Jonáš arrived in town. He knew the old streets by heart. The facades had fresh paint, and where old shops once stood there were now salons, small bistros, and cafés. He drove past the old bakery. A low building with a faded sign, small windows, and a door they used to walk through as boys to buy rolls, sweet buns, and poppy seed cake. He couldn’t smell the baked goods through the closed car window, but his memory filled it in instantly. Warm rolls. Buttery pastries. Yeast dough. Sweet farmer’s cheese. He was about to park when he noticed something new a block farther down. A café. Large clean windows, a dark frame, a wooden sign above the door. Modern, but not sterile. The breakfast menu was painted in white on the glass, and beneath it was a name that caught his attention even more than the storefront itself.
BREAKFEAST. He chuckled to himself. A weak pun, but an effective one.
He parked by the curb. For a moment he stayed in the car. The shirt stretched across his belly was holding together mostly out of habit. He tried to tuck it in a little. His stomach got in the way of every movement. The fabric couldn’t really be smoothed out anymore, only shifted from one point of tension to another. He got out of the car. Once he was standing, he felt his weight more clearly than before. He crossed the sidewalk and went inside.
The café was open, but empty.
The air smelled of coffee, butter, and something sweet that was baking somewhere in the back. The room was warm, with wooden tables, soft chairs, and a large counter at the far end. Behind the display glass sat croissants, cakes, sweet buns, savory pastries, and tall sandwiches. A breakfast menu hung on the wall.
Jonáš stopped by the door. For a second he hesitated. Is it open? Muted sounds of dishes and someone moving around came from the kitchen, but otherwise it was quiet. He sat down at a table by the window. Jonáš settled into his seat slowly. The booth was fairly narrow. His stomach immediately bumped against the edge of the table.
He remained seated with his belly pressed against the tabletop, his jacket unbuttoned and his shirt stretched so tightly that every breath was visible. He rested his palms on his thighs and looked at the menu.
Breakfast for One — eggs, bacon, bread, spread, vegetables
Big Breakfast — three eggs, sausage, bacon, beans, potatoes, bread
House Feast — a selection of hot and sweet breakfast items, pastries, eggs, meat, cakes, coffee, and much more!
Jonáš paused at the last option. House Feast?
The words immediately created pleasant images in his mind. He had come to buy breakfast, but stopping for only coffee and a couple of butter rolls would have been disappointing.
A young man stepped out of the kitchen. He couldn’t have been much older than thirty. Slim, well-groomed, moving with effortless confidence. He wore a white T-shirt and an apron tied around his waist. A fresh skin fade highlighted the shape of his head. And his ears. Large, protruding, impossible to miss. Jonáš smiled.
Maybe it was some kind of local trait. Maybe men here were born with ears like family crests. Him. Matúš. Adam. And now this young waiter or cook who looked like he had just stepped out of a modern barbershop advertisement.
“Good morning. We’re serving already.”
He approached with a smile. His eyes briefly landed on Jonáš’s stretched shirt and the large stomach pressed against the table. The young man picked up a menu even though Jonáš already had one in front of him.
“And something to go with it?”
Jonáš looked back at the menu. He knew he had only come to buy breakfast for the three of them. He knew he should say, just coffee, please.
Instead he pointed at the last item. “What exactly is the House Feast?”
The young man smiled slightly. “That depends on how much you want to eat.”
“How much I want to eat?” Jonáš repeated.
“Eggs, bacon, sausage, bread, homemade spreads, sweet pastries. Depends on what’s ready that morning. Coffee included. Want to try it?”
Jonáš felt that familiar tension stir in his chest. Last night. The goulash. Adam’s look. The scale in the bathroom. One hundred fifty-three. Jonáš placed a hand on the menu. Through the fabric he could feel his stomach pressing against the table. “I’ll try it.”
The young man wrote down the order and asked one more question. “The full House Feast?”
A simple question. But to Jonáš it sounded like a challenge. He nodded. “The full one.”
Jonáš leaned back as far as the chair allowed. In the process his stomach pressed even harder into the edge of the table, and the gap between the buttons of his shirt widened slightly.
The young man smiled. His gaze drifted lower. To the stretched white shirt. To the missing buttons. To the huge belly resting against the table, impossible to ignore. Jonáš noticed. He had become sensitive to that. He could tell the difference between mockery and curiosity. This wasn’t mockery. The young man quickly lifted his eyes back to Jonáš’s face. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to stare.”
Jonáš looked at him. “You from around here?”
“Yeah. I worked in Bristol for a few years. Now I’m back. This place is ours.” He gestured around the café.
The young man nodded and explained that his sister did the baking and worked in the kitchen while he handled everything else.
“Mom says we’ll be bankrupt within a year, so we’ve got motivation.” He said it with a grin.
“The name’s good,” Jonáš remarked.
“Cheap wordplay. But good.”
The young man laughed. “That was exactly the goal.”
He set down silverware wrapped in a napkin and a glass of water. As he leaned forward, his eyes drifted once again toward Jonáš’s stomach.
“Think the House Feast will be enough for you?” He smiled.
Jonáš raised an eyebrow. “Is that a question or a provocation?”
“And what does the estimate say?”
The young man looked him over again. Not provocatively. Practically. Then he said, “I’ll bring you the basics first. Then you can decide.” Jonáš felt something familiar wake up inside him. It wasn’t excitement. More like anticipation. That dangerous spark.
“With us, the House Feast can be expanded depending on how much you can handle. Sort of an all-you-can-eat concept, but we keep it under control so food doesn’t go to waste.”
Jonáš looked at him more carefully. There was nothing fake in the smile. Just the calm confidence of someone who understood that food wasn’t only a service. It was also a way of reading people.
“Jonáš. Nice to meet you.”
Tibor looked at Jonáš. A massive young man with a handsome face and a powerful build. The morning light shone through his large protruding ears.
“Those ears really are some kind of local trademark.”
Jonáš laughed out loud. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
“Don’t worry,” Tibor said. “Around here we consider them a mark of quality.”
Tibor turned toward the kitchen but stopped at the counter first. “Oh, and by the way, if that shirt is bothering you, feel free to unbutton it.”
Jonáš looked up. Tibor wasn’t smiling. Not mockingly. Just matter-of-factly. Like someone who could see something was uncomfortable and saw no reason to make it embarrassing. “You’re alone in here for now,” Tibor added. “And we’ll see whether we need to expand that House Feast.”
Then he disappeared into the kitchen. Jonáš remained sitting by the window without moving. The sentence stayed with him. If that shirt is bothering you, feel free to unbutton it. The shirt really was bothering him. It stretched across his stomach, pulled with every breath, and the remaining buttons were holding on with such effort that every movement felt risky. Gaps between them revealed strips of skin. One deep breath and the fabric creaked again at the seams.
He felt it again. That strange excitement. Intense. Not just because of the food that was coming. Because of the entire situation. Sitting in a strange café. Wearing a shirt that was barely holding together. With his stomach pressed against the table. Slowly, Jonáš placed his fingers on the tightest button. He hesitated. Then he unfastened it. The fabric immediately relaxed outward. Not much. But enough to let him take a deeper breath. His stomach shifted forward and settled more comfortably against the table. The relief was so strong he had to close his eyes. He opened another button. Then another. The shirt parted like a curtain. His belly spilled majestically across the table.
Footsteps came from the kitchen. Jonáš quickly placed his hands on the table, but he didn’t button the shirt back up. Tibor arrived carrying the basics. On a large wooden tray sat buttered eggs, crispy bacon, a sausage split down the middle, crispy potatoes, beans in thick tomato sauce, two kinds of spreads, a bowl of pickled vegetables, and a basket of bread with steam still rising from it. Beside that he placed a smaller plate of sweets: two croissants, a sweet cheese bun, a slice of poppy seed cake, and a small cream-filled pastry. Finally he set down a strong coffee.
Tibor glanced at the open shirt, then at Jonáš’s face. He said nothing. And somehow that was the worst part. No joke. No surprise. No “I knew it.” Just calm acceptance, as if the whole thing were part of the standard breakfast experience.
“Your breakfast starter,” Tibor said.
Tibor smiled slightly. “That comes if you still have the appetite and the will to keep eating.”
A short breath caught in Jonáš’s throat. Tibor handed him the silverware. “Eat slowly. Enjoy every bite.”
Jonáš picked up the fork. The first bite was egg, bacon, and bread. Warm. Greasy. Salty. Simple. Good. So good that he rolled his eyes. The second bite was bigger. By the third, he had stopped thinking about what he would tell Adam and Matúš about why he had spent so long in town.
The café was still empty. The first people were walking outside. Inside, Jonáš sat by the window with his shirt open, his enormous stomach resting against the table, and a breakfast in front of him that was called the starter.
And somewhere in the kitchen, Tibor was waiting.
