I took the remaining rice from the pot and rolled it, careful not to let it crumble. I made ball shapes, since I wasn’t using seaweed this time, and then placed the balls on the grill.
Taking care not to turn the heat too high, I cooked the rice balls so that they finished cooking just as the ladies finished their work. Their surfaces turned from white to a light brown color. Once they started to make popping noises, I used a brush to spread a glaze made of soy sauce and sweet sake over the balls and continued to cook them. Thanks to the sauce, the rice balls’ surfaces gradually grew browner and browner.
The smell of fried rice filled the air. That aroma was enough to make my stomach growl, but I did my best to suck it up and kept making rolled eggs.
If I remember correctly, Aletta likes sweet stuff.
Rolled eggs were a simple recipe that divided customers’ preferences. Last time, I’d made two variants of the dish, both sweet. I went heavy on the sugar and the sweet sake as well. It was a little too sugary for me, but Aletta was a fan.
I didn’t know how Aletta had been raised, but she didn’t play favorites when it came to food. That said, she did have foods she particularly liked. In our last few months of working together, I’d figured out what she enjoyed. She preferred meat and eggs over fish or vegetables, and something a bit more flavorful over plain white rice.
And then, of course, she loved sweets, dessert or not.
Aletta returned, having finished her work in the cafeteria. “I’m done cleaning!”
“Perfect.” I said as I began the finishing touches. “Hold on for just a sec.”
I placed pats of butter onto the fried rice balls as they began to crackle. Then I turned my attention to the finished rolled eggs, set them down on the chopping board, and cut them into easy-to-eat pieces.
Dropping some butter into the pork miso soup, I placed the fried rice balls—now soaked in melted butter—onto a plate. Everything’s done.
I put it all down in front of Aletta, who looked as though she was about to start drooling.
“Sorry ’bout the wait. Here’s Nekoya’s special staff pork miso set.”
I’d better hurry up, I thought. I knew full well that Aletta would never start eating before I did, so I quickly got my own serving and prepared Kuro’s curry. “Perfect. All done.”
I could smell the fried rice balls and soy sauce mixed with butter, the golden-yellow eggs, and the steam coming off the pork miso soup.
When all three meals were ready, I finally sat down. “Now then, thanks for eating dinner with me.”
“Ah—uh—th-thanks for eating dinner with me!” Aletta was clearly hungry, since she simply repeated after me before digging in.
I watched as she grabbed a large fried rice ball with both hands. The smell of butter drifted up as she bit into it.
Her face scrunched for a moment, perhaps because the rice ball was still quite hot. Then her expression quickly morphed into a big smile.
Great. Looks like she likes it. After confirming that, I could finally relax and take a bite of my own rice ball.
The butter’s strong flavor had made its way into the rice. It joined forces with the rice ball’s crisp, soy-sauce doused surface to fill my empty stomach. Oil-fried rice balls tasted fairly different from fried rice balls with soy sauce. Diners’ opinions were always pretty split between the two, but I found myself quite fond of the latter.
After I enjoyed the crust’s crisp, salty flavor, the untouched white rice beneath fused with the lingering salty taste, creating the perfect balance.
I loved that I got to enjoy soy sauce-flavored rice and white rice at the same time. You could make fried rice balls by mixing soy sauce into the rice at the start, but I preferred spreading it on the surface.
With that in mind, I took a sip of miso soup with melted butter. Thanks to the latter, the broth tasted gentle; the butter restrained the salty miso, leading to a richer overall flavor. It didn’t really go with Japanese dishes, but it was perfect for a western cuisine joint like this.
The fatty ribs in the pork miso soup, combined with the buttery flavor, pushed you to devour the soft vegetables. This wasn’t a miso soup you drank; it was a miso soup you ate.
I took a sip of the soup and then another bite of a fried rice ball, refreshing myself. I could feel all the exhaustion inside me slip out.
After enjoying the miso soup, I turned my attention to the rolled eggs.
I grabbed a single slice of the still-warm eggs and bit into it. Not much time had passed since I’d cooked the eggs, so while they weren’t burning hot, they were still warm and soft. The sweet juices inside spread through my mouth and soaked into it.
“Whew!” With her chopsticks, which she’d recently learned to use, Aletta dug ravenously into a slice of rolled egg.
It was one thing to eat food in a premade lunch box. It was another thing entirely to eat it while it was still nice and warm.
As I watched Aletta wolf down her meal, I started eating mine, chest full.
Hmm. Why does this feel so familiar? At the same time, there’s something nostalgic about all this. Why?
It wasn’t long before I recalled a memory.
Ah, that’s right. The lunch box I had back during Sports Day in elementary school was just like this.
While I was attending elementary school, my mother and father had passed away. So it was always my grandmother who’d come to watch school functions and events. Well, except for Sports Day. My grandparents both turned up for that day.
The restaurant had always been closed on Sundays. Now that I looked back on it, I bet that my grandmother and grandfather had wanted to make sure I never felt alone or sad after losing my parents.
During Sports Day events where older brothers and dads could join, my grandmother hopped in and participated, taking first place over the younger guys. In the end, folks always said that having her join was against the rules.
The only things I remembered as clearly as that were my grandfather’s lunch boxes.
On that Sunday morning, my grandfather made us the most flawless lunch boxes, and they always included rolled eggs. The eggs were sweet, too, just like the ones I made for dinner. After running around during Sports Day, eating sweet rolled eggs with some rice balls or inari sushi was the absolute best.
Of course, there were other foods in the lunch box, too. But the rolled eggs in particular were especially delicious. Apparently, Gramps had made them for my grandmother when he proposed to her.
As I made my way through junior high and high school, my grandparents stopped coming to my Sports Days. My tastes changed, too. I started liking saltier eggs and stopped eating sweet ones altogether. I’d totally forgotten about that until now.
I guess I’m gettin’ up there in age, huh?
I was already past my mid-thirties; elementary school felt like a distant memory. Heck, it had been over two decades ago. Still, the years had flown by so fast that I found myself thinking, Where did the time go?
There were folks my age with daughters as old as Aletta, now that I thought about it. With that in mind, I kept gobbling up my food until it was all gone.
More curry, please. Kuro had seemingly waited for me to finish before making her request, her plate long since empty.
“Gotcha. Hold on just a sec.” I smirked at Kuro, stood up, and glanced at Aletta.
She sat in front of her empty plate, looking back up at me with something of an embarrassed expression. She seemed hopeful.
Yeah, I get what she’s trying to say. I also totally understood why it was so hard to actually vocalize it.
“It’ll take a little while, but do you want some more rolled eggs?” I asked the young demon lady.
“Oh, gosh, yes, please!”
I couldn’t help feeling energized at Aletta’s excited response.