Opening a Noodle Shop: from a Single Store to an Industry

Anyone who owns a noodle shop knows that it's easy to die by trying to keep prices low, but it's hard to survive by sticking to quality. In the third month after Lin Chen took over, the old alley noodle shop wrapped in coal smoke and scented with bone soup hit a dead end: the rent increased by 30%, the new store opposite cut prices to grab customers, the supplier stopped supply and forced payment, and it suffered losses for nineteen consecutive days, the old customers were lost, and the employees were shaken. Everyone advised him to cut prices and hold activities, buy cheaper ingredients to reduce costs, and survive first. He doesn't. Twenty-five dishes on the menu were crossed out, leaving only three core noodles; the price increased by 50 cents against the trend, and the amount of meat was increased by 10%; the bone soup was cooked for four hours, and only the fresh ingredients of the day were selected. Some people say he is crazy, some people say he is crazy, and some people are waiting to see him close down. But this expensive 50-cent noodle shop has grown from an alleyway to an entire street, from a single store to a chain store, from a small street shop to a central kitchen and its own supply chain. Step by step, it has established its own catering industry territory. Unsystematic, purely realistic. The industrial road where bowls of noodles are cooked.