Prologue:
Kitchen Prep
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It’s been about ten years since I inherited this restaurant from my late gramps.
While it’s not dead center in the middle of Tokyo, it’s at least in the most buzzing office district in the prefecture. Walk about three minutes from the restaurant and you’ll find yourself in a little shopping area. It’s a nice spot with all types of eateries lined up on the street. Every day, white collar workers, men and women alike, find their way here to grab lunch. Close to the entrance of this shopping arcade, there’s a cozy building three stories tall, with one extra floor beneath the surface. The sign with the winged dog on it helps it stand out.
My restaurant resides in the basement floor of that building.
Its name? “Western Cuisine Nekoya.”
The front door, constructed with ebony wood and featuring a brass handle, is something of a rarity in this day and age. In the center of it is a picture of a cat holding its palm up, almost as if it were beckoning customers to come in.
Gramps was much more of a cat man than he was a dog man, which makes it ironic that some fifty years after he started this joint, I, a dog guy, would inherit it. We’ve been around for quite some time.
The menu is kind of a mishmash of different things, if I’m being perfectly honest. I know “western cuisine” is in the name, but Gramps constantly added stuff to the menu over the years, much of which was definitely not western in shape or form. Back when I had just graduated from college and decided to help out at the restaurant, I asked Gramps about why that was. You see, he wasn’t born in Japan. He was born on the mainland. After the war ended, he found himself alone and penniless, so he came back to Japan. I honestly still don’t know if any of that is true or not. It would certainly explain why Gramps kinda seemed a little foreign-ish.
He explained to me, “‘Western cuisine’ refers to dishes from across the ocean, right? Which means just about anything that wasn’t originally from Japan counts as western cuisine, no? Besides, at an eatery, as long as the eating’s good, nothing else matters!”
Just for the record, the lunch special for that day was braised pork. Gramps explained all this to me while preparing the staff meal, a hearty helping of sweet cuts of greasy pork served over rice.
So basically, serving stuff other than western cuisine is part of our charm. Of course, it should go without saying that Gramps’ and my specialty is still western cuisine. And you know what? We’re pretty highly regarded! Gramps’ crazy good cooking aside, we give free refills on rice, bread, and soup. The young folks especially love that. Plus, the most expensive thing on the menu is only a thousand yen. Gramps and I were always particular about that.
Fortunately for us, business is always good around lunchtime on the weekdays, when tired workers in the neighborhood swing by and turn the place into a battlefield. It also gets busy at night when those same folks drop in again, along with broke students drawn in by the allure of free bread and rice refills. Let’s just say that I’m doing pretty well for myself these days.
And that’s Western Cuisine Nekoya, the restaurant I inherited from Gramps. We’re open on weekdays from 11 AM to 3 PM for lunchtime and then 5 PM to 9 PM for dinner. We’re closed on Saturdays and Sundays, when all of the usual office workers vanish from the shopping arcade. I’m sure you’ve all figured it out by now, but Nekoya is just an ordinary little eatery.
…Well, except for one kinda, sorta special thing.
One day a week on Saturday, Western Cuisine Nekoya opens for what I like to call a special business day. But wait, didn’t you say the place was closed on Saturdays? Right you are, friend. That’s what makes it special.
Since there’s no way we can let folks from “this side” into the restaurant during a special business day, we have to close up. At least on the surface, anyway. I can just picture how bad things would go if we didn’t. Sheesh.
But look, even I don’t have all the answers. Gramps started this whole special business day thing some thirty years ago, when I was still just a tot. I’m sure he probably knew a thing or two about all this, but before he could explain any of it to me, he left this world for the next.
“When I die, this place is yours,” he told me. “If you choose to take over the restaurant, I want you to continue the special business days.” So here I am, doing just as he asked. I’ve made it a point to not think too hard about who the customers are on Saturdays or where they’re from. An eatery should be about the eatin’, right? The customers drop by, I cook them something good to eat, they enjoy it, they pay me. That’s all I really need. It doesn’t matter whether they’re from “this side” or “that side.”
Which is how Western Cuisine Nekoya got its bizarre nickname.
The Restaurant to Another World.
That’s what folks from “that side” call this place.