In the same little restaurant, Guests Always Come, there was a small private room in the loft on the second floor. It wasn't open to the public; the proprietress used it for her own meals. It also had a simple wooden balcony that jutted out from beneath the eaves, making it a nice place to enjoy the view.
The furnishings inside were as rustic and plain as the battered wooden building itself, just as they had always been.
After years of use, the tables and chairs had been worn smooth and shiny by time, even developing a rich patina.
Curiously, no one knew what kind of wood they were made of, but a faint, woody fragrance always lingered in the air, distinct from the homely aromas of cooking.
Compared with the grand restaurants in Divine Capital's Food Ward, with their carved beams and painted rafters and wafts of immortal aura, this place seemed especially simple and down-to-earth.
Of course, "down-to-earth" was the polite way to put it. In Annie's words, it was shabby—extremely shabby!
Still, the food was delicious, so Annie could just about put up with a little shabbiness.
In any case!
During the past few days, while she was temporarily "homeless," Annie had grown very fond of the place. For several days running, she'd come here at lunchtime, eager to mooch off the proprietress—the skinny old woman who made such authentic home-style spirit dishes.
The place couldn't match the rare ingredients or dazzling culinary techniques of the grand restaurants in the Food Ward, but at least the portions were generous and the cooking precise. The old woman's skill at slow-simmering stews over a low flame was especially masterful. She could coax a rich, lingering flavor from the plainest spirit plants and spirit-beast meat, winning the heart of Annie,