The Restaurant Review: Part Two

This is Ria. Welcome to Little Stories for Tiny People. Our story today is the second and final part of the Restaurant Review. In part one, we met Arthur, a restaurant reviewer at Forest Foodie magazine, and we met Molly, the owner of a hole-in-the-wall restaurant known for its carrot ginger soup. When we left off, Arthur had visited Molly's restaurant and had a less than appetizing experience. Molly's experience of that day was just as bad, and she was trying to put it behind her. But will she be able to? Let's find out. It's called the Restaurant Review. Part two. Take it away, Elio and Hugo. Remember, there are no pictures. You have to imagine the pictures in your mind. You can imagine them, however you want. OK, here we go. Molly had dreamed for months of having a restaurant filled with customers. Oh, how she wished to have a packed house with a line of mice out the door, to whom she had to say, I'm so sorry, it'll be a two hour wait. But on a fateful day in autumn, when storm clouds gathered outside and a huge party of rats gathered inside, the reality was quite different. I'd like the radicchio salad, but can I have that with the dressing on the side? Of course. And can I also have the radicchio on the side? Um, I'll see what I can do. The 16 rats, who were apparently on their way to an even bigger family reunion, there'll be 3,007 of us, were the most demanding, most particular customers Molly had ever encountered. Do you have any other chairs? This seat has very poor lumbar support. Um, that's unfortunately the only type of chair that we have. They seemed to need something every few seconds. Molly got to work preparing their orders, but Chip, her brand new employee, kept bursting into the kitchen with questions from the table. Uh, Molly, they're asking if we have any differently shaped ice. What? No. Uh, Molly, one of the rats wants to know if he can get a slightly sharper fork? A sharper fork? Molly, uh, hate didn't interrupt you, but… It was relentless. And Chip was… well, he was useless. Actually, he was worse than useless because he caused problems on top of the existing chaos. Oops! Molly, sorry, I did not see that water jug sitting there. It's fine. It's fine. Molly had said, feeling like it was not really fine. Let's get this cleaned up. As she and Chip had swept up the shards of the pitcher and mopped up the water, with Chip offering an endless stream of awkward apologies… I can't believe I did that. I'm actually highly coordinated. I once won second place in a balance beam competition. Uh-huh. Molly stepped directly on a piece of glass. Ow. It went right through the soft, sold sandals she liked to wear into the most tender part of her foot. But there was no time to waste on herself. She heard a loud voice from the dining room. Will our food ever come? Molly looked from Chip to the food, bubbling on the stove to the door to the dining room. How had she ended up in this impossible situation? Hello? Could I get that glass of water? Molly took a quick breath and turned to Chip. Chip, listen to me. I am listening. I have very good hearing. I want you to keep an eye on the stove. I'm going to deal with the customers, okay? Just watch the stove. Chip gave a lazy salute. I have extremely good eyesight. You go ahead. I will keep a very close eye on the stove. Molly had limped into the dining room, aiming to smooth things over with the customers. She was relieved to see there were only two diners in addition to the 16 rats. Cliff, an elder mole who came in nearly every day. I'm in no rush, Molly. And a mouse dressed like he'd just come from work. Yes, she was relieved. Until she spilled water all over the mouse's lap. Oh, she'd had to keep herself from bursting into tears. But then, somehow, things got even worse. Molly limped back to the kitchen and grabbed a towel to bring to the mouse. When she turned to see a plume of smoke rapidly expanding over the stove. Chip, I thought you were watching the stove. I've been watching it closely. It was bubbling, and then it started smoking. Perhaps something is burning? Ah! Molly ran over, which was difficult, given the wound in her foot. She turned off the stove and began fanning the smoke with the towel. Anxious cries came from the dining room. Is that smoke? Is there a fire in this establishment? Uh, nothing to worry about. All is well. Molly slapped her forehead with a paw. All is well. All is not well. She thought, once the smoke cleared, Molly assessed the damage. Thankfully, it was just one pot that had burned. The rest of the food was salvageable, including the enormous terrine of her signature carrot ginger soup that she always kept at the ready. Chip, I need your help. This is the easiest job he could possibly do. Molly told herself, he cannot mess it up. Here, Chip, I need you to take out these bowls of soup. Sure thing. Just, oh, hold on. Molly said, rushing over to stir a pan of vegetables. Chip, do me a favor, will you? The soup bowls just need a sprinkle of the oregano over there in the counter. Oregano? It's in a bottle? Green flakes? Right in the counter. Molly said, keeping her eyes on the sizzling pan on the stove. Found it. Thanks, Chip. Molly called over her shoulder. Just give each bowl a generous sprinkle. Sure thing, Molly. Molly had sighed with relief. Things would turn around. Everyone would get their soup and be charmed and delighted. And she'd get the 16 rats their food and this day would eventually be over. And someday, she told herself, it would be a distant memory. A very fuzzy, distant memory. But that was not what happened. Because when she finally glanced away from the vegetables to take stock of the rest of the kitchen, she saw the bottle of oregano sitting in its usual spot at the back of the counter with its top securely shut. Then she saw another bottle of green flakes sitting with its top flipped open. Closer to the stove, Molly's breath caught. No. Beside the bottle was a faint dusting of flakes. No. No, no, no. Molly bolted from the kitchen, forgetting her limp, running, hoping desperately she could intercept the soup. But as soon as she swung open the door to the dining room, she saw it was much too late. Oh, what did I just eat? Take it away, someone take it away. She watched in horror as the rats spat into their napkins and the well-dressed mouse hurried out of the door without a backward glance. Chip, who stood with a fearful, wide-eyed expression in the dining room, had not sprinkled the soup with oregano. He had sprinkled the soup with an entirely different type of green flakes, the type that was meant to be sprinkled on beetle food. Molly's Pet Beetle, Jeffreeze Medicine It was just one terrible day. Molly whispered to herself again as she sat down with her morning coffee and magazine. It was her favorite magazine, all about the forest restaurants. She flipped through it and lifted her coffee cup to her lips. She breathed in the lovely aroma and briefly closed her eyes. When she opened them, resolving to face the day, her eyes lit upon a featured review on page 10. One of Molly's paws flew up to stifle her gasp. The other went limp. Her wooden coffee cup dropped, hitting the table with a plunk. Coffee splashed everywhere. Does anybody read magazines anymore? Hun, I'll bet no one even sees that review. Betty was back to work and had prattled on ceaselessly since Molly had slid the magazine across the restaurant countertop without a word. Nobody in my family reads. My Aunt Edie says magazines are a waste of time when there's so much else to do, like knitting tail socks. Molly readied for opening, wiping down already clean counters, refilling salt shakers, and chopping vegetables. You're probably right, she said, after a long stretch of thinking. It'll blow over. It was one terrible day. That's all. How much damage can it really do? Even as she uttered the words, more in a whisper to herself than to Betty, her tummy churned with a tangled knot of worry. Sharp edged fragments of the review of her restaurant ricocheted through her mind. A truly dreadful dining experience from start to finish. There was no time to dwell on it because Cliff was at the shop door. Coffee ready, Molly? It was time to open. That first day after the review was unremarkable. There was a slight drop in business, but it was a Tuesday, and Tuesdays were usually on the slow side. A family of four traveling mice stopped in for lunch. This soup is superb. Oh, thank you so much. Dinner was subdued, but rodents stopped in here and there. At the end of the day, Molly breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps Betty was right. Nobody read magazines anymore. But by day two, word had clearly gotten around. The whole day was quiet. Customers entered at a trickle. A trio of rabbits appeared at the door, chatting. Oh, hold on. This isn't Marley's. This is Molly's. Ah, I'm not going in there. Did you see that review? The rabbits hopped away in the direction of Molly's. Molly's cheeks burned with embarrassment. Well, let's look in the bright side, hun. Betty said dryly as she cleaned the front windows. A task she'd never had time for during open hours before. You did get the word out. That evening, Molly stopped by the forest market just before it closed. As she was paying for a pouch of carrots, she overheard some mice chattering to one another. Did you see that review in Forest Foodie the other day? Molly's breath caught in her throat. She froze in place, gripping the pouch of carrots. I haven't read that magazine in months. I still can't believe they gave Wilson's cheese house four cheese wheels. I got food poisoning from their Gorgonzola. Well, this was not a good review and it saved me. I was about to bring my quilting club to that place. Thankfully, I read the review beforehand. Apparently, Molly's is a disaster. We went to Molly's instead. Can you imagine? I nearly brought my quilting club. The mice scampered into the night as Molly held back tears. What am I going to do? By day three, the only customers that showed up were Molly's regulars. Look at this. I can sit anywhere I want. Uncle Magnus's words echoed in her mind, hitting her like a slap. One day it will catch up to you, Molly. Meanwhile, at the next Forest Foodie staff meeting, Arthur Mousington was slapped on the back in a good way. Arthur, magazines have been flying off the shelves thanks to that review of yours. Have they? Sales are through the roof. You might be able to keep your job after all. Now Trudy, hit me with it. What are you up to this week? Well, there's a popcorn stand I was thinking about reviewing. Molly spent the next three weeks doing everything she could to save her business. She opened earlier and closed later, but that only resulted in more hours of zero customers. She took out an ad in the paper and included a coupon. That worked for about two days until she couldn't afford to run the ad anymore and the customers dried up. She stood on the corner of Mulberry Lane for a whole afternoon, handing out carrot soup samples, occasionally, creatures stopped by to try one. This is delicious. Do you buy any chance, Cater? I'm on the planning committee for the upcoming All Forest fundraiser and this would be perfect for... Oh, I'm sorry. I don't have the staff for a big event like that. But most of the animals didn't want any. No thanks. I'm allergic to soup. Or scurried along in a rush. Towards the end of the month, Molly did something she told herself she would never do. After closing up early on a Friday, she stopped by the tree office of Forest Foodie magazine. Um, hello? Excuse me? Oh, hi. Can I help you? A mouse wearing bright blue glasses rose from her desk and waved Molly inside. I was hoping to speak to Mr. Mousington. Oh, Arthur's out at the moment. It's just, he reviewed my restaurant and the thing is that, well, it was all a big misunderstanding, really. The spices got mixed up and I see. The mouse said with a sympathetic smile. I'm Trudy, Arthur's co-worker. I was hoping he would be able to help me. I was hoping he might come back, Molly said. Or maybe you could come and try my restaurant. You'll see. My food is really quite, oh, Molly, is it? Trudy said, ushering Molly to the door. Forest Foodie magazine never reviews the same restaurant twice. Even if Arthur wanted to, he couldn't. Best of luck to you. It was yet another dead end. Back at the restaurant, the empty restaurant, Molly sat in a dining chair and rested her head in her paws. She knew what she had to do. Only, she thought of all the food still in the pantry in the back. And the shipment that was to arrive first thing in the morning, filled with carrots and ginger. What am I going to do with all that food? A few days later, Arthur was on his repaired bicycle, riding through the woods on his way to the all forest fundraising dinner. When he passed the power walking mice, he felt irrationally pleased with himself as he breezed by them on his bike. Until he overheard them say, So I finally got around to trying out that restaurant you recommended. Arthur immediately stopped peddling. His bike coasted forward on the trail. Thankfully, the power walking mice were as swift as ever, and they easily kept pace with him as he wheeled along. And get this. What? It's closed. Arthur reflexively slammed on his brakes and pitched forward, catching himself just before he went over the handlebars. The mice passed right by him. Excuse us. Arthur stood upright, straddling his bike, collecting himself. Had he misheard? He kicked off and pedaled behind the mice. Are you sure it's closed? Maybe it's just temporarily. No, no. It had a sign in the door closed permanently. I just can't believe it. It was a darling place. I was planning to go back with my brother. Arthur felt a twinge at that remark. A darling place. He knew it was not darling. But more importantly, is it really closed? At the next fork in the trail, Arthur did not take the path leading to the All Forest Fundraiser. He went the other way, determined to see for himself. He felt the faintest measure of doubt visit him as he rounded the final corner. Those mice could be wrong. After all, they were wrong about the restaurant in the first place. Charming little hole in the wall. Then the darkened storefront came into view. Huh. He rode all the way up to the doorstep and hopped off his bike. There was. There was indeed a note pinned to the door. It is with a heavy heart that we announce the permanent closing of Molly's restaurant. Thank you to our dear customers. It was our pleasure to serve you, Molly. Arthur read the note several times, as if it might decide to reward his attention with additional words. But it revealed nothing more. He went to the restaurant's front window, pressed his nose to the glass, and peered in. It took a second for his eyes to adjust. Then he saw the tables with chairs stacked on top, tablecloths neatly folded on the counter. Everything else looked untouched. Little framed paintings of forest scenes here and there on the walls, well tended houseplants resting on wooden shelves, paw made touches, tasteful, all of them that he had not noticed before. Arthur felt an uneasiness as he glanced around at the homey little hole in the wall that he had been responsible for shuttering. But when his gaze settled on the charming vintage clock on the wall, he saw he had no time to dwell on his sense of unease. He had somewhere to be. The all forest fundraising dinner was in full swing when he arrived, and he settled into his seat just as the soup course was served. He had attended the dinner annually for the last five years. There would be music and dancing, awards given to local organizations, and of course, funds raised for worthy causes. Arthur's only complaint was the food tended to be lackluster. So his expectations were low when he dipped his spoon into the bowl and tasted the soup on the platter in front of him. Meanwhile, Molly was utterly exhausted. She didn't think she'd walked so many steps in all her life. She had been hesitant to volunteer to cater the fundraising dinner, but the organizers had assured her they'd provide her with plenty of help. And Betty had urged her to do it. You should do it, hon. Betty, Freddie, and Chip, I.S., Chip, they'd all showed up to assist. And somehow, spending 12 straight hours cooking and serving others had taken her mind off herself, which was a very welcome change. Of course, she'd served her famous carrot ginger soup. How could she not, given the huge delivery she'd received several days ago? When she had seen that pile of carrots, she knew what to do. As Molly wiped down the counters in the kitchen tent that had been set up in the grand clearing of the woods, Betty bustled in. Betty bustled in. Molly? Somebody wants to see you, hon. Says he wants to meet the chef. It is hard to say who was more surprised. The dwarf rabbit who once owned a restaurant, or the mouse who had single-handedly closed it. Both stood still for several seconds, each trying to work out how they had come to be there in the kitchen tent of the all-forest fundraiser and what it all meant. At length, the mouse broke the silence. Uh, allow me to introduce my- I know who you are. You do? Yes. You, uh, you know, you're a very good cook. Did you make that soup? I made everything. It- it was... The- the food was amazing. But what I don't understand is it's just that when I went to your restaurant, everything was... Well, it was terrible. I know. You do? I've been wishing I could talk to you about the moment was interrupted by several rat bus boys who barreled into the tent. Their paws piled high with dishes to be washed. I feel excuse me. I should get back to work. Molly said with a sigh. I'm glad to know you enjoyed the meal, Mr. Mousington. Molly switched her attention to the dishes. Arthur hesitated briefly, then stepped towards her and said, Here, let me help you with that. The dwarf rabbit and the mouse spent the next hour cleaning up and clearing the air. Forest Foodie magazine had a rule. It never published a review of the same restaurant twice. There were no redoes, no second chances. The magazine and Arthur stuck to that rule, even in this case. Because when Molly held a grand opening celebration a month after the fundraising dinner, it was not for the same restaurant. After all, Molly couldn't keep having her establishment confused with Marley's. Her new place, with its similarly charming decor, refreshed menu, greatly improved organizational methods, and increased staff, was called the Hole in the Wall restaurant. Business was better than ever, especially after Trudy published a featured five cheese wheels review of the new place a week after it opened. Molly pinned it to the wall near the entrance. She even had a new regular customer, Arthur Mousington. He stopped by every Wednesday at lunchtime for a steaming bowl of her famous carrot ginger soup. Delicious, Molly, as usual. I hope you enjoyed this story, and I hope you get a second chance when you need it someday. We all need second chances now and then. Little Stories for Tiny People is written, performed, and produced by me, Rhea Pector. My in-house tech director, Peter Kay, runs my website and puts my stories on the internet for all of you to enjoy. Thank you to my Little Stories premium subscribers who make it possible for me to keep sharing my stories with families around the world. Visit littlestoriespremium.com to join or to gift a subscription. Thank you to Elio and Hugo for the super important reminder message at the beginning, and thank you, as always, for listening in.