Page 33 of A Serving of Hope

“I’m not the only one, then.”

“But then the food arrives, and their faces light up. Watching that happen to people is one of the joys of coming here.” Tae smiled as she dabbed at her mouth with a hand towel.

“Do you dine here often, then?”

“Oh, two or three times a week.”

Saki glanced around the restaurant. “I have to say, that kimono you’re wearing is wasted on this interior.”

“Well, appearances can be deceiving. And that goes for places, food, and people alike.”

Tae took a crisp ten-thousand-yen note from her purse and set it on the table. Koishi bustled over, tucked it into her apron pocket, and bowed deeply. “Thanks, Tae.”

But when it came to food, thought Saki, surely presentation was everything. Especially the dishes you served a meal on. That was why she’d agreed to try the food here in the first place. She glanced again at Tae’s table. The lacquered tray, the Imari rice bowl, the Kutani plate, the little Bizen dish—they were all miniature works of art.

“Here we are,” said Nagare, arriving at her side with a circular tray laden with food.

Tae peered at the tray and gave Nagare a look. “I should probably be asking for portions like that too.”

Nagare grinned. “Ah, but you always have such an appetite on you.”

“I must not be as refined as this lady,” replied Tae, motioning to Saki with her chin.

“Oh, I wouldn’t call myself particularly refined,” said Saki, giving Nagare a look of her own.

“Well, let me talk you through the dishes. On the green Oribe plate in the top left is cherry sea bream, dressed with young pepper tree leaves and salted kombu. To the right, on the Shigaraki plate, are some namafu dengaku—grilled wheat-gluten cakes glazed with miso. The pale one uses a yuzu-infused miso; the dark red one is the stronger hatcho variety. In the cut-glass bowl on the far right are some baby scallops dressed in ponzu. I’ve made the ponzu a little sweeter than usual, so the acidity shouldn’t bother you. Below that, in the decorated Karatsu dish, is braised tongue—Omi beef, simmered over two nights, best enjoyed with a dab of mustard. The fish on the yellow Seto plate to the left is sawara mackerel, grilled Kyoto-style in a sweet white miso marinade. Try spicing it up with a pinch of kuro-shichimi. The smaller fish on the far left is sweet-simmered moroko, and then below, in the bamboo basket, you have the tempura. Ostrich fern, momijigasa, baby ayu from Lake Biwa, anago eel from Akashi, and hamaguri clams from Ise. All good with sansho salt or the tentsuyu dipping broth—or you might want to try the sesame sauce. Finally, the rolled omelet is dashimaki tamago. I’ve seasoned it Tokyo-style—a little on the sweet side. Take your time, and enjoy.”

Saki took in his every word, her eyes sparkling at each additional detail.

“Now I see what you meant,” she said to Tae. “Anyone’s jaw would drop at the sight of such exquisite food in a humble little restaurant like—” She glanced up at Nagare. “Sorry, I hope I’m not being rude.”

“Not at all. I’m aware the place doesn’t exactly look enticing to a first-timer.” Nagare smiled as he tucked the round tray under one arm. “Anyway, there’s nothing very fancy about my cooking.”

“Well?” said Tae, looking pleased with herself. “Better than you expected, isn’t it?”

“Oh yes—you were absolutely right. Excuse me—Koishi, was it? I think I will have that sake, you know.”

Koishi turned to face her. “What kind would you like?”

“Fushimi sake is on the sweeter side, isn’t it?”

“Not necessarily,” interjected Nagare, “but the profile does tend to be milder. There’s an old saying about it being more popular with women than the harder stuff you get in Nada.”

“I’ll have some of that, then,” said Saki without looking up from the dishes in front of her. “Slightly chilled, please.”

“Certainly.” Koishi hurried after her father into the kitchen.

“Well, I’ve had my fun. I think I’ll be on my way,” Tae murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

“That really is an elegant kimono, you know,” observed Saki.

“Thank you. It’s really nothing special.”

Saki glanced at the obi tied around Tae’s waist. “Are those ayame irises?”

“Kakitsubata, actually. The type that grows in water.” Tae turned slightly to show her the pattern.

“I see. Very summery. I suppose it’s good to keep ahead of the season.”