The Restaurant with One Table

Photo: Unsplash.

I found the restaurant because I turned down the wrong alley while following a map that insisted I was standing inside a pharmacy.

There was one table, four chairs, and no menu. An older man looked up from chopping spring onions.

“Dinner?” he asked.

“What do you have?”

“Dinner,” he repeated.

I sat down. He served noodles, greens, and a bowl of soup that tasted like something I had forgotten from childhood. Halfway through, two women entered, greeted him, and took the remaining chairs. Neither asked what was available.

They discussed a broken washing machine and included me as though I had attended the previous meeting. One recommended a repair shop. The other drew a map on a napkin. The owner added more noodles whenever anybody looked away.

When I asked for the bill, he named a price lower than the drink I had planned to buy elsewhere. I paid and tried to leave a tip. He returned it as three tangerines.

Months later I searched for the restaurant again. The alley was there, along with the pharmacy, but the door had no sign and appeared to belong to a house.

I still have the napkin map. It does not lead to the restaurant, but the washing-machine repair shop is excellent.