Page 30 of A Serving of Hope

Koishi shrugged playfully. “Did I say too much?”

“I’m fond of Yunogo myself,” said Toshio. “Wonderful hot springs.”

“Anyway,” Nagare continued, “we went to the Hibiscus café first.”

Toshio leaned forward eagerly. “Was it still there?”

“Well, yes, but…” Nagare trailed off.

“But what?”

“Miyuki Yamato isn’t running the place anymore. Her sister-in-law Rikako is in charge now, and she’s renamed it Sunflower. She knew all about Miyuki, though. It seems they’re very close.”

Toshio’s shoulders had sagged with disappointment. “Right…”

“The menu hasn’t changed much. So we went ahead and ordered the pork shogayaki.”

“Wait. The shogayaki I just ate was being served in the café?”

“When Rikako took over, Miyuki passed the recipes on to her,” said Nagare.

“You only ever went there later in the day,” added Koishi. “So you never saw the lunch menu. It turns out the pork shogayaki was one of the most popular options.”

“Oh. And all this time I thought she was only making it for me. Munching away on the exact same dish all those customers had eaten, convinced it was something special…”

“That’s what I was worried about,” Nagare said. “That the version she made for you might have been different from the one at the café. So I’m glad to hear you say it tastes identical.”

He looked pleased with himself, but Toshio’s face had clouded over.

“You like your flavors nice and strong, don’t you?” asked Koishi, smiling slightly. “It was a bit too intense for me. Without rice I don’t think I’d even get through it.”

“Now that you mention it,” said Toshio, “it has made me quite thirsty.” He reached for his teacup and drained it in one gulp.

“I was surprised when I tried it too,” said Nagare, gazing at the empty plate. “Goes wonderfully with rice, but it seems a bit rich for pairing with a drink.”

“I wonder if Sayo will manage it,” said Toshio, tilting his head thoughtfully. “She takes quite a…minimalist approach to seasoning.”

“There’s no need to worry. As long as she has this stuff, she’ll be able to whip it up.” Nagare set a bottle of brown sauce down on the table.

Toshio picked it up and studied the label. “Horumon-udon sauce?”

“Tsuyama, not far from Mimasaka, is famous for its horumon-udon. Udon noodles stir-fried with offal—real comfort food. Of course, the sauce varies depending on the restaurant, but at home people make it with this stuff. It’s not bad as condiments go, and versatile too. Miyuki used it to season her shogayaki.”

“Soy sauce, miso, sugar, mirin, syrup, garlic, ginger, sesame oil, sesame, chili pepper…” Toshio read from the label, before setting the bottle back down on the table with an oddly detached air. “Well, that makes sense. If there’s ginger in the sauce too, no wonder the flavor’s so strong.”

“We tried stir-frying it with some udon,” Koishi cut in, “and the results were amazing. Hardly surprising, seeing as that’s what it’s made for.”

“Unlike this place, that café actually gets busy at lunchtime—and when it’s just you running the place and you’ve a bunch of different dishes to prepare, you need your shortcuts. This sauce was one of them.”

Nagare was trying to console him, but the chill in Toshio’s chest was only growing more insistent. To Miyuki, had he been little more than another customer? He found himself thinking of all the gifts he’d showered her with. All those handbags and accessories…

“We bought a whole case of the stuff, so please take it home with you. Ought to last you quite a while.” Nagare hefted a heavy-looking paper bag onto the table.

“Much obliged,” said Toshio, rising weakly to his feet and straightening his clothes. He pulled out his wallet and turned to Koishi.

“We’ll leave the fee up to you. Just send whatever you feel is fair to this account.” She handed him a slip of paper.

“All right, then. I’ll be sure to recompense you for all this time and effort.”