Chapter Six: The Gourmet Street Takes Shape

Chen Xin had sent Zhang Zhang to the nursery class a month early, hoping he could acclimate before the official start. If there were any issues, she would still have time to make adjustments. Over that month, things went fairly well. Occasionally, Zhang Zhang would wet his pants, and when that happened, he’d get upset with himself—his little mouth pursed, tiny brows furrowed, squatting sadly in the corner all by himself.

Only Zhang Zhang, the little chubby boy, could even manage to be angry in such a pure and innocent way.

At just over a year old, many of the toddlers couldn't even walk properly yet; most of their time was spent crawling and playing on the indoor floor. Because Zhang Zhang was so adorable, the other children liked to gather around him—even when he was sulking. Four or five babies would crowd into whatever corner he’d chosen, one banging on blocks, another dragging things to put in their mouth, and some making great efforts to get his attention—even grabbing at his little feet to gnaw on them.

Compared to the other classes, where children cried now and then, Zhang Zhang’s Sunshine Class Two was every teacher’s dream: a group of angelic children. This goodwill even extended to Chen Xin, who in the teachers’ eyes was an equally lovely parent. After learning about Zhang Zhang’s background, the class teacher had specifically asked Teacher Tian to keep an extra eye on the little chubby boy, and told Chen Xin that if she was ever late picking him up, she could simply call, and they would be happy to watch him for an hour or two until she arrived.

Moved by the teachers’ kindness, Chen Xin often brought some homemade snacks when picking up her child in the afternoon. The amount wasn’t much—just enough for a family of three at one meal—and she made sure to offer both sweet and savory options, considering the tastes of both the elderly and the young.

Thoughtful people are often treated with the same consideration; this was evident with Chen Xin and her two young charges. Even the kindergarten principal would, from time to time, recommend some light, well-paying side jobs to Chen Xin.

Though she wasn’t eager to take on such work, she never refused anyone’s goodwill, and those part-time opportunities often inspired her with new ideas. Rather than resisting, she preferred to find ways to accept and adapt.

“Xiao Xin, my wife said their magazine needs a food photo. She’s wondering if you could help make a snack and photograph it.”

That day, as she was there to pick up Ezi from school, she ran into the parent of one of Zhang Zhang’s classmates at the kindergarten gate. The woman was a contributor to a local magazine; her husband was a journalist covering social news.

“Is this for Song’s newspaper?”

“No, not his paper. It’s a classmate of his, down south, who’s started a gourmet travel magazine with some friends. They’re not sure it’ll succeed, but right now they’re asking us for contributions. My husband wants to do a series on local foods, starting with breakfast and focusing on home-style dishes. I heard you opened a breakfast shop near campus, so I thought you might be able to help. He’ll pay you the going rate.”

“That’s really kind of Song. I don’t know if I’m up to the task, but how about this: let’s set up a time for me to talk to him and see what kind of breakfast he wants. I’ll make a sample, and if he likes it, great. If not, I wouldn’t want to hold him up.”

Cheng Jie quickly agreed and suggested Saturday morning at their house, since their kitchen was spacious and well-lit—perfect for taking photos.

Chen Xin took down the address and phone number, and they set a tentative time. As for the ingredients, Cheng Jie’s family would provide everything needed.

“Be sure to bring Zhang Zhang along,” Cheng Jie added. “My daughter loves playing with him. Teacher Tian says the two of them eat much better together.”

Naturally, Chen Xin agreed. Even if Cheng Jie hadn't mentioned it, she would have suggested it herself. Since the nursery was closed on Saturdays, if she went out, she wouldn’t be able to get home by noon and no one would be there to look after Zhang Zhang.

Although Uncle Tie and his wife could help watch the little one, just a few days earlier Uncle Tie had asked Chen Xin if they could rent her shop in the afternoons.

Aunt Song was a talented cook, and after Chen Xin had discussed many things about running a fast-food place with them, the couple wanted to use her shop to open a small eatery. Aunt Song was hesitant at first; after all, Chen Xin had gone to a lot of trouble to rent and refurbish the place. They’d come to help, and now it seemed like they’d be taking over to run their own business—it felt wrong.

But Chen Xin saw things differently. She’d opened the shop to secure a stable income. If not for Uncle Tie and his wife’s reliability, her own situation—taking classes and unable to watch the shop—would hardly have been profitable. Of course, she could have hired someone else, but in the restaurant business, sourcing and preparing ingredients is key. If you don’t know the trade, hired cooks might easily swallow up your profits, or even make money while the owner loses out.

Uncle Tie and his wife were honest and meticulous, carefully keeping accounts of every purchase and sale. So when she learned they wanted to make use of the shop’s downtime, Chen Xin readily agreed. She even guided them to commission a set of stainless steel insulated pot racks—a design that wouldn’t become popular for another decade or so.

The principle behind these racks was simple: a large gas cylinder with a burner, supporting a double-layer pot rack. The middle layer could be filled with water, heated by the burner below to maintain a stable temperature. Above, a surface with six or eight openings could hold custom-made, fifteen-centimeter-deep food pans. With the pans resting on the rack and their bottoms warmed by the hot water, prepared dishes would stay hot for long periods. When it was time to serve, you’d simply ladle out the dishes—giving customers the taste of freshly stir-fried food, but with much greater efficiency. A set meal—two meats and two vegetables, with unlimited rice and soup—cost only eight yuan, a third less than the eleven or twelve yuan charged at chain fast-food restaurants, with little sacrifice in flavor.

For those wanting to save even more, there were six-yuan meals with one meat and two vegetables, or five yuan for three vegetable dishes—the kind of flexible, affordable meals you’d find at a street-side eatery.

Most importantly, this fast-food format allowed for meals to be prepared ahead of time; with just the two of them, Uncle Tie and his wife could handle the bulk of the work, needing only a helper perhaps to clear dishes.

“You should check the small goods market by the train station for those stainless steel compartment trays and soup bowls they use in schools,” Chen Xin suggested, sketching out a sample for them. “They’re sturdy, don’t break, and keep the rice and dishes separate—much neater than mixing everything together.”

She also suggested making marinated chicken legs in advance—these didn’t take up much space and could be prepared the night before, or even in the morning, ready by the time breakfast was over.

“By the way, Uncle Tie, didn’t your neighbor want your help to set up a food stall? I heard his wife is great at marinating goose. They could open a shop selling marinated dishes and rice—a quarter of a goose or duck, or perhaps a pork knuckle, with two vegetables and a soup. Not much extra effort, and it should be a good business.”

No one restaurant could hope to serve every diner in the world. Only with more competition does the market flourish, encouraging vendors to innovate and create new dishes.

Greed, after all, can’t be satisfied by biting off more than you can chew—whether in studies or in running a small restaurant. Rather than chasing every profit, it’s better to craft a specialty and do it well. With good flavors, loyal customers will return, bringing new patrons with them, and the business will thrive.

By the time the new school term began, the street where Chen Xin’s breakfast shop was located had become known as “Gourmet Alley” by students from both the nearby university and a vocational college further away. Many students ate lunch and dinner there. Some shops, seeing the opportunity, began serving breakfast all day and added new dishes for students to choose from.