Starting from a Bankrupt Sichuan Cuisine Restaurant

Huang He couldn’t care less about that right now. He frowned and said, "Zhou Yan made this braised meat, but the flavor is identical to what Mrs. Zhang used to make. What does that tell you?"

"It means Zhou Yan has inherited Mrs. Zhang’s legacy and recreated the braised meat that took Jiazhou by storm back in the day," Huang Ying chimed in. "He’s just incredible!"

"That’s my daughter, all right! You have a sharp palate for delicious food and the keen insight to solve problems. Bringing back this braised meat has solved a huge problem for us," Huang He praised.

"In plain English, what’s your plan now?" Zhao Shulan said.

"Our goal for Feiyan Restaurant is to become the number one restaurant in Jiazhou. If we’re going to add braised meat to the menu, it has to be the best." Huang He looked at Zhao Shulan and said, "I plan to head to Suji right now to discuss a partnership with Zhou Yan. I want him to supply braised meat for Feiyan Restaurant, just like Mrs. Zhang did back in the day."

With that, he started for the door.

"Stop right there!" Zhao Shulan grabbed his arm and glanced around. "Come on. Follow me to the private room upstairs."

Huang Ying scurried to keep up.

After closing the door, Zhao Shulan took an abacus from a cabinet. Following a flurry of CLACKS, she looked at Huang He and said, "This braised meat is certainly good, better than what others make. But have you considered this? If we use a large quantity, say, fifty jin a day..."

"Hiring our own cold-dish chef would cost two hundred yuan a month. But if we make just fifty cents more in profit per jin of braised meat, that’s twenty-five yuan a day. A month, that’s seven hundred and fifty yuan. Over a year, we could earn an extra five thousand."

Huang He listened, then smiled and shook his head. "Shulan, you’re better with numbers than I am, but that’s not how you do the math for this."

"Then tell me how you do it." Zhao Shulan pushed the abacus in front of Huang He.

"I don’t need an abacus for this," Huang He said with a smile. "You tell me, if you just hire some random cold-dish chef, what guarantee do you have that customers will order fifty jin of braised meat a day? But I’ve seen the craze with my own eyes. A hundred jin of braised meat, completely sold out in a single day—half for dine-in, half for takeout. Some wealthy families holding banquets even sent their servants to the restaurant to pack some up to take home."

"Why?"

"Customers come for that one-of-a-kind flavor. It’s unforgettable. They can’t get it at any other restaurant, so after trying other places, they have to come back to you."

"Let me give you an example. Braised pig’s head meat sells for two-point-two yuan a jin elsewhere. If we use *this* specific braised pig’s head meat, slice a four-liang portion, arrange it on our finest platter, and serve it on a table in this private room, we could sell it for two yuan."

"If customers try it and love the taste, they’ll come back and order it again. If they’re hosting important guests at home, they’ll gladly buy some from us to serve. Then those guests will love it, ask where it came from, and come to our restaurant for their next meal."

"When braised meat is this good, it becomes a main course. Do you really think customers come back dreaming about our private rooms? Wrong. They come back for that unforgettable flavor."

"That’s an account an abacus can’t balance."

"Back in the day, my old man’s biggest regret was not being able to get Mrs. Zhang’s braised dishes. Now that Zhou Yan has carried on that legacy, I’m absolutely going to continue the tradition."

Huang Ying was lost in thought after hearing this.

Zhao Shulan pondered for a moment, then nodded. "I think you have a point, but selling a serving of braised pig’s head meat for two yuan is still a rash decision."

The corners of Huang He’s mouth curved up into a grin wide enough to hang a teapot on. It was a rare thing indeed to hear her agree with him.

"It was just an example! Of course, you’ll be the one setting the prices; you’re the pro," Huang He said, not daring to get too smug. "If we buy in bulk, we can definitely negotiate with Zhou Yan. When my old man bought from Mrs. Zhang, he got a price twenty percent below retail. We should be able to negotiate a similar deal."

Zhao Shulan nodded slightly. She looked at Huang Ying and asked, "Huang Ying, what are his selling prices?"

"Braised pig’s head is two-point-five yuan a jin, braised pig’s ears and snout are three yuan a jin, and braised pig’s trotters are one-point-two yuan each," Huang Ying replied quickly.

"The prices are comparable to the bigger braised-dish shops in Jiazhou. Our restaurant sells by the serving, so we can achieve a fifty-percent gross margin," Zhao Shulan said with a nod. "And we wouldn’t need to hire a new cold-dish chef—we can just have the kitchen assistant handle the slicing. Our procurement won’t be cluttered with a lot of new items, either. The revenue from the braised meat would be almost entirely additional profit."

"Then it’s a go!" Huang He clapped his hands, saying excitedly, "I’m leaving right now!"

"What’s the big rush? Got ants in your pants?" Zhao Shulan held him back, a note of exasperation in her voice. "I know how excited you are about this braised meat, but we need to have our numbers straight before we negotiate. For instance, what’s your target price per jin for the pig’s head meat? One-eighty or two yuan? You need to think about that twenty-cent difference now, because once you name a price, you can’t take it back."

"You’re right. I was getting ahead of myself." Huang He pulled out a chair and sat down. He had Huang Ying bring over a pen and paper and asked Zhao Shulan to calculate the target prices for the different meats, based on a twenty percent discount from the retail price.

"Let’s go. I’m coming with you." Zhao Shulan grabbed a bag from nearby, slung it over her shoulder, and tucked the torn-off price list inside.

...

"Brother, are you going to mail a letter to Yaoyao?" Zhou Momo asked, scampering over when she saw Zhou Yan holding an envelope.

"Mhm. Do you have a new masterpiece for me?" Zhou Yan asked, smiling down at her.

"Look." Zhou Momo pulled a drawing from behind her back and presented it to Zhou Yan as if it were a treasure.

The drawing depicted a kitchen with a large stove and a large wok. A man in white was standing at the stove, stir-frying something with a spatula in his hand.

The figure was a bit abstract, yet it was surprisingly beautiful.

’The color combination is perfect.’

’This little girl can’t even draw a straight line, yet she’s able to find the perfect colors to make the picture feel so harmonious and pleasant.’

’It’s a busy but cozy kitchen.’

"This is amazing! Is it for me?" Zhou Yan asked after studying it for a long while, finally looking down at the little girl.

The little girl shook her head. "It’s for Yaoyao."

"But you drew me," Zhou Yan laughed.

The little girl nodded enthusiastically. "Yep! Yep! I was afraid Yaoyao might forget you, so I drew you to send to her. That way, she can see you every day."

Looking at Zhou Momo’s sparkling eyes, Zhou Yan felt unexpectedly touched.

’What is this?’

’Is she trying to help me chase after her future sister-in-law?’

’I really don’t know what to do with her.’

"Alright, I’ll mail it to her along with my letter." Zhou Yan went to the table, carefully folded the drawing, took out his own letter, and unscrewed his fountain pen to add a couple of lines at the end.

He added a final postscript: This was not something he had asked Zhou Momo to draw!

He immediately regretted writing it.

’It felt like protesting too much, like putting up a sign that says "No buried treasure here."’

’Cringe.’

’Whatever.’ He couldn’t be bothered to rewrite the whole thing, so he just folded the letter with the drawing and stuffed them both into the envelope.

He took Zhou Momo with him and headed out. They first made a detour to Zhang’s to buy three jin of puffed rice candy and one jin of peanut brittle, then went to the post office to mail the package and the letter to Xia Yao.

’It was all about reciprocity. She sent Momo crayons; he sent back some snacks.’

Zhou Momo sat on a bench outside the post office, hugging a bag of puffed rice candy. She held a piece in her hand, chewing with relish. CRUNCH, MUNCH, CRUNCH.

The sight made the old doorkeeper’s mouth water.

The little girl wasn’t one to keep treats to herself. She grabbed a piece, got up, and offered it to the old man. "Grandpa, you have some too!" she said in her high, sweet voice.

"No, you eat it. Grandpa doesn’t need any," the old man said, waving his hands dismissively.

"Go on, I have plenty." Zhou Momo pressed the candy into his hand and gave him a proud little smile. "It’s really yummy~"

"Alright then," the old man chuckled.

When Zhou Yan came out of the post office, he took her hand. "Come on, let’s go home."

"Bye-bye, Grandpa!" Zhou Momo remembered to turn and wave goodbye.

"Goodbye." The old man waved back, his smile so wide his eyes nearly vanished. Only after their bicycle disappeared around the corner did he lift the puffed rice candy and take a bite.

’Mm, that’s perfectly sweet!’

’When I get home, I’m gonna give that good-for-nothing son of mine a walloping. How is it he still hasn’t given me a granddaughter!’

...

Zhou Yan knew Huang He would come, but he hadn’t expected him to be this quick.

He had just returned to his shop when the couple’s bicycles rolled up to the entrance.

Huang He dismounted, stood at the entrance, and said with a smile, "Zhou Yan, I have something I’d like to discuss with you."

-----------------

(Puffed rice candy)