The broth was still fine. And I still couldn't account for the bowls.
I'd been moving tables for about an hour. That's what my hands do when my head won't sit still. The afternoon setup wasn't wrong. Just outdated. It had been optimized for a roster that no longer existed, and with the second floor opening this week and at least five new guests who all had opinions about space, the current layout was starting to feel argumentative.
I shifted one table two feet east. Stared at it. Moved it back.
Then I wrote both positions down. No point committing early.
The broth was the real problem. I knew it. The tables weren't helping. Either the broth is the problem, or the morning was.
I wasn't prepared to blame the morning. It had been extraordinary in ways that had nothing to do with broth.
