Suddenly I realized Mr. Sumo was murmuring something, so I looked up.
“The flavor is...rich...? A flavor you won’t forget once you remember it?” He stood up and said, “Rich?” once more.
When Miss Haru gave her explanation, that was one word neither of us understood. For all we knew, it meant something dirty, so it seemed better not to say it.
“Miss Haru likes more subtle flavors, so that’s what I was going for, but...”
Mr. Sumo added a bundle of eneo to the corona nuts that kept the burner going. The water in the big pot started to boil.
“If it’s a flavor you can’t forget, then it might actually be quite strong and leave that much of an impact. ‘Rich’ might mean the flavor packs a punch. It’s different from the way she usually cooks...”
For a second I panicked, thinking he was going to put the bones in again, but he used fond root, chikenbown nuts, and a whole bunch of other soup ingredients. He put in more than you would ever normally think to use and turned the heat up even higher.
“I’m going to simmer this until morning. That will really bring out the oil and flavor so I’m sure it’ll be really intense.”
Then he took vloua and began to knead it with water and salt. “The more you knead vloua the more elastic it gets, which makes cakes and cookies stiff. I’m sure the dough for these ‘men’ has to be really sturdy. I’ll see how far I can stretch them using just vloua.”
He packed the vloua together with his big hands and squashed it over and over.
The sound of the bubbling pot and the sound of Mr. Sumo’s heavy body handling the dough... I thought he might be saying something to me, but his voice was getting so low that he seemed to be talking to himself.
“I have to be creative with the soup, too. I’m sure just oily and strong isn’t enough. I need to flavor it in a way Miss Haru will like, while still keeping the potency up...”
It was like he wasn’t even seeing me anymore. He was balling up the dough, smooshing it, and mumbling as he thought about the soup.
I mustered my courage and said from behind him, “You’re not giving up yet?”
“No,” he answered. “I’m going to try everything I can.”
As he continued the repetitive work, his mind was focused completely on the ramen. He must really love Miss Haru. He’s always cooking his heart out for her.
His frame is so large, but for some reason he looked far away. I don’t know why, but I suddenly felt lonely.
I still didn’t understand my feelings when I said something totally unnecessary. “Mr. Sumo, you work hard when it’s something for Miss Haru, huh?”
Even I don’t know why my tone was so mean. I blushed, I was so embarrassed.
But without turning around or realizing how ashamed I was, his big shoulders shrugged bashfully. “I just get frustrated when I can’t serve what my customers want to eat.”
I wasn’t sure how much of that was true and how much of it was just to gloss over his embarrassment. I have trouble reading people’s feelings to begin with. Sometimes I don’t even understand myself. When it comes to men, especially, I really have no idea.
But when he said frustrated, it penetrated right to my heart.
Yes. I’m frustrated, too. I don’t know “ra” from “men,” but I can’t let Miss Haru cry like that.
I can’t twiddle my thumbs here. We need to do everything we can! Yeah!
“Move, please. I’ll take over.”
“Huh?”
“I may not look like it, but I bake cookies. I’ll knead the dough, so you work on making the best soup you can.”
“Th-The best soup...?”
Yes, the best. A thick, healing bowl that will allow people fighting their way through an unimaginable world to breathe a wholehearted sigh of relief. No wishy-washy flavors.
“...We could try adding grated pota root to thicken it up,” Sumo suggested.
“That sounds great! Like a gentle ‘rich.’ You don’t think it’ll be too strong?”
“I’ll add toma berries for some depth and acidity so that despite the richness, it’ll go down smoothly.” But then he looked up at the ceiling and sighed, “Ahh. I need something fragrant.”
“What about steeping the toma berries in tea?”
“That could be good. I love the tea you make, Mr. Sumo!”
“What?” He looked at me in surprise.
Did I say something weird?
“I love it!” I repeated myself.
For some reason he blushed as he mumbled, “Thank you,” and then stumbled into a bucket, knocking it over. What are you doing?
“All right, Mr. Sumo. Please hurry up with your ra test. I’ll handle the men.”
“O-Okay.”
I was starting to have fun. I was helping Mr. Sumo make something new and watching him from the closest possible perspective.
We’ll definitely surprise Miss Haru—with Mr. Sumo’s ramen!
“We’re going to cross world boundaries, Mr. Sumo!”
“World boundaries...?”
“We’re crossing them!”
“O-Okay!”
And finally, around dawn, the first bowl was finished. The white soup garnished with red and green made for a totally adorable dish.
Mr. Sumo let me taste it. I was nervous. But it smelled great, and my stomach had been rumbling for a while since I hadn’t eaten anything all night.
I twirled some of the thin noodles at the bottom of the bowl around my fork and took a bite. “Ahm.”
It was even more intense and salty than I expected. But the pota mellowed it out if you bit into it with the noodles, allowing the natural deliciousness of the vloua to shine through. The “men” also seemed to carry the scent of the toma berries and the fragrance of the crushed spring noino leaves.
How can I put it? I can’t explain.
One thing was for sure. This was a new food for me, and when I tried to think about where to place this flavor and texture among other things I’ve eaten...
“...It’s good. But definitely strange.”
Mr. Sumo had been looking on anxiously, but now he clenched his fists and stood up. Then he pumped his arms up and down, as if he was doing some weird dance, and I couldn’t help but laugh.
Who knew a simple, It’s good, could make him so happy. Maybe men aren’t as complicated as they seem.
“But.”
Mr. Sumo’s face darkened again—because this wasn’t ramen, and he wasn’t sure if it would satisfy Miss Haru or not. He never seems to have any confidence even though he can make such charming, tasty food.
“If this doesn’t work, then let’s put in you-know-what next time.” I pointed at the container of chicken bones. Mr. Sumo’s eyes widened and he froze. “At that point it’ll be the only option left.”
But I think this ramen will be plenty delicious. I savored my first time eating it. Mr. Sumo watched with a tense look on his face. He didn’t need to worry so much. If it comes to it, I’ll just do the full course of penitence prayers to God for a month. It wasn’t all that serious.
To catch up to Miss Haru, there are all sorts of lines we have to cross. So you’d better be ready for it, too, Mr. Sumo.