It had been the single-minded goal for them since college and seemed simple enough. 1. Study hard. 2. Open their dream restaurant. 3. Take the culinary world by storm.
What could possibly go wrong?
Lots, apparently.
"Okay. Break it to me gently, Nialler. How many covers did we do tonight?" Louis squints his eyes shut preparing himself for the predictably bad news.
"Eighteen." Niall sighs looking down at the grease-stained dockets in his hand.
"Eighteen?" Louis hangs his head, elbows resting on the bar. He snaps his head up and slaps his hands on the bar. "Right. Well then. That blows. Beer?"
"What are we doing wrong?" Niall bins the sad pile of paper and grabs two cold beers from the fridge, handing one to Louis.
They crack the tops, clink the necks of the bottles and both take a long gulp in a practiced routine.
"I dunno, mate, but we gotta do something or else we'll be out of business in six months," Louis says, chuckling at the absurdity of the situation.
"That bad huh?" Niall asks as he takes another swig of his beer.
So what were they doing wrong?
First. Finding the perfect location within their measly budget had been practically impossible. So they compromised. The place was a bit run down when they moved in, but a few weeks of hard labour had enabled them to turn it into something resembling their dream space. It wasn't anything grand, but then again, that wasn't the look they were after.
Sidewalk seating under crisp blue and white canvas awnings, Buxus hedging in stone planter boxes surrounding a sidewalk seating area, and heater towers to ward off the unforgiving Chicago winter.
Inside, a dark wooden bar runs the length of the far wall, exposed brick with glass shelving and an array of liquor bottles providing a colourful backdrop. Cozy booth seating down one wall, with tables along the other and more in the central dining area and under the windows looking out onto the street. Low hanging subdued lighting emanating from antique cast iron chandeliers creating an intimate atmosphere within the welcoming space, completing the picture.
'Nouis' Place' they'd called it. A portmanteau of their names which seemed fitting at the time, but people have trouble remembering it and, well, saying it, so perhaps it wasn't the smartest idea. Whatever. It's on the business registration, so it's staying.
Second. Running a restaurant is really fucking expensive, and really fucking exhausting. It's not like they went into this blind, they understood what was involved, but still, the reality hit hard. From the fit out to the licensing, registrations, staff, linens, utilities, services, equipment, stock, wastage, breakages and advertising. The costs were never-ending, and the hours were a killer.
Third. Getting, you know, actual paying customers through the door was like trying to push molasses up a sand hill with a toothpick.
They'd been at it for twelve months now. Breaking even... just. But something was missing. They had no hook , nothing original, nothing to draw people in, nothing to mark them as a destination. They were just another restaurant in an up-and-coming regenerated part of Chicago. Nothing flash. Nothing that made them stand out from the multitude of other places along the strip of eateries, all trying to make their mark, and capture some of the elusive passing trade.
He and Niall had headed over to Chicago from Manchester after college and years of training in the industry. They were so excited to be starting their adult lives in a new and vibrant city. The world was at their feet.
