Oravský Zrub

The restaurant & setting. Episode 7 of season 5 takes Martin into the heart of the Orava region, to the picturesque village of Nižná, at a crossroads between the Orava Reservoir and Orava Castle. The guesthouse-and-restaurant Oravský Zrub ("the Orava log cabin") sits right on the main road, where nearly a million cars pass every day. It's a romantic timber cabin in a romantic spot; only almost nobody turns off for it.

The people. Two friends and colleagues lease the place. Tomáš Žiglo (41, from Liptovský Mikuláš) has 20 years in the trade, including five years at one of Roman Pohlreich's restaurants; the cabin was largely his idea and his dream of owning his own place. Ľubomír "Ľubo" Guláš (35, from Prešov) is a trained cook-and-waiter and Tomáš's partner. The guesthouse and finances are run by Katarína "Katka" (the lads also call her "nana"), who's been with them from the start, answers the phone at midnight for bookings, and can see it's no longer working. The kitchen and floor are helped by Matej Gejdoš (29, cook), Paťka (cook), and waitresses Martina (30) and Miška (24).

Why they called Martin. Two and a half years of struggle, trying and inventing, and still an empty restaurant at lunch. The daily loss runs around €400 to €500; the lads have had to borrow from family, friends and even staff, and they're on the brink of closing. "Our last stop was to call the show Na nože," Tomáš admits. Outside, Martin is greeted by a dirty glass, full ashtrays, a cigarette box and a broken railing. It doesn't look inviting.

The first visit. Martin orders almost the whole menu plus à la carte: garlic soup, bryndza halušky, pierogi, fried šúľance, black lentils, sirloin (svíčková), schnitzels, horseradish soup. And a surprise: the food is excellent. The garlic soup with buttered croutons smells great, the horseradish soup is beautifully balanced, the svíčková is "at least as good as my own," the dumpling "like cotton wool." The only things that don't fit are an illogical fusion (Slovak šúľance with parmesan, spinach and courgette; lentils with coconut milk) and above all the price: a €9.50 set lunch with soup, yet 50 grams smaller than the à la carte portion. "I haven't eaten svíčková this good even in Prague, so where's your problem?"

The diagnosis. Martin recognises Tomáš; they cooked together seventeen years ago. But the food isn't the problem. "What you've most underestimated is the marketing: how to sell yourselves and let people know you exist." A main road with a million cars runs below them, and they can't divert even a fraction of it. The billboards are bad or carry an old phone number; the turn-off is almost invisible. The most painful realisation: the owners get nothing: wages go to the staff, and they cover the losses out of pocket. "If I'd known what was coming, I probably wouldn't have done it again," Tomáš says.

The reset. Martin doesn't change the good kitchen, he changes its direction: bring the food to the customer. Across from the cabin is an industrial park with a thousand employees; feed even ten percent of them and that's a hundred extra lunches a day. First he scouts the factory himself (talking to manager Katarína Matušáková and others), then takes the lads out to deliver showcase lunches: a hearty bean-and-pearl-barley soup and sour potatoes with egg and homemade meatball. Park the ego, do business: not a cheap €5 lunch joint, but honest food from quality ingredients for a euro more, delivered hot within ten minutes. He adds loyalty cards (every tenth lunch free), a 10% discount, and €2,000 in ingredient vouchers from his friends at TSK. The lads land the factory plus the Kondela family's firm. The lunch-delivery business is taking off.

New concept & menu. Martin and his team make the interior cosy; the lads are moved: "Ľubo, our dream came true." He then presents the à la carte menu they'll cook that evening: bean and onion soups "the Slovak way," Znojmo-style beef plated handsomely, segedín goulash from fallow-deer leg, and a sour-potato stew with toasted bread and meatballs at a reasonable €8.50. "I've taught you a lot," he tells Ľubo.

The big night. Prep stalls on the dumplings: Paťka's are over-proofed and spread flat; they have to be binned and re-baked seventeen minutes before the guests arrive. Under live service it unravels: mixed-up soups (bean instead of onion), cold plates, children crying with hunger at the tables. Martin steps in hard in the kitchen: "The food is cooked, you just have to plate it; it should be machine-gun fast." Even the VIP tables, the business partners they invited themselves, get their food late and lukewarm. Yet the guests praise it, the bean soup, the segedín, and the evening even brings in a third delivery client. Before leaving, Martin is honest yet respectful: "You didn't handle that evening the way I'd imagined, but that's because for two years you didn't have much work and you got lazy, the drive went out of you." And he adds: "I'm proud of you. You have the best restaurant in the area; you just have to convince the customers of that. I'll be back in a month."

One month later. The cabin has changed. The railing is fixed (they pitched in for a working bee), the website and social media are running, the set lunches go out every day and are loaded by a quarter to ten. The delivery business has picked up a third firm and the employees rave about the food. Katka ("nana") serves Martin with a recommendation: fallow-deer ragù with toasted šúľance and gingerbread. The improved bean soup is hot and honest, the segedín beautifully balanced, gently sour and creamy, the šúľance clearly homemade, the vegetables not overcooked. "When I arrived I told myself I'd be extremely critical, and I have to say, the quality is there." But one thing still stands: "You have to go out to meet it all."

Verdict: Oravský Zrub, excellent food in a beautiful spot that has finally found its way to its customers, is awarded 5 knives.