Page 47 of A Serving of Hope

As Nagare returned to the kitchen, Masaru eagerly started on the noodles. He’d heard of this dish, a specialty from Kawatana Onsen in Yamaguchi, but this was the first time he’d laid eyes on it in person. The idea of pairing stir-fried noodles with a dipping sauce struck him as entirely novel. After his first mouthful, he added the lemon garnish to the sauce as Nagare had suggested.

Masaru had only ever eaten yakisoba with the usual thick brown sauce mixed in, or sometimes with a lighter, salt-based sauce. He’d never even imagined eating it like this. This could easily work as part of a kaiseki meal at Satsukitei, he thought as he emptied the plate.

What impressed him most of all, though, was Nagare’s thoughtfulness. It was true that the large platter hadn’t quite sated his appetite, even with the promise of rice to follow. But if he’d been served the yakisoba earlier, it would have distracted from the main dishes. The portions, the timing—everything had been carefully calibrated with the customer in mind.

All that remained was to sprinkle some sansho pepper onto the duck meatballs, roll them in the sweet vinegar, and chew away. Before long, the large platter was empty too.

Soon, Nagare emerged from the kitchen bearing a small clay pot.

“Here’s the rice porridge. Watch out—it’s hot.”

Nagare set the pot down on a mat and lifted the lid, unleashing a thick cloud of steam.

“What a fragrance!” exclaimed Masaru, smiling dreamily as the vapor rose around him.

“More like risotto than your usual rice porridge. Probably easiest to eat it with a spoon. There should be some crispy bits of rice stuck to the bottom—scrape them up if you like.”

“Did you say it was made with softshell turtle? How decadent…And what are these?” Masaru pointed at the small glass dish and cup by the pot.

“Finely chopped green sansho peppercorns and freshly squeezed ginger. Try mixing them in halfway through, and notice how the flavors shift. Should keep things interesting. I’ll leave this teapot here with you too.”

Masaru nodded eagerly, then dipped his spoon into the clay pot.

The porridge was steaming hot and, as Nagare had said, more like risotto in texture. The individual grains of rice were still intact, but soft all the way through. While the broth was unmistakably Japanese, there was something faintly Western in there too. Masaru couldn’t even begin to imagine how Nagare had crafted such flavors.

He specialized in menu development, albeit as a junior consultant, and yet he couldn’t identify a single seasoning or technique that had been used. It all seemed too complex to grasp. Even so, his frustration was mingled with a kind of exhilaration.

The clay pot was small, but the porridge turned out to be more than substantial. The yakisoba had packed quite a punch too. By the time he scraped up the last of the crunchy rice, he was about ready to burst.

“Did I give you enough?” asked Nagare.

“More than,” replied Masaru, patting his swollen belly.

“Good, good. You take a breather, and then I’ll show you through.”

—

“Sorry I took so long to eat,” said Masaru as they walked down the hallway. “When the food’s that good, you can’t help but slow down and enjoy it. I’m usually so busy with work that I just wolf things down.”

“It’s easy to eat too quickly, especially when you don’t have any sake to sip on. But you’re right: Food is meant to be savored.”

“Did you make all these dishes?” asked Masaru, gazing at the photos lining the hallway.

“For the most part. A few I came across on my travels. In fact, there should be a photo from Satsukitei somewhere.” Nagare stopped and stretched up on his toes as he searched for the photo.

“Oh, there’s no need to dig it out,” said Masaru, stepping past Nagare. “It’ll only be embarrassing.”

“Here we are. Kikuko found one of the dishes so tasty she asked for another helping, and then your father came to say hello. That’s when we took this.”

The slightly faded photo showed one of the guest rooms at Satsukitei. Nagare and Kikuko sat facing each other across a low table, while Saburo was kneeling at one side. But the most crucial part of the scene—the food—was hard to make out.

“What was the dish she liked so much?” asked Masaru, leaning in close.

“Finely shredded cabbage. Served with the Joshu beef teriyaki. She swore it was one of the best things she’d ever eaten. Practically begged for more of it.” Nagare chuckled softly and began walking again.

“Just…shredded cabbage?” Masaru froze for a moment in disbelief, then scrambled to catch up.

“Koishi will take it from here,” said Nagare, opening the door at the end of the hallway.