Chapter 5 — Tomorrow's Kitchen

Three crates of vegetables stood in front of the Kitchen House door since the market was still early in the morning.

Put them down, put the bills on the lid and use an ice cube to keep them from flying. When Khoi arrived, he was untying the motorbike's straps. Binh's raincoat was still wet, his hair smelled of dew and car exhaust.

“Delivered so early today?” Khoi asked.

"Not delivered. Return it."

Khoi looked at the bundles of cabbage, pumpkin, tomatoes and herbs arranged together. A bunch of cabbage with bruised outer leaves. Tomatoes are still hard. Binh would never deliver goods like that if there was no problem.

"How much?"

"Thirty-eight million old money. Seven million more this month."

“Mom said to pay next week.”

“Next week is the sentence I heard last month.”

Binh gave the bill to Khoi. The small lines record each time the vegetables are paid late, how much is taken on what day, and who signs for it. Most of the signatures are from Lan's mother. Some are Vy's. There are two lines written by Khoi from the days when he returned for summer vacation, when he still thought recording ingredients was just a manager's job.

“I can't turn off the stove,” Khoi said.

"I also cannot open the warehouse to get vegetables for the shop when the wholesale stall owner has kept my car."

Khoi looked up. “They kept the car?”

"I borrowed money to pay for the goods. If you don't give it to me this afternoon, they'll keep it."

Binh spoke as if quoting the price of radishes, without a tone of reproach. It was that calmness that made Khoi feel more awkward.

Ha ran out from the kitchen. She looked at the three boxes of vegetables and then looked at Binh. “Wait until I call Lan's mother.”

“Don't call her,” Binh said. “I don't want her to ask for more.”

Khoi opened a box. Vegetables are fresh. He held a bunch of cabbage and pressed the stem with his hand. The crunch is still good, but the outer leaves are crushed. The stove can cut out part of it. If you don't buy, Bep Nha has to go to the market to get retail goods, the price is higher and the source is unknown.

Vy walked out, phone in hand. “Fourteen million left in the account.”

“Not enough to pay.”

"Not to pay. Enough to pay this week's salary and electricity bill."

Khoi looked at Binh. “If I pay seven million today, you communicate?”

"I deliver, but the money must go exactly to the amount I need to pay. It doesn't have to be deducted."

Vy said: "If you pay Binh first, the other payments will be late."

“If you don't return Binh, there will be no vegetables tomorrow,” Ha replied.

No one raised their voice. The calmer you are, the more the numbers look like heavy objects.

Lan's mother arrived ten minutes later, wearing a thin coat. She listened to Binh, then asked him to come in and drink water. Binh shook his head.

"Miss Lan, I'm not coming in. I have to make another trip."

“Binh, I would like five more days.”

"I don't ask you to pay it all. Please give me a payment schedule with a specific date."

Lan's mother looked at the bill. “On Friday you pay seven million.”

“Where does seven million come from?”

“The shop sells.”

“What if you can't sell it?”

Lan's mother did not answer.

Khoi asked Binh: "Can you deliver half of this? Choose celery for six dishes, we pay on the day according to revenue."

Binh looked at him. “You want me to turn into a bank?”

“I want to find a way so that both of us don't lose our jobs.”

"You talk like someone in the middle. But money always forces someone to stand below."

The bottle points to the vegetable bin. "I buy vegetables at the wholesaler and pay on the same day. If the shop pays me based on revenue, I still have to pay the seller with my own money."

Khoi had no answer. He realized he was asking Binh to take the risk of replacing the restaurant, just because the restaurant needed more time.

Ha opened a box and took out a bunch of spinach. "If you don't have enough money to buy everything, choose something that can be used in many dishes. Water spinach, broccoli, pumpkin. Don't buy a whole box of tomatoes."

Vy said: “Tomatoes for tofu and fish.”

“Those two items weren't sold enough this week.”

Khoi looked at the tasting board. Tofu is accepted by many people after adding spices, and braised fish is ordered regularly. “Get half a crate of tomatoes.”

Binh frowned. “I don't sell half a barrel.”

"I bought the whole box. But if you leave an item that doesn't make enough revenue, I won't ask you to take it back."

Binh looked at each person. “You guys are cutting the menu and still want me to deliver the same thing.”

Khoi bent over the bill. “Yes. It was my fault.”

He took a pen and crossed out all the items that no one was responsible for. Then write a list of six vegetables, specific quantities for three days. Vy asked what if she sold more. Khoi said that when selling more, call Binh before taking more.

Binh took the paper and read it carefully. "If I deliver these six types this afternoon, today's payment will be three million. Friday another four million. The remainder will be divided into four installments, each recorded on a separate invoice."

Vy calculates quickly. “The shop probably won't have four million on Friday.”

“So write one and a half million?” Binh asked.

Vy im. Lan's mother looked at her daughter. “Recording numbers can be done.”

Vy wrote: "Friday — 1.5 million; next Tuesday — 2 million; the rest according to the new schedule."

Binh signed. He took his phone and took a photo of the paper, then said to Khoi: "Listen clearly. Just because I hand over less doesn't mean I trust you guys more. I hand over because I have the paper, and because I want to know where I stand."

Khoi nodded. "I get it."

Binh walked a few steps then turned back. "There's one more thing. Don't put crushed vegetables in the pot and say the customer doesn't know. I can choose second-rate goods, but I have to know what second-grade goods are."

Ha replied: "The kitchen will write it on the board."

"I don't need a pretty sign. I need a consignee who won't sign for me."

Khoi looked at Vy. She realized who that sentence was aimed at. In the past, the kitchen staff received the goods when it was crowded, signed for them to be delivered in full, and then discovered the shortage at the end of the day.

“From today, the consignee must take a photo before opening the box,” Khoi said.

Binh nodded. “Okay then.”

When Binh's car left, Lan's mother sat down on the doorstep. She said nothing. Khoi sat next to him.

“How many times has Mom asked for Binh?”

“Don't remember.”

“Are you going to pay?”

“I plan to pay each time.”

“But no one knows when each time is.”

Lan's mother looked at her hands. "I'm afraid that if I say something but I can't do it, people will lose faith."

Khoi thought about last night's text message: don't let customers know the restaurant is closing. Lan's mother lived by covering up her shortcomings, not because she wanted to deceive anyone, but because she thought others didn't need to worry anymore.

“But when I don't say anything, they guess,” Khoi said.

Lan's mother sighed. “What do you want to say to the guests?”

"Don't know yet. But at least tell the person delivering the goods."

Lan's mother stood up. “I'm learning how to annoy you.”

“I thought mom would be happy.”

“I'm glad you asked.”

At noon, Khoi changes the menu. Stir-fried water spinach with garlic is added to the market's dishes. Halve the tomatoes. Braised fish dish notes "change vegetables according to the day". Ha doesn't like the word "change" because customers might think the kitchen is out of stock. She changed it to “seasonal vegetables”.

A customer asked why yesterday there was pumpkin soup but today it was cabbage soup. Ha said vegetables go to the market differently. The customer laughed and said no hot soup.

At the end of the shift, Vy opened the cash drawer. She discovered an envelope Lan's mother hid under the electricity bill. Inside is two million dong, written "medicine money".

“I have to return it here,” Vy said.

Lan's mother replied from the counter: "My medicine still has three left." day."

“If Mom doesn't drink, then who's standing at the counter?”

“I stand.”

"I don't know which customers need some rice, who often has stomachaches, who likes hot food."

“You can ask.”

Vy holds the envelope. “That's what Mr. Khoi is making everyone do, right? Ask instead of guessing.”

No one answered.

In the afternoon, Khoi took Ha to the wholesale market. He wanted to see with his own eyes where Binh got his vegetables from, but Ha said that if he just went to see without paying, the trip would become a sightseeing tour. They met Binh at the end of the row of stalls. He was arguing with the seller about a waterlogged bucket of cabbage.

“I take half price,” Binh said.

“If it's half price, bring it home yourself.”

Khoi saw Binh select each bundle and cut off damaged leaves on the spot. Next to her was an older woman who picked up discarded vegetables and put them in a bag, telling her to bring them home to cook for the pigs. Khoi asked if those vegetables could be used.

“It can be used but must be used within the same day,” Binh replied. “Can your kitchen make it?”

Khoi did not want to answer hastily. He looked at the time, the number of employees and the cooler. If you use second-grade vegetables, the price decreases but the washing and processing costs increase. An item may be cheaper at the market but more expensive in the kitchen.

Ha said: "If you split the preparation in half, it's okay. Vegetables do not go together with standard products.”

Binh looked at her. “Isolate the process?”

“I'm thinking.”

Khoi withdrew his book. Ha held his wrist. “Don't write before you know who did it.”

Khoi put away his pen. They stood still next to the smell of wet soil, the sound of forklifts and people calling for goods. This is a part of the profession that chefs in the city rarely see. Ingredients don't start in the box delivered to the door. It starts from the hand of the chooser, the debt of the seller, the time of the delivery person and the damaged part that cannot be put into the pot.

In the evening, Khoi set up a new board in the kitchen:

SERIES TWO — CHECKER — PREPARATION TIME — DISHES TO USE — DISCARDS.

Vy finished reading and said that if this board was done well, the shop could reduce costs by five percent. Ha said if it's not done well, customers will eat rotten vegetables.

“So the checker must have the right to return the goods,” Khoi said.

Ha looked at him. “Do I have that right?”

Khoi turned to Lan's mother. His mother is separating herbs.

“Yes,” she said. “Whoever checks the goods has the right to return the goods. But you must write down the reason.”

Vy added a line to the temporary rules. Khoi signed. Ha signed behind him.

That night, Binh sent a photo of the signed payment schedule. Below is a sentence: “I will still deliver tomorrow. But if the kitchen receives a shortage, I stop immediately.”

Khoi replied: "The kitchen won't make me guess."

He put down the phone and looked at the six types of vegetables in the warehouse. Kitchen Nha has not yet escaped debt. There's just one bill split over several days, a delivery man moving on and a kitchen starting to understand that trust is not a blanket promise.

It is a number, a delivery time, a signature and the right to say "no" when the vegetable box fails.

Day three of the seven-day trial hasn't even ended yet, but Khoi has already seen that the first dish that needs fixing isn't on the menu.

That's a debt that's been placed on someone else's shoulders for too long.