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Arthur smoothed the creased edges of the supplier invoices against the zinc bar , listening to the rain rattle against the bistro windows . The kitchen lights had been switched off an hour ago , yet across the dining room , Chef Luc was still hovering by the espresso machine , wiping his copper pans with obsessive care . For six years , the corner bistro had thrived on crisp roast chicken , hand - cut frites , and honest carafes of house red ; over the past six weeks , however , revenue had collapsed under the weight of fifteen - course experimental menus and astronomical grocery bills . What troubled Arthur most was not the chef's ambition , but his utter indifference to the monthly balance sheet . All Arthur wanted was a reliable neighborhood bistro that could pay its staff on time . " Look at this total from the fishmonger , " Arthur called out , tapping the yellow carbon receipt with his pen . " Three thousand pounds for sea urchins and hand - dived scallops in a single week . Rarely has this business carried such debt into a quiet winter month . " Luc approached the table with a towel draped over his shoulder , his chin tilted defensively . " What you fail to appreciate is the reputation we are building , " the chef argued . " It was our smoked eel emulsion that earned us a mention in the culinary reviews last Thursday . " " It was our regular patrons who paid the rent for six years , " Arthur retorted , leaning forward . " Not only did you introduce seventy - pound tasting menus without warning , but you also banished the cassoulet that half the neighborhood came here to eat . Seldom do local diners return when a cozy bistro starts acting like an art gallery . " Luc stared at the ledger , his jaw tightening . Only when Arthur pointed to the red deficit column at the bottom of the page did the young cook's defiant posture begin to falter . " Under no circumstances can we order more imported truffles this season , " Arthur said in a quieter , firmer voice . " What this dining room needs is warmth , simplicity , and plates that make people feel welcome . " Luc looked past Arthur toward the dark street outside , where a few late - night commuters hurried beneath umbrellas . A long silence settled between them , punctuated only by the hum of the beer cooler . Finally , Luc reached for a blank order pad from the counter . " If we bring back the braised beef cheek with potato puree , " he murmured , " we can source the meat locally for a quarter of the price . " Arthur felt the tension ease from his shoulders . " That sounds like a start , " he said , and poured them both a glass of wine .
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