The magic is growing stronger, and with it comes the inevitable chaos. In Thaumaturgic Tapas, the once peaceful Nameless Restaurant now finds itself struggling to keep up with an influx of both magical and mortal customers. Mo Meng and his team are facing challenges they never expected—and not just in the kitchen. The question now is whether the restaurant can weather the storm, or if the growing tension will tear it apart.
We’re excited to invite you into this cozy cooking fantasy and offer a glimpse into the madness. Grab your favourite drink and explore the magical mess that is Thaumaturgic Tapas.
1 – Mung Bean Juice
There was something peaceful about the restaurant when it was closed and all the customers were gone. The lights had dimmed, not so much that it was impossible to read like some of the trendier restaurants, but enough that the yellow light created a sense of warmth. The lingering smells of tonight's specials were drifting away, pulled away by the continuing hum of the air circulation system and what Kelly assumed was more magic.
With the guests gone and the chairs up, the floor swept clean and only the muted clatter of dishes being cleared and put away, she found herself relaxing for the first time in hours. She pulled out the single stool that was secreted under the bar, slumping on the pass and staring through it as her boss worked industriously in his domain.
There was a subtle rhythm to his movements, like a dancer twirling through a long-memorized routine but with the very same intensity and focus as they'd have on a performance night. This was no rote movement, as soon forgotten as complete, but the focused attention of the moment, where each –action—from sweeping half-finished meals into the garbage to rinsing the plates off before throwing them into the industrial –dishwasher—was taken with the proper care and reverence of existence.
Only when the dishwasher was filled and set running, another larger stack waiting to go in, did Mo Meng stop. He raised a hand, sweeping a stray black lock out of his face as he walked over to Kelly who'd been staring blankly at him for the last five minutes, exhaustion muddying her thoughts.
The proprietor of the Nameless Restaurant was short for a modern man, but he carried himself with the assurance gained from numerous years on this earth. As though nothing in this world could faze him, not anymore, the rock of his personality was unyielding to the tempest of emotions. Even so, there was always a small smile, a trace of good humor lurking in his eyes.
"Are you okay?" Mo Meng asked, his voice cultured and gentle. His accent was hard to place, most recently Canadian, but also muddied from travel and time.
"Tired." Kelly rubbed her face. "Tonight was rough."
"They won't be back," Mo Meng said, confidently. "Nor will we be serving anyone else who feels the need to raise their voice and shout when they're asked to wait."
"Good," Kelly said. The entire incident, brought about by the long wait times and their refusal to take reservations, had been stressful. There was something about men in expensive suits who felt their time and needs, somehow, were more important than anyone else’s. "But it wasn't just them. Dealing with the crowd put me behind. And then the toilet got backed up, and we had to deal with that," thankfully, Mo Meng had stepped in there, "and then the machine went down and we had those two extra tables lingering and the desserts took longer and..."
"And once you got behind, you couldn't get caught up," Mo Meng finished. He made a small noise in his throat before he gestured to the cash register. "Finish up the numbers. I'll be back, and we'll finish this talk."
Humming to himself, he stepped away, turning a burner back on, and placed a fresh pot of water on it. Kelly hesitated, surprised by his sudden disappearance, before giving herself a little shake and moving over to the machine to finish the math. As hard as she worked, there was one advantage to working at the Nameless Restaurant; the patrons tipped well.
If strangely.
Holding the flower in one hand, she reached under the bar and filled a vase with water before placing the flower in it. Golden petals, a darker center, a single straight stem with a pair of leaves on the side. She could not help but sniff at the scent, for a moment taken away to green pastures and warm spring rather than dreary, chilly late winter.
Then she continued counting, doing the math necessary to balance the books and work out her tips. No new-fangled machine here, nothing connected to the internet. Mo Meng categorically refused to bring one of those in here, muttering about spies when asked.
A glance back saw Mo Meng throwing a handful of tiny beans in the boiling pot of water before she returned her attention to her work. Much faster than she had expected, in minutes, he was back, a glass of lukewarm juice in his hand, a mild astringent scent rising from the glass and a trio of ice cubes melting. A single glass straw stood out, waiting for her.
"What is it?" she asked, curiously. It didn't, of course, stop her from tasting the drink.
Surprising, that it wasn't an explosion of taste. In fact it was rather bland, just a hint of boiled beans and a touch of sugar, lukewarm so that it was a warm hug in her mouth. The glass straw warmed a little under her lips, the thin glass delicate between her teeth. Tired as she was, and thirsty, she finished half the glass before she stopped.
"Mung bean water," Mo Meng said. "Boil the mung beans for a few minutes, extract and filter the water, add a little rock sugar and cool. It's nothing special, but it helps with stress and overheating." He nodded at her flushed cheeks.
"That... thank you." She bit off her other thoughts, that no matter how effectively this might alleviate her stress now, it didn't fix the root problem.
"We need more people," Mo Meng said, as if he could read her thoughts. Or perhaps he had just been thinking the same thing. "One at the minimum, but preferably two." He grimaced. "The hours have been getting long, even for me."
"Another waitress, or a busboy and host, yes," she replied. "You need help within too."
It was unclear if his answering grunt was agreement or displeasure or just acknowledgement of her words. Turning back around, he looked at the kitchen, eyes drifting over the boards and bins stacked with uncooked ingredients, to prepped basics and the still-dirty pots, before he came to a conclusion.
"Make a post. Tomorrow, we'll have limited seating. Small dishes, maybe not enough for a meal." A slight chuckle. "Best be here early, if they want to eat at all."
"We're going exclusive?" Now she was surprised, knowing how much he'd resisted that.
"For tomorrow at least. I've got a lot of leftovers to get rid of, ingredients I’ve prepped too much of, other items that weren't finished up. It'll be a day of getting rid of extras." He nodded to the glass, adding, "There's more if you want it. But get your work done, I'll sign off. And look into hiring."
His part said, he turned and disappeared into the kitchen, grabbing a cloth as he went to begin wiping down dirty surfaces. It left Kelly wondering what was coming to the restaurant, tomorrow and as they hired someone new.
Thaumaturgic Tapas releases on March 1st! You can pre-order the book now using the links below and be among the first to enjoy this magical adventure when it’s available.