Page 34 of A Serving of Hope

Tae smiled faintly in response. “Enjoy the meal.”

“Off already, Tae? We’ll be looking forward to next time.”

Koishi saw Tae out of the restaurant. Saki, alone now, picked up her chopsticks and reached straight for the dashimaki tamago. She never told people—it seemed a little childish—but she had a soft spot for simple egg-based dishes. She devoured the omelet in no time.

After savoring its sweet flavor, she reached for the Oribe dish and started on the cherry sea bream. The light briny fragrance, the silky mouthfeel, the pleasant firmness of the flesh…A single piece of sashimi, and she was captivated. She was particularly impressed by the effect of the delicately chopped pepper tree leaves; she’d expected them to overpower the fish, but instead their aroma blended with that of the sea bream in a way that felt utterly natural.

“And here’s the sake,” said Nagare, setting a red cut-glass tumbler of the beverage down on the table.

“May I ask what it’s called?”

“This is Yanagi, brewed by Tsukino Katsura. Dry, but packed with flavor.”

Saki smiled up at him. “The food is wonderful.”

“Glad you think so. Please—take your time.” Nagare turned toward the kitchen.

“Sorry, but can I ask something?”

Nagare stopped and turned back. “And what might that be?”

“What’s the difference between ayame and kakitsubata irises?”

“Ah.” Nagare gave a pained smile. “You’re referring to Tae’s obi.”

“Yes. I mean, I’m sure you can tell them apart in real life, or in a photo. But from the pattern on an obi?” Saki gave an unconvinced frown.

“She always wears that one at this time of year. Apparently, ayame only bloom in dry places, like fields, whereas kakitsubata grow in wetlands. Something like that, anyway. More importantly—that’s a beautiful brooch you’re wearing.” Nagare’s gaze had settled on the small, matte black accessory pinned to her sky-blue jacket.

“Thank you. One of my own designs.”

“Reminds me of finely woven bamboo. My wife loved that sort of pattern.”

“Oh. Did she…pass away?”

“A while back. I’m a fully fledged widower these days.”

Once Nagare had retreated into the kitchen, Saki slipped off her jacket, revealing an off-white blouse. She glanced around, but found nothing resembling a coatrack. With a resigned sigh, she draped the jacket over the back of her chair.

As a jewelry designer, she prided herself on her eye for aesthetic detail, but when it came to traditional Japanese motifs—like those irises—she still had a lot to learn. Still, this frustration did nothing to slow the pace of her chopsticks. Between dabbing the ayu tempura in the small mound of sansho salt and savoring the two kinds of miso on the namafu dengaku wheat-gluten cakes, she emptied the red tumbler of sake in no time.

“Refill?” asked Koishi, approaching from behind with a silver tray.

“Thank you. The same, please.”

“Right away.”

Judging the right moment at which to offer another drink was an art in itself—and Koishi had judged the moment perfectly. The service here was turning out to be just as impressive as the food.

“Here you go,” said Koishi, swapping the red cut-glass tumbler for a blue one. Even the sake cups were clearly chosen with great care.

The grilled sawara mackerel had a gentle sweetness, and its delicate umami danced across her tongue. Surely there was no fish that paired better with sake, she thought, before turning her attention to the simmered beef tongue. It looked almost like a Western-style stew, but the moment she bit into the tender meat, a distinctly Japanese aroma and flavor spread through her mouth. This, too, paired fantastically with the sake. Next, as a palate cleanser, she tried the baby scallops. They were a perfect match for the ponzu—which, as Nagare had noted, was sweet rather than tart.

“Is everything to your liking, then?” asked Nagare, stepping out from the kitchen.

“Truly. I can’t remember the last time I ate so well.”

“You’re flattering me. I bet you dine at fancy restaurants all the time.”