Page 57 of A Serving of Hope

When she felt like treating herself, she ate at the izakaya on the ground floor of her apartment building. In winter, the menu always featured at least one crab dish, but the crab was reliably flavorless and of uncertain origin. It was an experience that usually left her feeling vaguely melancholic.

She tried the steamed oyster and namafu duck, and found them delicious enough. But the crab had made such an impression on her that they seemed almost ordinary by comparison.

Yuiko filled her cup to the brim with sake, then downed it in one go. At the izakaya she’d used sake to wash away the crab’s stale, fishy aftertaste. Now, she realized with a sudden rush of emotion, she was drinking it in order to savor its lingering sweetness.

She slid the now-empty steamer to the rear of the table, then drew the one on the right toward her.

For the beef-tongue stew, served in a small casserole dish, she reached for the spoon wrapped in a paper napkin. The stew was still steaming hot, and the meat, though infused with the two flavors of miso, was lighter than she’d expected—with a clean aftertaste that, again, begged to be chased down with sake.

As she gazed down at the empty gratin dish, a series of words came to mind. Yuiko hastily scribbled them down on the napkin.

“How are you for sake?” asked Nagare, poking his head through the curtain.

Yuiko gave the flask a light shake. “I think there’s a tiny bit left.”

“I’ll warm you up another one, then,” said Nagare with a grin. Yuiko smiled back and thanked him.

She was roughly halfway through the meal when it dawned on her that she didn’t want to finish it. Instead, she was overwhelmed by the desire to take the rest home, freeze it, and savor a little of it every day.

Nagare returned with the flask of warm sake, and Yuiko confessed her wish. He responded with a pained smile.

“It’s flattering that you’d want to do that, but…”

“It feels wrong to eat all this amazing food in one go. Like I’ll drop dead in the morning or something.”

“Now, now—no need to be dramatic.”

“No, I really mean it. It’s like I’m tempting fate.”

Noticing that Yuiko wasn’t smiling, Nagare tightened his lips. “Please—just enjoy the food at your own pace.”

“All right,” replied Yuiko, her eyes glued to the steamer in front of her.

She turned her attention to the fugu, wondering what part of the fish it was. When she tried a bite, her first thought, blasphemous as it might be, was that it tasted a bit like chicken breast. It had the same pleasant firmness and was satisfyingly chewy. With the negi and ponzu garnish adding a bright, refreshing edge, it felt like something she could have eaten forever.

She moved on to the final steamer, and savored every mouthful.

“Shall I bring that rice through? As there were no fried dishes in the main meal, I’ve topped it with crab tempura.”

“Oh, I love tempura. Yes, I’ll have it now, thanks. Don’t want to keep your daughter waiting.”

“There’s no rush at all. I’ll bring it out in a moment.”

Nagare made his way back into the kitchen. There was only a curtain dividing it from the dining area, which meant she could hear the sizzle of the tempura—and smell the sesame oil it was fried in. Yuiko was already stuffed to bursting, and yet her stomach still rumbled. Tempura had that sort of effect on her.

“I’ve gone easy on the rice so you’ll be able to finish it,” he said, returning with two bowls. “For the tempura I’ve used claw meat only. The tsuyu sauce is the darker Tokyo type—personally, I prefer it that way. Sprinkle over some of the powdered sansho pepper if you like. And this is a simple red miso soup with tofu. As I say, take your time—though I always think dishes like this taste best when you guzzle them down.” Nagare grinned and ducked back into the kitchen.

A thin column of steam was rising from the small blue-and-white rice bowl. Yuiko hurriedly removed its lid, then let out a quiet gasp.

When Nagare had mentioned claw meat, she’d expected something like a crab croquette, where the claw was often still attached. Instead, what she found on top of the rice was a thin, round kakiage-style fritter.

How had he even managed to fry it into this shape? The question had barely formed in her mind when it was rendered meaningless by the tempting aromas drifting up from the bowl. Yuiko began wolfing down the dish.

In between bites of the crispy tempura, she practically drank down the sauce-drenched rice, the sweet flavor of the crab meat lingering on her tongue. Yuiko was on the verge of tears. She’d had no idea a simple tempura bowl could ever taste this good.

Pausing occasionally to sip on the tofu miso soup, she demolished the entire dish in three minutes flat. There wasn’t a grain of rice left in the bowl.

“Went down well, then?” asked Nagare, arriving at her side with a rustic Mashiko teapot.