Salt and Fire – Episode 4: Supply Lines
The phone kept ringing at the wholesale shop. Carts clattered as workers moved boxes across the floor.
Taehos scanned the shelves. The shop lady was slightly plump, with curled hair. She waved him over.
“Are you here to pick up an order?”
“No, I’m planning to open a German restaurant nearby.”
She glanced up from the POS terminal.
“You’re opening a restaurant? In this economy? Don’t you know part-timers make more than owners now? You look like you’d be good on a delivery bike.”
Taehos gave a half-laugh.
“And what do Germans eat—just potatoes and sausage, right? Not sure we’ve got much you’d need here. Potatoes are cheaper at the market anyway.”
“Potatoes are filling, so I try not to use too much. German food isn’t that simple. It uses advanced processing, spices, walnuts, sour cream—pretty diverse actually.”
“Hey! Boss of Royal Jokbal! Your smoky sauce is ready—it’s up front!”
She turned back to Taehos.
“What did you say your name was again?”
Taehos didn’t answer.
“Where’s your sour cream?”
“Go straight and take a right, chef. The fresher ones are in the back of the fridge—get those. Once they age, they start to separate. If you want good reviews, use the fresh stuff.”
Taehos walked toward the shelves, then looked back. Emmental. Gouda. Sour cream stacked above them in white cartons.
All had the same expiration date. Local brand, but high milk fat—35%. Good quality.
“Where’s the panko?”
“Wet or dry? Wet’s in the freezer—chunkier, crispier, but pricey. Dry’s cheaper. Most people mix both.”
I’ll mix them in a small sealed tub, so I can rotate stock faster.
He closed the freezer gently.
“Walnuts are up there. Look up—yeah, there. Vacuum-packed. Cornstarch is one block over, take a right. We’ve also got potato starch—Chinese takeouts buy that a lot. Cornstarch doesn’t move much—using it for sauce?”
This lady knows her stuff, he thought.
He was comparing Divella and Hunt’s canned tomatoes. He preferred Divella—cheaper, but with better acidity and bigger chunks.
“I work out in the mornings, so I’m planning to come by every day.”
“Every day? Most people shop once a week. Isn’t that a pain?”
“Just an excuse to see you. Kidding. I keep inventory low, so I only buy what I need that day. Otherwise, it’s just cash stuck in the fridge. And your shop’s right next to the gym.”
“Suit yourself~ You’re kinda fun. Makes my day less boring.”
Taehos started jotting down the shelf layout. If stuff’s out of place, it breaks the flow of buying.
He noticed both Ottogi and Heinz ketchup on the shelf. Heinz was a glass bottle. Ottogi came in a fat, squeezable tube.
Prices were way off.
“You thinking Heinz? People like the design. They leave it on the table now—take photos, squeeze their own. That’s the trend.”
If customers pour it themselves, they’ll waste it. Better to portion it from the kitchen. They think sauce is free anyway—can’t charge extra.
He put the Heinz back.
Outside, a forklift rumbled up. The engine was low and deep. Cooking oil, detergent, box stacks—lifted clean.
The forklift backed away. Behind it, crates were piled high.
Like ammo stocked for infantry. Ready to deploy.
Taehos bowed slightly to the shop lady and stepped outside.
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