the money in the cash register.
Huh?
I did serve her, didn’t I?
I did. I’m sure of it.
I even remembered saying, “It’s hot, so please take care,” as well as the sound of the sauce sizzling on the hot plate.
“Umm…I believe I served you the grilled chicken earlier?” I said, pulling out the menu from my pocket and showing her a picture of the dish.
She took the menu from me with her slender fingers and spent some time staring intently at the image. She then looked me straight in the eyes, and sounding truly flabbergasted, she said, “That was the Meat Feast?”
What did she mean by that?
I stood there, an awkward smile affixed on my face. Turning around, I found Iori worriedly peering out of the kitchen.
Help me, I said to him silently. I don’t know what I’ve done wrong!
The woman sat unmoving with her hand on her cheek, apparently deep in thought. Eventually, she mumbled to herself, “Ah, right, I understand.”
Understand what?
She drained her glass of water and suddenly sprang to her feet.
“I’m sorry for saying something so odd. Thank you for the meal.”
She pulled out her wallet, placed her money on the cash tray by the till, and dashed out of the café.
“Th-thank you! Hey, wait!”
I noticed that the money she had left was a ten-thousand-yen bill.
Ten thousand yen? But the meal was only 980 yen!
“You forgot your change!”
I tried to chase after her, but the tall woman had already disappeared.
Back inside, Iori and I looked at each other before casting a glance at the ten-thousand-yen bill in my hand.
“What just happened?”
“We’ll start with the short ribs and the beef tongue. Oh, and we’d also like a plate of offal, please.”
Before Funeral Committee night that week, we decided to have a meal at a popular yakiniku restaurant in the local shopping district.
I could have easily whipped up some dishes using the leftovers in the fridge, but something had made me want to come here.
Perhaps it was because what had happened with the customer earlier was still bothering me.
Maybe the customer was just a little bit weird.
But I couldn’t get her facial expression out of my mind when she said, “That was the Meat Feast?” Maybe I was imagining it, but it seemed that the look that slowly spread across her face was one of sheer devastation.
As a chef, it hurt me—it really, really hurt.
And so here I was, doing a bit of research into what “good meat” truly entailed.
It was a small restaurant, but most of the seats were occupied. Plumes of smoke billowed from the meat sizzling on the gridiron. It was like sitting in an oven. I rolled up the sleeves of my sweater and quenched my thirst with cold oolong tea.
“By the way, Momo-chan, at the last Funeral Committee—” Iori suddenly stopped mid-sentence, open-mouthed.
“What is it, Iori? Are you okay?”
Iori was seemingly paralyzed. His eyes were riveted on a point to his right. He looked as though he’d been turned to stone by Medusa.
Hozumi and I followed Iori’s gaze to find a woman tucking into her meal with such relish, I almost wanted to give her a round of applause for her sensational performance.
Filling her cheeks with a chunky piece of skirt steak, she shoveled some rice into her mouth before washing everything down with seaweed soup.
As she did so, she neatly laid out four thin slices of beef tongue on the hot gridiron.
Turning them over almost immediately, she topped them with the accompanying green onion relish, leaving them to cook.
In the meantime, she picked up a piece of prime rib that she had pre-dipped in a sauce-filled plate, wrapped it around some rice, and ate it in one bite.
She then placed some meat on a piece of Korean lettuce and, using her fingers, shoved the whole thing into her mouth.
She didn’t bother wiping her greasy fingers off before sucking up more rice like a vacuum.
It was a brief moment, probably less than a minute, but it felt as though she was frozen in time—no, it was as though the world had come to a standstill and she was the only one moving.
Her bangs were apparently now getting in her way.
She combed her fingers through her hair and tied it back, revealing her large almond eyes and long pale-skinned neck.
The woman and I locked eyes.
“Oh,” she said.
“Oh! It’s you!” I proclaimed.
How did I not notice before?
“You’re the Meat Feast girl! I still owe you your change. I wish I had it with me.”
I owed her precisely 9,020 yen. I was glad to have run into her.
But she shook her head at my words.
“Actually, that was kind of…an apology. It’s not the first time I’ve messed up like that.”
“You messed up? What do you mean?”
“Not that I want you to get the wrong impression. I’m not some weirdo. I might not look like it right now, but I am the section head at a book publisher. I even have around ten people working under me!”
“Okay…what were you apologizing for?”
She took a sip of her beer.
“I probably shouldn’t have made it so obvious that the ‘Meat Feast’ didn’t live up to its name in any way.”
Ah. So I hadn’t imagined the look of devastation after all.
“You mean…it wasn’t good?”
I rarely had the chance to receive such honest feedback from customers, so I wanted to seize this opportunity. Most customers kept their complaints to themselves. And if not, they posted a bad review online or mentioned their bad dining experience to a friend; it was never to my face.