Kalou's Noodle Bar

A short story by Jono Shields.

As I entered, the warmth welcomed me. I sat down in a single booth up against the wall where I was closer to the fire that crackled and popped gently in the corner of the room. The noodle shop was small, 6 single booths lined up along the bar. Each had a little screen that would slide over so you could be served and a little flag that could be flicked out to show that you needed service. Between the bar and the entrance sat two larger tables that could each accommodate a group of eight if you were determined enough. These were currently empty, but the restaurant would be bustling later and there would be people vying for seats as soon as another patron left.

It was a Monday afternoon. I preferred to come before the crowds. I like to think I help manage the pacing better, spreading the load, rather than coming when it is busiest.

Kalou popped up with the same eager smile on his face, he was in his fifties and while his face showed signs of age, that smile of his was that of a child. He was a man that loved what he did and was grateful for every customer that came through the door.

“The usual?”, Kalou asked.

I nodded and within a few minutes he was back with a steaming bowl.

I always ordered the same thing in the winter months. The sesame and miso broth was deep and rich, you could see the layers start to settle out as it lapped up the sides of the noodles. The dish was adorned a mound of enoki mushrooms, a few thin slices of pressed tofu and a small handful of beans.

I have been coming here for nearly a decade now, since I was in college. It had been one of the few constants in my life.

When it was quiet like this Kalou would leave the screens open so he could see customers coming and going easier. Or at least that was what he told me when I had asked years ago. I think the real reason he does it, is so that he can have conversations with the regulars while he did prep in the kitchen.

“How’s business?”, I yell out across the kitchen in between hot slurps.

“Same same”, he called back. “David had to rush off to help a friend move, so I’m hoping it doesn’t get too crowded tonight, otherwise I might have some angry customers”.

He appeared at my booth.

“Do you know anyone that could help out an old guy like me?”, Kalou asked.

“On short notice like this? I’m afraid not”, I replied. “The regulars will understand though, shit happens. I would happily half an hour for ramen like this.”

Kalou beamed as he walked back to the kitchen.

Even taking my time and trying to savour every mouthful, I finished the noodles too quickly. Satiated I paid for the noodles and wished him luck for the night ahead.

Maybe it was curiosity or some other reason, but I made sure to walk back past the restaurant after I ran my errands a couple of hours later.

I could hear the hum and chatter of restaurant goers before I even turned the corner. I thought it might be starting to liven up, but maybe I had underestimated just how busy Kalou gets these days.

I’m not sure if they were waiting for a seat or takeaway orders, but there was a line forming and a group huddled on the street outside.

Pausing as I walked passed, I could Kalou inside dashing back and forth between the grill and the pots of steaming water. It was clear he had everything under control. But I had nothing to do that evening and figured I could at least offer to help out.

No sooner than I had crossed the threshold into the kitchen, Kalou seemingly knew my intention. He threw an apron and at me and told me to keep an eye on the grill while he ran out some takeaway orders.

When the returned he gave me a warm pat on the back, “This means a lot to me, thank you my friend”.

He showed me how to cook the pasta, arguably the most important part of the his business. But I suppose also the least likely to mess up as long as I followed his instructions.

“For soup noodles we cook them for 1 minute, for dry give them another 30 seconds”, he said. “And make sure to change the water every five or so batches”.

He quickly whipped away to the back and returned with a timer. He and his son had built up some intuition for how long the noodles needed. But as I was new, this was important for consistency. It also eased my anxiety in the busy kitchen somewhat, all I needed to do was cook noodles, listen to the timer and swap out the water in the three big pots. I could do that.

The first few bowls that went out helped to settle my nerves and I was starting to get into the rhythm of things. As I was getting ready for my first water change I began to do some maths in my head. I figured out that it would be best to stagger the water changes, it would take a little while for them to heat back up. And we didn’t want to be out of action having to change all three pots at once.

After a big batch of ramen was done and I got ready to move the giant pot over to the sink. The steam stretched upwards as I poured the hot water into the large restaurant sink and a sense of achievement arose as I refilled the pot from the tap.

It didn’t last long though, Kalou’s jaw dropped as he walked back into the kitchen seeing me hovering over the sink. “Wha - What are you doing?!?!” he stammered.

“Uh, changing the water”, I replied.

He made a motion slapping the palm of his head against his forehead. “Okay, that’s on me”, Kalou said. “I shouldn’t have assumed”.

“When we change the water, we use the laddle and scoop off the top 1/4 of the pot”, Kalou explained. “Then we replace it with hot water from the jug”, he said motioning to the kettle in the corner of the kitchen.

“That way the water doesn’t get too starchy, but it also doesn’t stay below temperature for too long.”

He let out an audible sigh looking at the freshly refilled water. “That will take a good 20 minutes to get up to temp”, he shook his head a little as he spoke. “Let’s hop to it and try to not get too far behind while that happens.”

Those 20 minutes were easily the most stressful of the night. Being down to two pots meant that water changes were more frequent and orders started to pile up as they went out slower. It was another 40 minutes after that when we finally had things back under control and had worked the queue down to manageable levels.

Time flew by as order after order went out. Our movements had reached a level of synergy I had not expected in just an hour. As soon as I had the noodles out of the water and into the bowls, Kalou was adding the broth, sauces, toppings, whatever was needed to bring the noodles to life and satisfy the customer’s palate.

Watching him work was fascinating. No two dishes were ever identical. Even when people order the exact same thing, one would have an extra slice of this or a little more of that. It seems Kalou knew his customers better than I knew myself, one would get more chilli oil than the others, some wouldn’t have onions and others liked it with a lot of soy sauce.

Through all this I started to wonder how well he knew me and how different my order was to someone else that ordered mushroom ramen, with sesame and miso.

I decided to ask him at the end of service.

“Well, I have had the pleasure of serving you for a few years now. And by now you have tried more than half the menu”, Kalou said.

“There have been a few that you tried once and haven’t had again, that helpsw", he continued as we cleared the one of the large tables. The flood had ended, and now customers were only trickling in every so often.

“When you were younger you would get the spicy and sweet dry noodles, but I don’t thing you have ordered my BBQ fried noodles in years”, Kalou went on.

“As you got older and your palate settled, you seemed to enjoy on rich earthy flavours. You like your noodles not too salty, a little rich and not sweet at all. You also don’t order anything that comes from off-world. But I’m not sure if it is a flavour thing or a social thing.”

“So yes, when I make your ramen I make it a little different. I add a little soy sauce to the mushrooms when I fry them, I dilute your broth a touch and hold back a bit on the tare. I also add a little of the smokey chilli oil to yours. I noticed early on that you doused every dish you eat here anyways.”

He chuckled at that as he lifted a tray of bowls into the washer.

Kalou shook my hand firmly and lay his other on my shoulder, “Thanks again for your help tonight, I would have struggled on my own to keep up”.

He took a handful of fives out of the register and shoved them in my hand, “I know its not a lot, but its the best I can do at the moment”. I pushed back and made no attempt to grip the cash.

“Let’s call it even, I have learned so much tonight and I have always wanted to know what it is like back here”, I said as I closed my hands around his so that the money couldn’t be given.

Kalou looked at me and paused for a moment not saying anything. He couldn’t really afford give up so much of his takings. They were only getting by as it was and his son David wasn’t even taking a pay cheque, just helping his old man.

“Fine, but you aren’t paying for your meals for the rest of the month”, Kalou finally succumbed to my generosity.

I agreed to that and gave him an appreciative nod as I hung the apron back up on the the kitchen door. By now there were just two patrons left inside and most of the cleanup for the night was done.

I waved again as I left and walked home that night with a mighty grin across my face.