But it was a man dressed in mysterious clothes who appeared before me, rather than the woman from earlier. He looked rather aged but definitely still had his stuff straight. He must’ve been the restaurant’s master and chef.
“Sorry ’bout the wait, pal.”
“Um, what happened to the woman from before?” I asked.
“My wife went home. It’s almost noon, and she doesn’t wanna leave our grandkids all by their lonesome after they get back,” the man answered bluntly.
“I see.” I couldn’t mask the disappointment in my voice. I would’ve loved to have spoken to her a bit more.
“Sorry you gotta deal with this old man instead. But, hey, here’s your teriyaki-style sautéed pork.” He placed the tray of food on the table lightly.
“Um, what’s this?” I looked down, confused.
I recognized the pork, which was decorated with some kind of brownish sauce. It was cut into strips, making it easy to pick up with chopsticks. Beside the strips was a bowl of brown soup with thinly cut bits of something floating in it.
I couldn’t find the most important part of the meal, though. The one thing I wanted to eat above all else. Where’s the rice? Wait…
“Could this be rice?”
In front of the pork and soup sat a bowl full of what I realized was rice. However, it was nothing like the dark rice I’d eaten back home. It was pure white, translucent, and shone like polished stones.
It was completely different.
“That’s right,” the man said. “When you take out all the sprouts and bran before cooking it, you get this pure-white rice. I’ve heard that brown rice is better for the body, but when it comes to taste, nothing beats white rice.”
“How grand.”
He hadn’t just peeled the hulls off; he’d even removed the rice’s sprouts and bran before cooking it. I couldn’t begin to imagine how much lighter the rice must be. Even in a house of proud warriors, one wouldn’t serve rice like this unless it were some sort of special occasion.
Continually surprised by the incredible feast the restaurant was serving me, I picked up the bowl of rice, swallowed loudly, and took a single bite.
Oooh! It’s so soft…and sweet?!
I knew I’d eaten rice. I knew it in my mind. Still, this rice tasted completely different from the stuff back home. It was pure and clean, yet its hot steam was flavorful. It was so soft that I could swallow it without chewing, but when I did chew it, I tasted something sweet.
Just this rice on its own would’ve been an incredible feast. It wasn’t long before I gulped down the entire bowl as though it were water.
“Oh, you’re a real pro, eh? Want seconds?”
“Absolutely!” I nodded with gusto at the master, handing him the completely empty bowl.
“Comin’ right up! Hold your horses.”
I watched the master disappear into the back and then turned my attention to the food on the tray. I wonder what all this tastes like.
Just the white rice had been enough to satisfy me. Still, I found myself enthralled by the scents coming from the other foods.
I’ll start with the soup.
I picked up the small black bowl and brought it close to my nose, breathing in the steam rising from it. The brown soup was full of cut vegetables. I didn’t recall ever drinking a soup like that out west or in the east. It had a mysterious aroma that was hard to put into words, so I simply took a sip.
It’s hot but delicious. In fact, the soup was so hot that I almost burned myself. As I drank more, I made sure to blow on it to cool it down. It was salty and had a slight earthy scent.
The vegetables floating in the broth were so soft, it was almost like they were about to melt. When I bit into them, their juices spilled through my mouth.
From its taste, I finally figured out what one vegetable was. Oh, this is radish.
In the Mountain Nation, I’d eaten radish quite often, so that really brought me back. It was a little less bitter than I recalled, but that was what was good about it.
Then I turned my attention to the green pickles. I only put a few into my mouth but found myself surprised by the slightness of their salty flavor.
Whoa. For pickled vegetables, these are far less salty than I expected. They’re even kind of savory!
At home, pickles were typically coupled with rice; otherwise, they were too salty to eat. But these green pickles had the perfect level of saltiness.
In exchange for that lack of salt, they were actually rather hearty and even a bit spicy. Did the master use chili pepels? I hadn’t expected much from these pickles, but I was wrong—they were delicious.
Everything here is good. It’s that simple. I want more rice.
As if he’d read my mind or something, the master appeared with a bowl of rice piled to the top. “Sorry ’bout the wait. Here’s some more white rice.”
“Oooh, you have my gratitude, sir!”
I ate the rice alongside the vegetables and soup. Truly a gift from the gods.
After devouring about half the bowl of white perfection, I noticed the scent of something sweet.
Oh, yes. I forgot about the meat.
I’d been so enthralled by the rice, soup, and pickles that I completely ignored the pork. I stretched my chopsticks out and picked up a strip of the pig meat uncommon in the west. I had no clue whether it’d pair well with the white rice, but its sweet aroma was positively captivating.
The light above reflected off the meat. I raised it and put it in my mouth.
As I bit into the thin strip, its juices spilled out. The meat’s taste fused with the sweet and sour sauce, producing a strong flavor that spread across my tongue.
It’s so tender. As I chewed the pork, I soon realized the secret behind its softness. The muscle had been cut with an extra-sharp knife and then pulverized.
This is a true feast. Is it really all right for someone like me to eat this on such an ordinary day?
The meat was carefully prepared, almost as though the master were going to serve it at a banquet or something. The problem was, it was clear even to me that eating this pork with white rice would make it that much more delicious.
This is bad. I’m not sure I can resist.
As a warrior, I understood that battle could break out at any given time, even after one’s meal. Thus, it was important that one didn’t fill oneself completely. That was what I’d been taught, and I’d stuck by that up until today.
Until today. Well, it should be fine. I may be a warrior, but I’m no longer of a warrior household. I’m just an adventurer now.
I recollected myself and yelled to the master. “Sir! Apologies, but could I have another bowl of rice?!”
By the time my stomach was screaming that it could hold no more food, I finally put my chopsticks down and asked for the bill.
After paying the extremely reasonable cost, I stood up. It was time to head to the village. “I shall return. The food was delicious.”
“Lookin’ forward to it! By the way, we’re open over there once a week. So, if you happen to be in the area, come on by.”
“Once every seven days. Understood.” I rubbed my stomach, wanting to lie down somewhere, and nodded firmly to the master before leaving.
The rain had stopped while I was gone. The sky was blue and clear—the one thing that was the same between the east and the west.
Now then, it’s time to slay some ogres so I can return to the restaurant again in seven days.
After watching the door disappear, I quickened my pace and made my way to the village.
Seven days later, I met Teriyaki Chicken and Seishu, my friends for life.