Chapter 8 — Tomorrow's Kitchen

Man placed the brand purchase contract next to the wooden cutting board, less than an arm's length away from Ha's knife.

“Don't let your papers get wet,” he said.

Ha looked at the blade. “This kitchen always has water.”

Man withdrew the contract for himself. He came back earlier than scheduled, bringing with him a legal expert named Duy and a presentation on a tablet. Duy didn't take pictures. He just looked around, asked about the kitchen area, electricity capacity, number of tables, number of employees and delivery time.

Khoi stood next to the rice cooker, listening to Man's presentation about the "new Nha Kitchen model". One central store in the city, three small outlets near the office area, shortened menu, uniform packaging and separate ordering application. Min used the word “expansion” seventeen times in twenty minutes.

“The current store will be the original store,” Man said. “Keep the family story part, but everything else has to measure up.”

Vy asked: "How many people decided?"

“An executive council.”

“Who is on the council?”

“Buyer representative, head chef, operations manager.”

Khoi looked at Ha. “There is no one to supply the ingredients?”

“Consultants can be invited for each project.”

Binh was weighing vegetables at the back door when he heard it and immediately said: "The consultant does not sign for the goods."

Man returned. “Mr. Binh, in our system we will have a purchasing department.”

“Does that department know which vegetables are soaked in water?”

“They have standards.”

“The standard is not standing in the rain at the market.”

Man did not lose his temper. "I understand that local experience is important. But if we expand, we cannot let each market stall decide the menu."

Khoi thought about Binh's ticket: three million today, one and a half million Friday. Expansion can take care of the debt. But a large chain often wants ingredients that can be replaced, delivery people that can be replaced, recipes that can be passed on to new people. Kitchen House lives on things that cannot be completely replaced.

Only on one provision. "The exclusive term to use the brand is fifteen years. The buyer has the right to adjust the formula to suit each market."

Ha asked: "Does the adjustment require approval from the formula creator?"

“Not if the formula has transferred usage rights.”

“So what's the point of writing my name?”

“For transparency of origin.”

Ha laughed. “The origin has no right to prevent a dish from being made differently.”

Khoi signaled her to calm down, but he also felt his throat dry.

Man looked at him. "You want to keep everything intact, but intact doesn't pay off the debt. You need to decide whether you want the shop to be a memory or a business."

Lan's mother is picking vegetables at the last table. She did not look up. “Memories do not borrow money in your name.”

Man closed the computer. "I'm not saying the shop doesn't have value. I'm taking that value out of this place."

“Where to get out of here?” Khoi asked.

“Go where there are more people.”

“And who is here?”

“There is a labor contract.”

“Not everyone wants to be an employee of the place they built.”

Man looked at Khoi Lau. “Do you know why I was in Slice?”

“Because you want to study management.”

“Because I don't want to depend on a boss who can take my name off the menu.” Man tapped his finger on the contract. “I don't want you to do that to me again.”

The words made Khoi silent. Man may be protecting himself, not just hunting for a brand. But a legitimate fear can still create an unfair contract.

At noon, Man stayed to eat try. Khoi told him to choose one of two meals: braised chicken in a less sweet version or a full portion. Man chose braised chicken, ate a piece, and didn't say anything right away.

“What do you think?” Khoi asked.

“The stock needs to be more stable.”

“How stable?”

“Each time must be the same as the last time.”

Ha said from the kitchen: "Eating people are not machines."

Man turned to her. “But the brand needs to be recognizable.”

“Realized that the item has the same name or the same reason it exists?”

Man did not answer. He finished the rice, then asked for more soup. Khoi looked at the bowl of soup that Ha scooped up more than he could measure. Man ate slowly, asking where the ingredients came from, who checked, and why they changed the vegetables today.

After a while, he said: “If I buy it, I will keep this in the first store.”

“Which dish?”

“The portion is enough to eat.”

Khoi was a bit surprised. “That name isn't pretty.”

"The name isn't pretty but it's easy to remember. I can turn it into a flagship product."

"Product?"

“One portion has a lower price, used to attract customers.”

Ha put the patch down firmly. “It's not something to attract customers.”

“Anything sold is a product.”

“It came about because people didn't have money.”

“So we need to sell better.”

Khoi felt the conversation was going into a dangerous place. Man isn't wrong about business, but he's turning his customers' plight into a marketing advantage. Khoi asked: "If the new store sells full-sized portions at a higher price because of packaging and application fees, but the name remains the same, is that the same thing as the old item?"

“The food varies by place,” Man said.

“But the story is not changed to sell high.”

Man looked at him. “You are demanding a contract to protect the indefinable.”

“So same definition.”

Duy took a pen and took notes. “Appendixes on prices, portions and contributors can be added.”

Man turned to him. “If too many conditions are added, the purchase price will decrease.”

Vy looked up from the spreadsheet. “Does the purchase price include Binh's debt?”

“Includes debt confirmed on signing date.”

“What about the debt the customer owes?”

“Not property.”

Khoi looked at Lan's mother. She was washing vegetables, water running through her fingers. The shop has hundreds of small debts without standard invoices. Man does not consider it an asset, but it is those debts that create the reason people come back.

In the afternoon, Man offered to record a video tasting the dish. He wanted Khoi to stand in front of the pot and talk about "the taste of home". Khoi refused because he couldn't honestly describe the taste from memory.

“You just need to tell the story,” Man said.

“What story?”

"Your mother opened the restaurant twenty years ago, passed the job on to her son, and now you're taking the House Kitchen far away."

“No Ha?”

“Maybe let her appear in the next scene.”

"Jar?"

"No need."

“Vy?”

“Backstage management.”

Ha smiled softly. “Backstage is what keeps the food on the table.”

Man exhaled. “I'm just talking about a thirty-second video.”

“Thirty seconds is enough for people to misremember twenty years,” Khoi said.

Man put away the phone. “You're making things difficult for yourself.”

"Maybe."

"Your seven days were just a test. After that, the money was still lacking, the machine was still broken, the bank was still waiting. I don't want to force it, but I also can't buy something whose owner doesn't know what he wants to keep."

Khoi wanted to say he wanted to keep everything, but that was impossible.

That night, after Man left, Vy put the contract on the table. She colored the unfavorable terms.

“Exclusive for fifteen years. Right to adjust formula. No commitment to price maintenance. No commitments keep location. No commitment to retain all personnel.”

“There is a commitment to repay the debt.”

"Have."

“So this is how a business says it will save you.”

Vy looked at him. “Do you want to sell?”

Khoi did not answer.

Lan's mother brought in the recording box. She placed it next to the contract.

“I want you to listen to file number seventy-eight,” she said.

Khoi pressed the phone. A young man's voice grumbled that the braised fish dish that day was too small. Lan's mother asked him if he wanted more. The man said no, because it was the end of the month. After a few seconds, he asked if the shop needed someone to repaint the sign. He worked as a painter.

Lan's mother in the tape said: "If there's anything, I'll call."

The man replied: “Don't give it away for free. I don't want any more debt.”

Lan's mother said: "Then eat."

Khoi recognized that voice as belonging to Mr. Sau many years ago. He doesn't just fix fans. He repainted the Kitchen House sign after the rain peeled off all the letters.

“Mom kept the bandages for those things?” Khoi asked.

“Mom kept it so she wouldn't forget anyone who helped the shop.”

“But Mom didn't write them on the board.”

“Some people don't want it.”

“Some people want it but they can't.”

Lan's mother bowed her head. “You're right.”

Vy holds the contract. “We need to set limits. If sold, must keep the location for at least five years, keep the team, list the names of contributors and have a meal fund.”

“Do you agree, Min?”

“Didn't ask.”

“What if you don't agree?”

“Not for sale.”

Khoi looked at Vy. She said that as if the debt didn't exist, but her eyes were red from many sleepless nights.

“Are you afraid that your mother will lose the house?” Khoi asked.

“I'm afraid my mother always thinks that if she just endures a little longer, everything will be okay. I'm afraid that when mom can't stand it, we only have one choice left."

“Mom won't say anything.”

“Because I think saying it will make other people worry. You too.”

Khoi did not object. He once hid his loss of taste so he could continue working in the kitchen. Lan's mother hid the loan so he could stay in the city. Vy hid her fear to keep the spreadsheet. The three of them all called silence protecting each other.

On the sixth day of the test, Khoi decided to show Man the feedback sheet. Ha doesn't want to, because she's afraid the customer's words will be used as advertising. Khoi suggested only showing general information, no names and no images.

Man read:

“Keep your portions adequate.”

“State the ingredients clearly.”

“Do not force customers to explain why they order half a portion.”

“Give the cook the right to stop.”

“Don't change the name of an item to make it more expensive.”

After reading, Man said: "You guys are using principles to deny growth."

Ha replied: “We are using principles to know if growth is still ours.”

Man went to the board, took a pen and wrote a proposal: “Home Kitchen — 10 community stores.”

Khoi looked. “Where is the community?”

“Each store has a local menu.”

“Who decides?”

“Store manager.”

“Not a eater?”

“Can get feedback.”

“Feedback is not a right.”

Man put down his pen. “You want someone to sit on the board of directors?”

Mr. Sau outside the counter called in: "If the person is paying, at least tell them whether the dish is edible or not."

Man turned away. “I never told them not to talk.”

“But who will listen when I say it?”

Man did not answer.

The argument ended when a tray of food was knocked over. The new employee carried too many bowls and tripped over the table legs. Hot soup spilled onto her hands. Ha pulled her out to wash immediately, Khoi got the ice bag, Vy called someone to change shifts.

Man stood two steps away. He looked at how everyone automatically assigned tasks, no one asked who was the superior. When the employee Crying because she was afraid her salary would be deducted, Lan's mother said no deduction. When she said she couldn't continue today, Ha told her to let her go home.

Man did not record video.

He just said: "If it were my system, this would have a process."

Khoi replied: “A good process must protect the worker, not just the report.”

Man nodded, but his expression was difficult to read.

Before leaving the shop, he left behind a revised proposal. The new appendix keeps Ha's name in the recipe, has a meal fund and the right to stop the dish in case of safety. But the exclusivity period remains fifteen years, the location only holds two years, and all brand decisions remain with the buyer.

“I made a lot of concessions,” Man said.

Khoi holds the paper. "I know."

“Do you have seven more days?”

“No. The seven-day trial ends tomorrow.”

“Then you will answer tomorrow.”

Khoi looked out the door. The people attending the tasting were walking home, some holding the remaining vegetables, some stopping to ask what time the restaurant opened tomorrow.

“I will answer after there are enough people in the room,” Khoi said.

Man frowned. "Who?"

“The people named in the clause.”

Man understands. He smiled, but not happily. "Okay. I'll wait."

That night, Khoi listened to the new file he recorded himself. My voice on the phone sounded strange. He talked about decision-making power, about contributors, about a kitchen that cannot live by one person.

Then he heard a sound behind him that he didn't notice when writing: the sound of Lan's mother opening a drawer, the sound of paper being pulled out and a whispered sentence:

“Don't let them know about the house.”

Khoi stopped the tape.

He didn't know who "they" were, nor what house his mother was talking about. But for the first time, the secret in the shop isn't in an old recording file.

It's right under a new contract.