Penzión & Řízkárna VERANDA (Radegastova Chalupa)

The restaurant & setting. This time Martin crosses the border into the Czech Republic, to Frýdek-Místek at the foot of the Beskydy mountains, where the Penzión & Řízkárna Veranda stands. It is a pub with lodging and a kitchen built on a single idea, schnitzels, run by a couple for six years. It sits in a housing-estate district, which should mean plenty of hungry customers, but reality is the opposite. „Je tu kopec panelákov, čo znamená, že je tu veľa klientov," Martin notes, yet the restaurant is half empty and profitable barely three months a year.

The people. The place is run by a couple, Michal and his partner Míša. Míša was born in Ostrava, but her mum comes from Záhorie, from Malacky, so she is „taková polovičná Slovenka" and she is the driving force of the whole operation. Michal is a big, tattooed man who looks like a tough guy but is in fact kind to a fault, avoids conflict, keeps hens, takes them to shows and relaxes on his Harley. In the kitchen is young Lukáš, who longs to cook and not just deep-fry, the dessert maker Anička, who doubts herself, and other cooks and waitresses including Janka, Peťa, Kája and Karolína. The team holds together like a family.

Why they called Martin. The concept itself drags everything down. Michal still believes in his schnitzel-house vision, even though the dishes are flavourless and the guests stay away. Míša sees it differently: „Ja říkam, že je to špatne, ale proste nechodí ľudí, takže nieco špatne bude." On top of that comes personal tension, the couple fights „jak psi" and then goes two days without speaking. Michal trembles inside during a conflict and would rather walk away or break something, which has roots in a hard childhood. For the past half year the bar has been taking more than the kitchen, a bad sign for a restaurant.

The first visit. Martin orders a pile of dishes across the menu and you can see the money is running out, the broth arrives on a chipped plate and is weak in every respect, „slabá voňa, slabá farba, slabá chuť". The schnitzels, which should be the shop window of the place, are underseasoned and unevenly fried, three side by side look as if each came back from a different holiday, one from Africa, one from Egypt, the third from Scandinavia. The pork-tenderloin schnitzel is wet in the middle, the salad worse than from a shop and salt is missing everywhere. „Za A soľ, za B soľ, za C soľ," Martin sums up, and of the five schnitzels he would eat at most one.

The diagnosis. Martin gathers the team and names the core problem. The restaurant stands on schnitzels, but those schnitzels are no good and the guest will not come back for them, so the place cannot survive like this. The biggest stumbling block is Michal himself, who is supposed to pull the business forward but lacks the energy and shuts himself in his bubble. „Tu už dávno malo prísť k takému zlomu, že ste si mali povedať, OK, otočka a meníme smer." It soon turns out the team wants to cook, Lukáš longs for real cooking and the whole crew speaks of itself as a family, which moves Martin.

The reset. Martin sets the kitchen a task, each person prepares their own dish and presents it. Lukáš makes potato halušky with smoked meat and sauerkraut, Karolína stuffed chicken breast with sun-dried tomatoes and mozzarella, Anička a dessert she names „blúdne oči" because the cream would not set. Martin feels with relief that upstairs it finally smells of cooking, of butter and meat, not the fryer. He agrees a new division of roles with Michal, Michal looks after the hotel, finances and purchasing, the kitchen is led by Lukáš and Míša. Martin adds new plates, chef's jackets, food boxes and gives Lukáš a sous-vide and a blast chiller so he can cook in a modern way.

New concept & menu. The vision is clear, the end of the schnitzel house. „Už nebudeme řízkárna, nebudeme smažiť řízky, ale budeme vařiť normálne poctivé jídlo." Martin goes to a proper Czech butcher for good meat and builds the menu on what Slovaks and Czechs have in common, on spreads (crackling, bryndza, blue cheese), brawn with pickled onion, cod salad, creamy garlic soup, fried hare and a Viennese sirloin with bread dumplings. And because Michal went into a cook-off with him, he also prepares potato pierogi with bryndza as a tribute to the Slovak family.

The big night. The gala evening with a full restaurant is a test under pressure and at first the kitchen is in chaos, which Martin calls „hura system", everyone does everything and no one does anything. Lukáš tries to expedite, but the waiters take dishes without his knowledge and one table gets completely cold pierogi. The tension peaks around Anička, who breaks down under pressure and briefly loses faith in herself, but Peťa and the team hold her up. After a few hours the rhythm catches, and Martin breathes out, „takto má vypadať, proste sa tady začne važiť", and the guests leave satisfied with honest food.

One month later. A month later Martin returns to Veranda and finds a restaurant that is finally alive, with tables booked already by early evening. Right after he left, the team locked up, gathered over the weekend and launched the new menu on Monday. Martin has the spreads, the brawn, the soup, the sirloin, a beer sausage and above all the bryndza pierogi, „za takéto pyrovy by sa nemusel hámbiť ani Slovák". The homemade rolls are one of the best-selling dishes and Míša has begun cooking Slovak food too. A few small things could still be tuned, the broth is a touch underseasoned, but the overall impression is excellent.

Verdict: 4 knives. Veranda earns 4 knives, because in a month the team made an enormous journey, abandoned the dead schnitzel concept and started cooking honest food that brings guests back. „Klobúk dole pred vami, že spravili ste kus cesty za ten mesiac. Právom vám patria tieto štyri nože," Martin concludes.