"Just Three Tables": the story in a name

The full narration of the video.

In the northeast corner of Beijing, there's a hot pot place called Jiu San Zhuo. Literally: "just three tables." So few tables, yet there's often a line at the door. How does a tiny place pull that off? Let's follow a first-time guest, all the way through.

Stop one: finding it. It's in the Caochangdi art district, outside the Fifth Ring Road, right by the airport expressway. Around it are galleries and artists' studios. Food bloggers say: it's not easy to find. When you're out of the way, your name has to stick. "Just three tables" — three words. Hear it once and you remember it; say it once and it spreads. The name itself is a plain truth. Stop two: the line. Once three tables fill up, everyone else waits at the door. A review from a few years back said: come late, and you queue. A later one just said: book ahead.

Why would a line draw more people? Psychologists ran an experiment. In 1975, American researchers brought out glass jars: each holding the same chocolate chip cookies. Some held ten, some held just two. The cookies in the two-cookie jar were rated more desirable, and worth more. Even more interesting: tell them the cookies ran low because others were grabbing them, and the ratings went even higher.

That line at the door says exactly that: others are grabbing it. But that's a cookie experiment, not this restaurant's books. It only explains part of it. Stop three: sitting down. What really brings people back is what's in the pot. A copper pot of clear broth, made and topped up with bottled spring water. The lamb is hand-sliced. The beef and lamb come from the same supplier as Jubaoyuan, a famous old Beijing hot pot house.

The meat arrives in old-school aluminum lunch boxes. And the owner regularly brings in flatbread buns from Gansu. Even the menu carries the name: Three Tables sesame buns, Three Tables dipping sauce. The name runs from the sign over the door all the way onto the plate. Last stop: taking it home. No seat? They do delivery and sell tiny copper pots, so you can take the hot pot home.

So the whole story of Jiu San Zhuo is hidden in its name. Small shop? Put "small" in the name. Not enough seats? Let the line at the door do the talking. The rest is up to a good pot of meat. Have you seen another shop that put its weakness right in its name? Tell us one in the comments.