Page 46 of A Serving of Hope

“Please.”

“There are eight items in total. In the upper left is simmered Shogoin turnip, served with two types of miso: one infused with yuzu, the other with chili. Next to that is the fugu sashimi mille-feuille. There’s ponzu jelly between the layers, so you can eat it as it is. The small bowl in the upper right is a miniature crab gratin—made with Echizen crab, and served with crushed Tartary buckwheat kernels, which you can sprinkle on top if you’d like. They add a nice crunch. As for the two dishes in the middle, the skewers on the right are duck meatballs, fried tsukune-style—try those with some sansho pepper and sweet vinegar. On the left is the grilled tilefish, which should go nicely with a sprinkle of seri parsley and roe salt. Finally, the bottom row. On the left is winter eel, grilled shirayaki-style without extra seasoning. Delicious wrapped in nori and dipped in the wasabi soy sauce. In the middle is deep-fried oyster, best enjoyed with a generous coating of the tartar sauce, which is made with suguki pickles. And on the right is Omi beef tenderloin, fried kara-age style. It’s already seasoned, but a squeeze of the sudachi should add a nice citrus note.”

“Well,” said Masaru, surveying the contents of the platter in amazement. “I had high expectations, and you’ve exceeded them. I can tell this is going to be…educational.”

“I forgot to ask,” said Koishi. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“I know your father likes a tipple, but I hear it’s not really your thing,” said Nagare. “I guess it doesn’t always run in the family.”

Masaru scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “I’ve tried, believe me, but I’m a total lightweight.”

“No need to force yourself—it’s just how you’re built. How about a fine tea instead?” Nagare nodded to Koishi, who fetched a metal tea canister and tipped some leaves from it into a Banko pot.

“Today’s rice dish is a softshell turtle porridge. Just let me know when you’d like it. In the meantime, enjoy!” Nagare bowed and made for the kitchen.

“I do wish I could serve you some sake with your meal,” said Koishi, pouring his tea into a tall Karatsu cup.

“Tell me about it,” replied Masaru, sipping the tea. “I always feel like I’m missing out.”

“On the plus side, I guess tea lets you focus on the flavor of the food. Anyway—enjoy!” Koishi followed her father into the kitchen.

The restaurant fell silent. Left alone with the food, Masaru quietly cleared his throat, pressed his palms together in gratitude, and reached for his chopsticks.

He started with the shirayaki eel. They served plenty of eel at Satsukitei too: paired with cucumber in a vinegared dish, rolled into omelets, or on top of a bowl of rice at the end of a meal. It was a versatile enough ingredient, but one that rarely stole the spotlight. With no seasonal associations, everything depended on the chef’s ability to make it shine.

As Nagare had instructed, he wrapped it in the toasted nori, dipped it in the wasabi soy sauce, and took a bite. The eel was soft and warm, and its skin crisp, suggesting it had been grilled in the Kansai style.

People often avoided eel because it had the sharp fragrance common to river fish, and Masaru was usually one of them. Even when he enjoyed it, something about the aftertaste bothered him. When it was cooked kabayaki-style with sauce, he could just about bear it, but this was shirayaki, meaning there was no seasoning to mask the flavor. Masaru had always believed this to be a problem inherent in even the highest-quality eel—but he was astonished by how clean and light this one tasted.

In fact, Masaru had never tasted eel like it. It had all the delicacy of white fish like sea bream or flounder, combined with the rich savor of yellowtail at the peak of its season. He had thought lightness and richness of flavor were two ends of a spectrum, that they couldn’t possibly coexist—but this shirayaki proved otherwise.

Still in shock, he moved on to the fugu sashimi and received another jolt of surprise.

Sashimi was an indispensable element of ryokan cuisine, but freshness was everything. Even with efficient modern distribution systems, a ryokan located far inland could never compete with one near the sea. That was the conclusion Masaru and his father Saburo had come to over the years.

Kusatsu Onsen was nearly a hundred kilometers from the Sea of Japan, and close to two hundred from the Pacific. At an altitude of four thousand feet, it was considered mountain country, which made seafood something of a hard sell. When Saburo had first taken over the ryokan, plenty of guests had muttered, “Sashimi? In the mountains?”

Kyoto was a long way from the sea too, and when it came to the city’s famed cuisine, fugu was hardly the first thing that came to mind. But the dish in front of Masaru surpassed even the versions he had eaten in places like Shimonoseki or Hakata, cities renowned for their puffer fish.

When you eat Nagare’s food, empty your mind completely. That had been his father’s advice. Taking it to heart, Masaru simply allowed his chopsticks to roam from one dish to the next, surrendering himself wholly to the act of eating.

“Is it all to your liking?” asked Nagare, arriving at his side.

“I’m honestly amazed. Stunned, in fact. I’m half-tempted to ask you to take me on as an apprentice.” Masaru’s expression, like Nagare’s earlier, managed to seem both playful and sincere.

“Oh, please. This pales in comparison to your father’s cooking. Compared to him I’m just an amateur.”

“Seriously. I can’t even fathom how you’ve achieved these flavors.” Masaru was staring with grave intensity at the near-empty platter.

“I figured you might still be hungry, so I’ve brought some yakisoba before the rice course,” said Nagare, setting a square dish down beside the platter. Fragrant steam rose through the air.

Masaru leaned over the plate. “This is yakisoba?”

“My take on kawara soba, which I had in Yamaguchi once. The noodles are matcha soba instead of the usual Chinese type. Dip them in the tsuyu sauce the way you would with regular soba.”

The square gray plate was heaped with dark green, slightly charred noodles, topped with shredded omelet and thin slivers of pork.

“You can drop that slice of lemon into the sauce if you’d like. Eat up while it’s still hot!”