Zoraya

The restaurant & setting. Martin Novák arrives in Rimavská Sobota in southern Slovakia, a town that boasts its own mummy and artefacts from around the world, and it's that world-spanning theme that draws him to the restaurant Zoraya. The place has been open for seven years, tucked on the edge of town inside a shopping centre and easy to walk straight past: "Personally, if she hadn't navigated me here, I wouldn't even notice it." The faded sign above the door has hung there since day one. Inside, though, it's a pleasant surprise: tastefully furnished, the staff in matching outfits and aprons, "a bit of flair," which Martin rates as one of the genuinely prettiest venues in the whole project.

The people. The owner is Andrea Krausová, known as Aďa, who comes from a small village in the Poltár district and runs the place like her own child. Her partner, and also the delivery driver and "troubleshooter", is Michal (Mišo), who calls himself her right hand. The head cook is young Krištof Bugáň, a trained chef with about four years of experience. The kitchen is also held up by the quiet, conscientious Daniel Čonka (25), a kitchen assistant, while the floor is worked by waitress Daniela, Veronika and Vanessa.

Why they called Martin. Aďa is exhausted. After seven years carrying the whole place on her own shoulders she can't go on: "I can't imagine carrying on like this for even five more years." She blames the staff and her inability to delegate: she has to prepare and check everything herself. Her team has fallen apart, one capable person left, and she's frantic because "I have to be everywhere."

The first visit. The fifty-item menu advertises "world cuisine," but it's more of a mixed bag: burgers, pasta, poppy-seed dumplings. The placemats annoy him at once: to save money they aren't changed between guests, so they look used. The sweet-potato cream is flat ("Nothing, nothing. Very flat flavour."), the tomato soup is mostly from paste with a drowned basil leaf, the venison ragout is good apart from pointless sprouts, and the steak ordered medium rare arrives overcooked to medium. The Canadian poutine becomes the symbol of the problem: half the fries are "basically raw potato": "So for me, this fast food doesn't really belong in a restaurant."

The diagnosis. Martin names the problem bluntly in three sentences: a broken team, a broken owner, emotionally and physically on edge, and on top of that no support at home. Neither the food nor the restaurant is a disaster, he says; the fault lies elsewhere. He confronts Michal, who simply goes home after six in the evening while Aďa is left a wreck: "I guess the two of us have a different idea of what it means to love someone and do more for her." He tells Aďa honestly that she may need to sort out the home situation first, so she can breathe more easily.

The reset. Martin first throws twenty guests into the kitchen at once to see whether the team holds up under pressure, and it does, fairly well. He sets Krištof the task of inventing his own dish, and the cook delivers Chinese bao (baozemu) with confit duck, orange chutney and pickled cabbage. The team gets a bonding activity, painting one big canvas together, to drive home that each of them is a link that only makes sense when joined. A bold new signboard goes up outside, replaceable paper placemats with a message, and Tesco gift vouchers worth 2,000 euros for supplies.

New concept & menu. Martin himself cooks a showcase of world-inspired dishes adapted to local conditions: Mexican tacos with pulled pork, duck cream soup, a poke bowl with chicken and seaweed salad, pasta with shrimp, teriyaki-glazed salmon, beef rib with mashed potato and coleslaw, a tarte tatin and a gluten-free tapioca with mango. "So it's a kind of mix from all over the world." Meanwhile the girls launch the social media and their own cakes.

The big night. For the test service Martin sends Aďa home to prove the team can manage without her, and puts Michal into the kitchen. Krištof nearly cracks under the pressure but ultimately steps up. Michal, however, claims to feel sick during the evening and walks out of the kitchen without properly telling anyone where he is: "Mišo! Wake up already, will you?" Even so, the night goes well, the plates come back empty and the guests are happy: it was down to two of the lads, and they pulled it off.

One month later. A month on, Martin returns to a beaming Aďa. The placemats are changed exactly as he advised, the social media is working and reached a surprising number of people, and the menu has finally broken away from burgers: Moroccan couscous, lamb tenderloin in a crust, shrimp soup with lime. But it gets stuck on the details: the shrimp soup is far too bitter and the shrimp dried out, the pasta is mediocre, the lamb saddle overcooked, the chickpeas with the duck breast undercooked and the rib still tough. "We got stuck somewhere at three quarters of the way up." Michal sits across the square, embarrassed, but insists he has been in the kitchen and cooked the day before.

Verdict: Martin awards 3 knives. The food was good, it was just missing that final detail, and he gives the third knife explicitly as motivation: "So you've got 3 knives and you've got motivation." A fourth would come if the team nailed the culinary finish, but Martin trusts they'll work on it.