by Ko Hiratori
Still, the shock was too great. Eating meat is one thing, but using the bones? Common sense for us was giving the bones to a processor to be ground down and returned to the earth.
Come to think of it, I heard that Miss Haru had been using an animal bone to play an instrument until Miss Lupe carved her one out of wood. Cultural differences can be quite surprising...
“...Sorry. I was kidding. Fond root is fine.”
Perhaps because we were so startled, Miss Haru backed down.
The soup would be made using our method. Honestly, everyone was relieved. When you take your time to cook the fond, it makes a really delicious soup. If you boil it too long it gets oily, so you have to be careful, but done right the resulting soup is truly sophisticated.
We never did figure out what the ra was. But we used the daizu sauce Miss Haru likes so much to season it.
“The noodles aren’t fried. You boil them.”
I had never heard of boiling cake dough before. Mr. Sumo spread out the dough from before, cut it into thin strips, and put them in boiling water.
In the pot, the noodles shredded and stuck together and ended up looking prettyunappetizing. Our faces probably grew more and more awkward as we watched them.
When the “men” seemed done, we put them into the soup. And I guess that was it? Really, there were supposed to be all sorts of other toppings, but “there’s too much freedom to choose, so I have no idea.”
What’s freedom, I wonder?
Anyhow, we went back to the “terrace.” It was finally time to eat.
The atmosphere was tense as Miss Haru took her first bite and then said, “Blorgh!” Then she laughed, “Ha-ha. Whatisthis? There’s no way. Ramen is really just impossible.”
We laughed because Miss Haru was laughing. And we decided not to taste it.
We sure made a weird thing, huh?
That’s what we said as we laughed before the shock of Miss Haru suddenly crying.
“...I’ll never get to eat it again.” The “noodles” slipped between the prongs of her fork into the soup. She covered her face with both hands and seemed to wring her voice out as she said, “I want ramen so baaaaad...”
We’d seen Miss Haru cry before. She does suddenly burst into tears sometimes. I think it started after Miss Shequraso passed away. I think she’s stopped bottling things up in this world; she’s not simply enduring it all anymore.
But that’s all I know about that—because the world she remembers when she starts crying is one that we can’t even imagine.
“Haru, we should probably get back to the shop, don’t you think?”
With Miss Lupe supporting her, Miss Haru went back to the shop, murmuring “Sorry,” and “Thanks,” to us as she left.
Mr. Sumo and I just stood there (although he stood more heavily than me) facing the bowl of “ramen.”
When I looked cautiously up at his face, it was red, and he was biting his lip.
“Huh? Wait a minute.”
Mr. Sumo thudded back into the kitchen. I had a bad feeling, so I excused myself and ran after him. He was holding the bones of a chicken over a large pot of vigorously boiling water.
“You mustn’t!”
Bones are to be returned to the earth. We take only the lives and the meat of birds and beasts; the rest must be given back to God, the source. They provide nutrients for the plants. That’s what our God teaches. As a Sister, I can’t allow them to be eaten.
“Miss Haru comes from a country with a different culture. We mustn’t imitate it.”
Mr. Sumo put the bones back where he found them. But his large body was still trembling.
I gently touched his back. Touching a man for non-healing purposes is surely improper, but I felt like I had to. “We can’t make ramen. Let’s just give it up.”
Mr. Sumo didn’t answer.
For some reason I didn’t want to leave, so I stayed there sitting in the kitchen with him until the cafe closed. I’m not sure how much his father knew about what was going on, but he left us alone.
As the cafe quieted down, I thought about another world. The world Miss Haru and Mr. Crimson came from must be less hospitable than this one. It must be so hard to live there, with so many monsters and so little food, that they even have to eat bones.
This “ramen” food must have been a meal for special occasions. Thinking of her bitter days in poverty, which no doubt shortened her life span, brought tears to my eyes. The only thing she had to look forward to was that soup.
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 surejustoily 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 saidfrustrated, 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.
*
Of course, all that worrying was for nothing.
Sitting at her usual “terrace” seat in front of a bowl of Mr. Sumo’s ramen, Haru took a slurp with a complicated expression...and with a truly odd look on her face...
“Whatisthis?” she screamed. “I mean...it’s definitely ramen. I never thought I’d see it here, but it’s ramen! It’s other-world ramen!”
She inhaled the men with a tremendous amount of noise and gulped down the ra.Isn’t it hot?Then she came up for air—“Ahh!”—her face flushed. “Ohhh...it’s so good. It’s so goooood. Thank you! I’m so happy to be eating ramen!”
I held up a palm to Mr. Sumo, who was sitting next to me. He nervously touched it with his big hand and then removed it.
What’s that about?I slapped his hand to make a loud smack.
“Hee-hee.” Miss Lupe was looking our way and smiling. When our eyes met she looked away, but then I saw her hesitantly watching us again.
“What is it?”
“Nothiiiiing. Haru, I want a bite, too!”
“Sure. Wait a sec. I’ll make you a mini ramen. Sumo, bring me a spoon—the biggest, deepest one you have!”
“O-Okay.”
Miss Haru put soup into the spoon he brought, then she wound up a bite-sized bit of ramen and deftly arranged the other ingredients on top.
“Here you go.”
It was like a little bowl.What? It’s so cute!I wanted one too.
When Miss Lupe curled the noodles around her fork and took a bite...
“Kagh!” She choked on the steam and the smell. We all laughed.
“This is fun. Eating ramen with you guys makes it taste even better. This is how you live it up while you’re young! It’s the flavor of living it up!”
Beaming the whole time, Miss Haru drank every last drop of the soup. Miss Lupe got hooked on the flavor and ate another bowl.
After talking excitedly about ramen for a while, Miss Haru suddenly frowned with an, “Ahh!” Then she said, “Mm, it’s not really necessary...but there’s one more person who I think should eat this. Is that okay? I doubt he’ll say it’s good. He’ll only be a jerk, and...he’s a guy who makes all my fears and worries come true, but... Would you mind?”
Everyone knew exactly who she meant right away.
*
“Huh? This is ramen? You expect me to believe that?”
After one bite of Mr. Sumo’s ramen, Mr. Crimson Chiba stomped on and triggered all of my fears and worries.
Miss Lupe heaved a sigh.
“No, I mean, seriously. What is this supposed to be? Are you mocking the way of ramen? Just so you know, I’m a ramen maniac who enters a ramen shop and sits there for two hours reading food manga. My studies are on a whole other level. By the way, the ‘ra’ in ramen means ‘pull.’ Because you stretch ramen noodles out by pulling. I know what I’m talking about!”
The questions coming out of his mouth received an answer: Miss Haru ground her teeth.
“And these noodles aren’t chewy enough. Gluten, they need more gluten. Do they not have bread flour here? First we gotta alphytemize that, if you want to be picky about the noodles. And the soup doesn’t pack enough punch. Like we need to dump sometōgarashi—”
“Tochigi...”
“It’s Chiba, but what?”
“If you miss the other world’s ramen so much, why don’t you go hunt down a boar-like monster? By yourself.”
Miss Haru had reached her limit. Incidentally, of all of us, she’s the one with the lowest limit.
Mr. Crimson Tochigi scowled. “Huh?” He has a pretty low threshold too. I imagine that the world they were from had a lot of war. “What kind of tone is that to use with someone kind enough to teach you about ramen?”
“No one asked you to teach us. And in this world, thisisramen. I was kind enough to invite you to have some. Quit whining and go back to Saitama.”
Their usual fighting started.
But Mr. Chiba kept slurping the ramen Mr. Sumo made even as he complained about it. Busy, busy.
“You’re the one who should go back. The one who’s going to re:create this world, the Invincible Innodiator Endless Crimson Rain Alter, can’t very well let it go.”
“Argh, talking to you is like talking to a brick wall.
Maybe you’ll see that after you see what I can do when I get serious. Deactivate Level Bind!”
“What’s that about? Are you delusional?”
“The last person I want to hear that from is youuuuuuuu!”
Miss Haru’s face turned bright red, and she stomped her feet.
Mr. Sumo dithered, and Miss Lupe looked on disapprovingly. She always says these two “get along,” but it sure doesn’t seem that way to me...
The quarrel seemed like it was going to take a while, so I decided to have some ramen before it got cold—that is, a mini one made in a spoon, of course.
Yeah, this flavor is intense. But it seems to really sink into your body. It warms you up.Oh, right, she said when we were all eating it together that it was the flavor of living it up while you’re young. What does “living it up” mean, I wonder. Does it have anything to do with us? I’ll have to ask her sometime.
I’m sure it’s just another one of her indecent jokes.
Book Store Bonus Paper: First Christmas
“What’s that—that Krissmiss thing?”
The two of us were folding hand towels as usual, and Haru said something I didn’t really understand again, so I asked. She got mad.
“Rrragh! So you don’t have Christmas, huh? This world is such a drag. God is dumb as a rock—gimme Buddha!”
Haru has no trouble complaining about God, the world, or anything. I always worry she’ll be punished someday.
“Lupe, listen. Christmas is the funnest thing that happens all year. It’s a day where everything sparkles, everything’s exciting, and everybody’s a party person. It’s just the best.”
But she’s so bad at explaining things that lots of the time, even if I ask, I don’t get it.
Still, whenever Haru gets passionate about something, you pretty much know it’s going to be interesting. Trusting her about stuff like that never comes back to bite you.
“Huh. I’d like to be a...party...person? too.”
“Right? Right? Of course you do. I totally get it. So we have to celebrate!”
Haru got more and more excited, and even started singing a Krissmiss song or something. I was glad she was having fun.
Almost time for work...
