Page 19 of A Serving of Hope

“Dad made a test batch as soon as he got back from Murakami. I tried one myself, and honestly, I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed an onigiri so much.”

“He went to Murakami?” asked Shiori.

“Yes. Stayed a couple of nights too. I wish I could have joined him.”

“I feel bad sending him all that way…though I guess it makes sense. I mean, how else was he going to recreate it?” Shiori glanced back at the pond.

“I went to Bettei Haguroan too,” said Nagare without turning around.

“You…did?”

“Wasn’t able to meet Yasuhiko, sadly.”

Shiori said nothing.

“Still, your memory might be a little vague, but I’m fairly certain the onigiri you just ate is near enough identical to the one he made for you that day.” Nagare stopped and faced her. “Can I tell you what I learned at the restaurant?”

Shiori visibly braced herself. “Okay.”

“They’ve been in business for over a hundred years,” said Nagare, walking alongside her now. “It’s a grand old ryotei, on par with the finest in Kyoto.”

“I’ve only eaten there once,” said Shiori, “and that was just for a bento, not the real deal. Yasuhiko didn’t talk about it much either. But I knew it was a prestigious sort of place.”

“There’s a big Tanabata festival in Murakami, isn’t there? I was told it’s the busiest day of the year for the restaurant. Regulars turn up from all over the city, and some from even further afield. The okami who runs the place told me they offer a special menu that day. And when I asked, she was kind enough to serve me it.”

“Yasuhiko told me the same thing. He said it was a pretty demanding workplace at the best of times, but Tanabata was something else.”

“Here’s the meal in question,” said Nagare, producing a photograph from the pocket of his samue and showing it to her.

“Wow,” murmured Shiori. The photo showed an array of extravagant-looking dishes on a table. “I don’t even know what half of those are…”

“It was quiet when I visited, so the okami served me herself. She told me all sorts while I ate. The festival menu turned out to be entirely salmon-based, but the fish was of such high quality and so inventively prepared that I enjoyed every mouthful.”

As Nagare spoke, Shiori’s grip on the photo tightened.

“Apparently, the whole time they’ve been in business, a customer has only canceled on festival day once—and that was four years ago. There were five portions left over, and the head chef divided them up among the younger cooks. They set about packing them into bento boxes—except Yasuhiko, who started making onigiri instead. When the okami asked why, he grinned at her and said he was planning a marriage proposal. She remembered all this like it was yesterday, which is why I was able to recreate the onigiri so closely.”

“So the filling was salmon?”

“Yes. Among the many dishes on the menu, the most prized was the sake no sakabitashi—sake-marinated salmon. A delicacy that takes a huge amount of time and effort to prepare.” Nagare showed her another photo.

“It looks amazing,” said Shiori.

“That wasn’t all, though. Yasuhiko had the idea of mixing chopped pieces of soy-marinated salmon belly into the filling. The okami remembers being impressed by that. Said it must have given it an even richer flavor.”

“That sounds just like Yasuhiko. He always wanted to add some little flourish of his own.”

Nagare smiled warmly. “The okami told me that they use Koshihikari rice from Iwafune at the restaurant. Even told me the exact supplier they use, so I was able to get hold of some. The nori’s from the Sea of Japan, while the filling, as I’ve just explained, is identical. All told, I believe it’s the exact onigiri you ate that day. Of course, it might not have tasted quite the same to you. I put my heart into making them, but there’s no way I could rival what Yasuhiko was feeling as he worked the rice. Not even a master chef could. When you’re making onigiri, technique only gets you so far. It’s the emotion you put in that really counts.”

“Right. I guess that’s why he chose to make them.”

“Nowadays those ‘onigirazu’ things are all the rage—more like a rice sandwich than a rice ball, and you don’t even shape them by hand. That’s no way to make a meal. Onigiri taste good because they’re molded with feeling. You think of the person who’s going to eat it, transfer all that emotion to the palms of your hands, and press the rice together lovingly. That, to me, is what an onigiri is all about.”

“I can’t thank you enough,” said Shiori, smiling radiantly. “I think I’ve finally understood what was going through Yasuhiko’s head that day. I feel like I can move on at last.”

“Well, that’s good to hear,” replied Nagare.

With Koishi following in silence, they passed through the garden’s gate and back into the street.