Page 12 of A Serving of Hope

Shiori’s white dress, with its delicate pleating, looked especially striking in the modest surroundings of the restaurant.

“I’m a hair stylist, actually,” replied Shiori modestly. “But I suppose it’s a similar sort of world.”

“A hair stylist! When you mentioned customers just now, I pictured you working in some high-end clothing boutique. But hairdressing must be pretty glamorous too.”

“I know it seems that way, but the truth is it’s exhausting. We’re on our feet all day long.”

“I’d never thought about that. The customers get to take it easy, while the staff run about tending to their needs…Sounds a bit like this place, actually.”

The pair exchanged a glance and laughed.

“Still,” said Shiori, “it’s the smile on the customer’s face that keeps you going, isn’t it?”

“Exactly,” replied Koishi. “You know, I love getting my hair done. It’s such a mood booster. I used to dream of being a hairdresser.”

“Well, your hair looks great.”

Koishi hunched her shoulders bashfully. “That’s very kind of you. I’m never quite sure I’m styling it right.”

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” said Nagare, arriving with a long tray laden with food.

Shiori’s eyes opened wide. “Wow. What a spread!”

“We’re at that funny in-between time, when summer’s over but autumn isn’t quite here yet, which means there aren’t many big hitters on the menu. Still, I hope you’ll enjoy the meal.” He arranged the dishes on the table, then went on. “Let me run you through it. The long plate in the top left is salt-grilled ayu filled with roe. Try that with the yuzu miso. Next, in the Oribe bowl, you have the oboro tofu topped with fresh sea urchin. Perfect with a dab of kanzuri chili paste. The blue-and-white porcelain bowl at the end is kumiage yuba—the delicate skin that forms on soy milk. That comes dressed in Tosa vinegar. The glass plate below it is parboiled hamo eel—try that with the plum vinegar or mustard miso, whichever takes your fancy. Next to that, in the steamer, are the squid shumai dumplings. Nice with the sesame paste and a bit of coriander. And to the left of that is the grilled autumn eggplant in a ginger glaze. On the bottom row, the square dish is simmered Omi beef, which goes very well with a dab of the mustard paste. Then you have the Tatsuta-style deep-fried venison, and finally anago eel steamed with a layer of cucumber. Those last two are already seasoned, so you can enjoy them just as they are.”

Having rattled through this monologue, Nagare looked to Koishi, who asked Shiori if she wanted anything to drink.

Shiori smiled back at her. “With a feast like this, how could I not? Can you recommend a good sake?”

“Spoken like a true Niigata native,” said Koishi, nodding with approval. “I guess when you’re born in the homeland of sake, anything else is out of the question.”

Nagare gave an amused chuckle. “Not sure about ‘homeland,’ but…Anyway, do you prefer it on the dry side?”

“Not one of those delicate tanrei ones everyone seems to be drinking these days. I prefer something with a bit more weight to it. I think I get that from my father. He was something of a sake fiend.” A faint shadow crossed Shiori’s face as she said these last words.

“You’re right. Tanrei seems to be all anyone talks about recently, but a lot of them are pretty characterless. I’ll bring you something with a proper punch.” Nagare hurried off into the kitchen.

“So,” said Koishi conspiratorially, “is it true that in Niigata, they get you started on sake when you’re still a kid?”

Shiori smiled back at her. “I’m not even sure how to answer that.”

“Koishi,” said Nagare, returning with a bottle of sake, “if you keep chattering away like that, she won’t be able to enjoy her meal.”

“Sorry. I let my curiosity get the better of me sometimes.” Koishi winced slightly as she returned to the kitchen.

“Not at all,” Shiori called after her. “It’s fun to chat.”

Nagare set the bottle down. “This is Tenju, an Akita brew. I can warm it up for you if you like, but I’d recommend trying it at room temperature. It’s been my go-to in the evenings lately. Anyway, enjoy the meal.”

He went back into the kitchen, and a pleasant silence descended over the restaurant. The first dish she reached for was the salt-grilled ayu. Back in Murakami, ayu had been a dinnertime staple in the summer, thanks to a neighbor who would catch them in the nearby Miomote River. Having grown up eating ayu so fresh her mother had to wrestle with the still-flopping fish to get the skewers in, she’d always been disappointed when she ate it at a restaurant. So it was without expecting much that she raised a morsel to her lips and began to chew.

“Wow,” she blurted, surprising even herself.

The fish’s belly had split open as it was grilled, releasing its golden roe. She’d heard people say that, because all the nutrients went to the eggs, the flesh of late-season ayu lacked flavor. Now she knew how wrong they were. If anything, the taste seemed richer than that of young ayu caught in the spring, while the yuzu miso added a bright, citrusy aroma that really lifted the dish.

Next she turned her attention to the oboro tofu, adding a dab of kanzuri to the sea urchin on top. The sharp fermented heat of the chili paste paired perfectly with the rich creaminess of the tofu, which practically melted in her mouth. It was a combination that stirred something inside her. Maybe that was because a jar of kanzuri had been a constant presence in her family’s fridge. Whenever they’d wanted to spice something up, or boost or tweak a flavor, it had always been the kanzuri they reached for. It had gone into the dipping sauce for somen noodles and been slathered onto bowls of white rice; sometimes it had even been stirred into ramen. She’d had it with tofu plenty of times, but never with the addition of sea urchin.

Hamo eel, meanwhile, she knew as a Kyoto favorite—one that was usually in season in summer, around the time of the Gion Festival. She hadn’t known you could even catch it in the autumn. She tried dipping it in the mustard miso. It tasted so good she almost groaned aloud.