chapter 6: nikujaga

1

spring and autumn are when the biggest crowds descend on kyoto. in particular, spring sees a

rush of tourists all trying to enjoy the short-lived cherry blossom season, leaving some parts of the

city literally swarming with people.

it was early afternoon, and the courtyard in front of higashi honganji temple was filled with

visitors gaping up at the cherry blossom trees, snapping away with their phone cameras.

what was the point of just taking a photo of some isolated cherry blossoms? that was the

question troubling the young man in a suit who, as he passed, shook his head from side to side in

confusion.

after a lengthy photo session, the crowd drifted towards shosei-en garden, one of the quieter

cherry blossom viewing spots. as though borne along by the flood of tourists, the young man

made his way east along shomen-dori, a map in one hand. soon enough, he had found his way to

the building on the right-hand side of the street that he was looking for.

‘this place?’ he muttered, glancing alternately at the mortar-coated two-storey building in front

of him and the hand-drawn map he was holding. through the half-open window he was able to

catch of a glimpse of the interior.

an elderly lady was sitting at the table, seemingly lingering over her meal. the man wearing

whites at her side must be the chef, he thought. there were no other customers inside.

‘hello there. i’m looking for nagare kamogawa.’

‘you’re speaking to him,’ said nagare, turning around and taking in the man’s appearance. he

was wearing a well-tailored navy pinstripe suit, with a large bottega veneta pouch under his arm.

his pointed brown boots had an enamel-like sheen.

‘ah. nice to meet you.’ the man walked into the restaurant and glanced at the plate in front of

the elderly lady before removing his jacket and hanging it on the back of a chair. ‘oh, is that wild

vegetable tempura? looks delicious.’

‘and . . . who are you?’ asked koishi, eyeing him dubiously. she was wearing a white shirt and

dark jeans underneath a black sommelier apron.

‘ah yes, where are my manners. hisahiko tsuda. i’m here on akane’s recommendation.’ he

courteously held out a business card.

‘ah, mr tsuda. akane told me about you. i wondered when we’d be seeing you. hmm, tsuda

enterprises, eh?’ asked nagare, studying the card.

‘and you must be koishi. i’ve heard a lot about you from akane. she told me to look out for a

pretty young woman!’ said hisahiko, giving her a meaningful look.

‘young?’ said koishi, blushing. ‘more like middle-aged. isn’t that right, tae?’ she patted tae

on the back.

‘koishi, can’t you see i’m eating? i’d like to enjoy my meal in peace, if you don’t mind!’

snapped the older woman. she was wearing a wisteria-coloured kimono, a greenish-grey obi

around her waist.

‘i’m sorry for the interruption,’ said hisahiko, bowing deeply. ‘i just couldn’t help myself, what

with that delicious-looking tempura you’re eating, and this beautiful young woman standing here .

. .’

‘that sort of smooth talk will get you nowhere in kyoto, you know,’ said tae, reaching out

with her chopsticks and dabbing a piece of ostrich-fern tempura into the dish of thin dipping

sauce.

‘are you hungry?’ intervened nagare.

‘i feel bad, turning up like this out of the blue. but yes, if i could get something to eat . . .’ said

hisahiko, putting a hand to his stomach.

‘we normally serve first-time customers a set menu. will that be okay?’

‘yes, please.’

nagare set hisahiko’s card down on the table, then ducked under the curtain separating the

restaurant from the kitchen.

‘please, take a seat!’ said koishi, pulling out one of the red-cushioned chairs.

‘no sign, or even a menu . . .’ said hisahiko, glancing around as he sat down. ‘akane did tell

me about this place, but it’s even stranger than i was expecting.’

‘how do you know akane, then?’ asked koishi, placing a teacup in front of him.

‘we’ve acquired the entire magazine that akane edits – gourmet monthly,’ said hisahiko

casually, then took a sip of his tea. ‘publishers are all finding it hard to stay afloat these days, you

see . . .’

‘what kind of company is tsuda enterprises, anyway?’ asked koishi, eyeing his business card

as she wiped the table down.

‘oh, we do everything. finance, property, restaurants, publishing . . . if it’s a viable business,

we’ll try it.’

‘c-e-o . . . ?’ said koishi, picking up the business card.

‘chief executive officer. basically what we call a kaicho in japanese,’ said hisahiko, taking

another sip of his tea and tapping away at something on his phone.

‘quite young for one of those, aren’t you!’ said koishi, her glance darting between the card and

hisahiko’s face.

‘koishi, could you bring me some matcha?’ said tae, setting her chopsticks down on the table

and turning in her chair to face her.

‘already?’ asked koishi, looking over. ‘but you haven’t finished your meal!’

‘oh, i’m not asking for a cup of tea, silly. i mean matcha powder.’

‘ah, wanting to mix it with your tempura salt, are you?’ asked nagare, emerging from the

kitchen with a small porcelain bowl.

‘i knew you’d figure it out, nagare,’ said tae.

‘i should have brought you some earlier,’ said nagare, setting the bowl of powdered matcha

down alongside the black lacquer tray from which she was eating.

‘now, this may just be my imagination, but today’s wild vegetable tempura seemed to lack that

slight bitterness it should have.’

tae mixed the matcha into the mound of salt by her dish, then pressed the koshiabura tempura

into it and took a bite.

‘there really is no pleasing you sometimes, is there? it’s true: the vegetables are a bit lacking in

bitterness and fragrance this time. went and foraged for them myself, up in the kuta mountains,

but still . . .’ nagare folded his arms and cocked his head to one side.

‘you source all your ingredients yourself, do you?’ asked hisahiko, setting his phone down on

the table.

‘it’s just wild vegetables and mushrooms that i venture into the mountains for. they’re always

so much more flavourful than what you find at the markets,’ said nagare, briefly glancing in

hisahiko’s direction.

‘you really don’t mess around in kyoto, do you? i can’t wait for the meal.’

‘just a moment,’ said nagare, hurrying off to the kitchen.

‘i don’t know where you’re from, but don’t go thinking every restaurant in kyoto is like this.

this place is special,’ said tae, fixing hisahiko with a stern gaze.

‘oh, i’m just an uninformed tokyoite. though i was born in rural hiroshima, actually, so deep

down i’m a real country bumpkin!’ said hisahiko, smiling with one cheek only.

‘actually, if anything, tokyo is where the real bumpkins are,’ said tae, turning her back on

him. ‘not that a young person would understand that.’

‘sorry for the wait,’ said nagare, setting a large basket woven from green bamboo down on the

table. ‘i figured a youngster like you would have a hearty appetite. so i prepared extra.’

‘wow,’ said hisahiko, his eyes widening.

‘seeing as it’s cherry season, i’ve gone for an imitation of a lunchbox from a blossom-viewing

picnic. on top of that folded kaishi paper is the wild vegetable tempura. ostrich fern, mugwort,

devil’s walking stick, koshiabura and smilax. there’s some matcha salt on the side, or you can try

it with the regular dipping sauce. the sashimi is cherry bass and halfbeak. try it with the ponzu.

for the grilled fish dish, i’ve gone with masu salmon in a miso marinade, together with some

simmered young bamboo. firefly squid and wakame seaweed dressed with vinegared miso,

overnight omi beef, and deep-fried chicken wing-tips. in that wooden bowl is an asari clam and

bamboo shoot broth. there’s bamboo shoots in the rice too, but i can serve you some plain white

rice if you’d prefer. there’s more of everything, so just let me know if you’d like seconds. well,

tuck in!’

as nagare spoke, hisahiko’s eyes darted left, right, up and down as he took in the array of

dishes, nodding all the while.

‘this is quite a feast! i don’t even know where to start.’

turning to face him again, tae said, ‘i should warn you—’ but hisahiko finished her sentence

for her:

‘i get it. not every restaurant in kyoto is like this – this place is special. right?’ he smiled at

tae, then began by reaching towards the omi beef with his chopsticks.

‘i see you’ve got the message.’

‘wow,’ said hisahiko, closing his eyes as he slowly savoured the rich umami of the meat. ‘so

tender. really melts in your mouth.’

‘that’ll be because i stewed it for so long,’ said nagare, watching approvingly. ‘hope you

enjoy the meal. when you’re done, my daughter here will give you a brief interview about the dish

you’re looking for.’

‘i’ll leave the teapot here – just let me know if you’d like any more,’ said koishi, following

nagare into the kitchen.

hisahiko reached for the bowl of broth, took a sip, and let out a sigh. next he pressed a piece of

wild vegetable tempura into the matcha salt and took a bite. the crunch was audible across the

restaurant. then he dipped the extra-thin slice of cherry bass sashimi in the ponzu and placed it on

his tongue.

‘incredible flavour. i’m guessing the fish is from the inland sea . . .’ said hisahiko to himself,

though he seemed to be waiting for tae’s reaction.

‘the uwa bay, i believe,’ murmured tae without turning around.

‘i see. no wonder it tastes so good,’ said hisahiko, his mouth now stuffed with bamboo shoot

rice.

he must have been pretty hungry, because in no time at all, he had demolished each of the

remaining dishes – the grilled fish, deep-fried chicken wing-tips, simmered bamboo, and the miso-

dressed squid – leaving only the empty green bamboo basket.

‘how was that, then?’ asked nagare, arriving at hisahiko’s side with a mashiko-ware earthen

teapot.

‘oh, exquisite,’ replied hisahiko, a smile spreading across his face. ‘i mean, when a

connoisseur like akane raves about somewhere, you know you’re in for a treat, but still . . .’

‘glad to hear it. here – let me pour you some coarse green tea,’ said nagare, swapping the kyo-

ware teapot for the mashiko one. when you’ve had a sip of that, give me a shout and i’ll show

you to the office.’

‘nagare, i’m ready for that mochi, if you could bring it over?’ said tae.

‘of course. i hope you like it wrapped in cherry leaves. i suppose you’d like your matcha tea

nice and strong, as usual?’

‘well, if it’s sakura-mochi you’re serving me, it might be best to brew it a little weaker than

usual.’

‘let me guess – because the mochi isn’t actually that sweet?’

‘exactly.’

once nagare and tae had finished their exchange, hisahiko got to his feet, rubbing his

stomach. ‘thank you for the food. i can make my own way to the office – i can see you’re busy in

here. through that door on the left and straight down the corridor, is it? akane told me all about it.

i should be fine.’

‘if you’re sure. koishi will be waiting for you in there!’ said nagare, gesturing towards the

door.

‘oh, don’t worry about me, nagare,’ said tae. ‘there’s no rush – go ahead and show him the

way!’

‘i think i’m old enough to find my way down a corridor, thank you! enjoy the rest of your

meal.’ stifling a burp, hisahiko opened the door at the back of the restaurant.

pinned to the walls on either side of the long corridor was a vast array of photographs. a few were

of people, but the majority were of food. in particular, hisahiko found his gaze drawn towards

those featuring meat dishes. he took a couple of paces, then stopped, before advancing and then

stopping once more, repeating this procedure until eventually he found himself knocking on the

door. a plate was fastened to it that read: kamogawa detective agency.

‘please, come on in,’ said koishi, opening the door from inside as if she’d been waiting for this

cue.

‘hello again,’ said hisahiko, sitting in the middle of the black sofa.

koishi sat down opposite him, then placed a clipboard on the low table between them. ‘could

you fill this out for me?’

‘this is all very formal,’ said hisahiko, smiling with one cheek again as he gripped the pen.

‘well, you’re here on akane’s recommendation, and we already have your card,’ said koishi

guardedly. ‘so i suppose you can just write your telephone number if you like.’

without a moment’s hesitation, hisahiko scribbled away with his pen, and in less than a minute

had handed the clipboard back to her.

‘hisahiko tsuda. thirty-three. art tower residence, roppongi hills . . . sounds like a pretty

fancy place to live!’ said koishi with a sigh.

‘oh, i don’t know about that. i host a lot of company events in the evenings, so it often feels

more like an office. though it’s on the thirty-ninth floor, so at least the views are decent.’

‘thirty-ninth floor? we don’t have anything that tall in kyoto!’

‘that’s probably why the city still looks so beautiful,’ said hisahiko, glancing out of the

window. ‘i was born on a small island out in the sticks, so i find it easier to relax in places like this

than tokyo.’

‘which island was that, then?’

‘toyoshima. in the inland sea.’ hisahiko crossed his long legs.

‘whereabouts exactly?’

‘you know kure, near hiroshima?’

‘yes, vaguely,’ replied koishi, imagining a map of the area in her head.

‘near there. there’s a bridge linking it to the mainland now, but when i was growing up there

you had to take a ferry.’ a brooding look had come across hisahiko’s face.

‘is that where the dish you’re looking for is from?’ asked koishi, cutting to the chase.

‘yes. it’s the nikujaga stew i had when i was little,’ said hisahiko, leaning forward.

‘what kind of nikujaga are we talking?’ asked koishi, jotting something down in her notebook.

‘i don’t remember,’ said hisahiko, his voice fading slightly. ‘all i can tell you is that it was my

mother who made it for me.’

‘you don’t remember at all?’

‘no.’

‘oh dear. that doesn’t give us much to go on. can’t you think of anything that might help?’

‘my mother died from an illness when i was five, but just before that we moved from

toyoshima to a place called kojima in okayama prefecture. i can remember things pretty well

after that, but those early years in toyoshima are all a bit of a blur . . .’

‘your mother passed away twenty-eight years ago, then?’ asked koishi, still scribbling away.

‘i have vague memories of playing with her, bath-time, exploring the island together, but i can’t

remember a thing about how her cooking tasted. all i know is that i loved it.’

‘what did your parents do for a living?’ asked koishi, probing for some kind of clue.

‘they ran a warehousing company. dad was always boasting about how our family was the best

off on the island. it’s true that we lived comfortably – but then again, it was a pretty small island,’

replied hisahiko, his eyes downcast.

‘did they keep that up after you moved to okayama?’ asked koishi, peering intently at

hisahiko.

‘yes, they took the company with them, but it went bust two years later. later my father told

me it was my mother’s mounting medical costs that prevented them from properly investing in the

business.’

‘was it a lengthy illness, then?’

‘five years she fought it. it turned out to be incurable.’ hisahiko’s voice had dropped to a

murmur.

‘must have been tough on your father, too.’

‘oh, he managed just fine. actually, he got married again less than a year after she passed away.

to the woman who looked after my mother at the hospital, no less.’ a frosty smile had risen to

hisahiko’s lips.

‘i guess he thought a young child like you needed a mother figure.’

‘but she was her carer! and then one day i was expected to call her my mother . . . not to

mention the fact that i’d suddenly gained a sister seven years my senior.’

‘could i get everyone’s names?’

‘my father was hisanao, and my mother, kimie. my stepmother’s name is sachiko. and miho

is my stepsister.’ hisahiko spoke in an entirely businesslike tone, watching koishi’s hand as she

wrote.

‘and what are they all up to these days?’

‘my father died the spring i finished primary school,’ continued hisahiko, his gaze dropping to

the low table in front of him. ‘i spent the next six years of middle and high school living with my

stepmother and her daughter. i was the interloper in their happy family, see? oh, i hated it. as

soon as i finished school, i ran away from home, swapping okayama for tokyo.’

‘so you were eighteen when you left home. and it’s been—’ koishi counted on her fingers ‘—

fifteen years since then.’

‘i’ve been so focused on getting ahead that they’ve flown by.’

koishi stopped writing. ‘so you’ve made it all the way from okayama to tokyo. you’re a

hugely successful businessman. why the sudden desire for nikujaga?’

‘well, it has to do with an interview i’ve agreed to. are you familiar with the women’s

magazine enchant?’

‘oh, of course. actually, i’m a bit of a fan,’ said koishi, leaning forward eagerly. ‘it’s

practically written for thirty-somethings like me. let me guess – they’re featuring you in the men

who’ve made it section . . .’

‘that’s right. the interview is next month. they want to ask about all sorts. the secret to my

success, my daily routine these days – and there’s a part where i have to talk about a dish my

mother used to make for me.’

‘oh yes,’ said koishi, scribbling away again. ‘they always have that bit about men craving

their mother’s cooking.’

‘so i asked myself if there was a dish like that, and the first thing that came to mind was her

nikujaga stew.’ hisahiko’s voice was tinged with sadness.

‘even though you couldn’t remember what the stew was like, or how it tasted?’ asked koishi, a

sceptical look on her face.

‘all i knew was that if i ever had a comfort food, that was it,’ said hisahiko, pursing his lips.

‘but . . . you don’t remember it,’ said koishi, leaning back on the sofa.

‘i do know that i liked it. and i have this vague sense that it was much redder than usual

nikujaga, for some reason. that’s about it, though. but there is another version of the stew that i

do remember quite clearly,’ said hisahiko, furrowing his brow.

‘another version?’ asked koishi, leaning forward and grabbing her pen.

‘it was the spring holidays just after i’d finished middle school. i’d gone to register at my new

high school, and by the time i got home sachiko had already made dinner. she’d gone out

somewhere with miho, and when i wandered into the kitchen i found two pots of nikujaga sitting

there.’

‘two pots?’ asked koishi in an intrigued voice.

‘i tried them both – and they tasted completely different,’ said hisahiko glumly. ‘one of them

was much tastier than the nikujaga i was used to. it was filled with cuts of beef. that was sachiko

and miho’s stew. mine was the other one, which had no meat in it. but when she served it, there

was some meat in there. i guess she lost her nerve and added it at the last minute . . .’

‘i’m sure she just used two pots because it wouldn’t all fit in one,’ said koishi, as if trying to

console him.

‘no,’ said hisahiko, pursing his lips again in displeasure. ‘even at that age, i could easily taste

the difference. i was furious they’d been deceiving me like that . . . treating me that way, just

because i wasn’t related to them by blood – can you imagine!’

‘oh, dear . . .’ koishi seemed a little lost for words.

‘that was when i made my decision. i’d leave home and make my own fortune. and then, one

day, i’d get my own back on those two . . .’ hisahiko was clenching his fists.

‘still, you don’t remember a thing about the stew your mother used to make,’ said koishi,

frowning. ‘this is going to be a bit of a challenge.’

‘i don’t suppose this’ll help much, but as i said, we lived quite comfortably on toyoshima, so i

reckon she used high-quality meat,’ said hisahiko, sitting up straight. ‘all i can remember is my

father saying, “most people don’t get to eat this kind of meat, son!”’

‘but the seasoning is the most important part. if we don’t know that, then it doesn’t matter how

good the meat was . . .’ koishi flicked through the pages of her notebook, a troubled expression on

her face.

‘there is one other thing . . .’ said hisahiko, hesitantly.

‘what?’ asked koishi, looking intently at him.

‘well, for some reason, whenever i try to remember my mother’s nikujaga, i think of

mountains.’

‘mountains? nikujaga and . . . mountains. hmm . . .’ said koishi, folding her arms and gazing

up at the ceiling.

hisahiko seemed to gather himself slightly. ‘i was only five, remember.’

‘high-quality meat, and mountains. that’s really not a lot to go on if we’re to try and recreate

the dish . . .’ sighed koishi.

‘if it really is hopeless, i do have a back- up,’ said hisahiko. there was something

confrontational about his gaze.

‘back-up?’

‘i’m thinking of going to yoshimi tateno – you know, the famous celebrity chef. you might

have seen him on television? they call him the prince of modern japanese cuisine. he’s a friend

of mine,’ said hisahiko proudly. ‘i’m sure he’ll know just how to use the finest ingredients in

order to recreate that stew from my childhood.’

though irritated, koishi remained silent. out of consideration for nagare’s feelings, she

decided not to record this last piece of information in the notebook.

‘and how are your mother and sister these days?’

‘i went back to kojima for my coming-of-age ceremony. that was the last time i set foot in that

house.’

‘so you haven’t seen them in thirteen years.’

‘indeed. nor do i feel any need to,’ said hisahiko disdainfully.

‘right then. well, we’ll do our best,’ said koishi, shutting her notebook.

‘the interview is next month. if it turns out to be beyond your abilities, please do let me know

as soon as possible, and i can move on to my back-up,’ said hisahiko, rising to his feet.

hisahiko was familiar with the building’s layout by now. he strolled back down the corridor and

opened the door to the restaurant.

‘finished already?’ asked nagare, hastily folding up the newspaper he’d been reading.

‘yes. your daughter has all the details,’ said hisahiko, glancing over his shoulder at koishi,

who had followed him back into the restaurant.

‘we’ll recreate your dish as soon as possible,’ said nagare, getting to his feet and bowing.

‘let me know once you do,’ said hisahiko, returning the bow. ‘i’ll be here right away.’

‘but aren’t you a very busy man?’

‘i’ve got plenty of talented people working for me. i might look busy, but i actually have all the

time in the world,’ grinned hisahiko. ‘i’ve been known to pitch up in kyoto just for a bowl of

black soy sauce ramen.’

‘well, i’ll try not to let akane down,’ said nagare, smiling back.

koishi listened silently to this exchange between the two, then slid the door to the restaurant

open.

‘i’m counting on you!’ said hisahiko, making his way outside. as he did so, drowsy came

rushing over.

‘hey, you’ll get his suit dirty!’ said koishi, scooping the tabby up in her arms.

taking no notice of the cat, hisahiko strolled off down shomen-dori.

‘shouldn’t you have talked to him a bit more?’ said koishi once they were back inside. ‘this is

definitely a tough one, dad.’ she gave nagare a worried look.

‘what’s the dish?’ asked nagare, settling on one of the folding chairs.

‘nikujaga,’ replied koishi, sitting down opposite him.

‘ah, just as i thought. the way his mother used to cook it before she passed away, if i’m not

mistaken?’ said nagare with a confident smile.

‘how did you know?’

‘see, akane got in touch about a month ago with a request. asked me to look into a man by the

name of hisahiko tsuda. wanted to know if he’d be a decent person to work for. so i’ve done

some digging on him already, you see. where he was born, what his childhood was like, what his

work involves – that kind of thing.’ nagare got a folder out from the cupboard.

‘so that sudden trip to tokyo – that was to meet akane, was it?’ asked koishi in a low voice.

‘couldn’t leave her in the lurch, could i? she sounded desperate on the phone,’ said nagare,

glancing through the folder.

‘dad?’ said koishi. her expression was serious.

nagare looked up at her. ‘what?’

‘. . . oh, it’s nothing.’ koishi glanced away, then got to her feet.

‘you’re a funny one,’ said nagare, still thumbing through the folder.

‘hey, dad, remind me,’ asked koishi, changing the topic. ‘what was mum’s nikujaga like?’

‘oh, just your regular stew, really. chunks of beef, onions, carrots and konnyaku noodles. irish

cobbler potatoes. kikuko made the broth slightly sweeter than usual.’ nagare’s hands had stopped

moving, and a distant look had come over his face.

‘sounds just like your version!’ smiled koishi.

‘i suppose it does.’ nagare shut the folder and turned his attention to the scribblings in koishi’s

notebook.

‘mr tsuda reckoned his mother used some kind of premium meat. apparently they were quite

wealthy in those days,’ said koishi, her nostrils flaring with distaste. ‘i have to say, dad, i’m not a

huge fan of this guy.’

‘well, we’ve taken the job now. it doesn’t matter whether we like him,’ replied nagare firmly,

his eyes still glued to the notebook.

‘oh, that’s supposed to be a mountain, by the way,’ said koishi, pointing to a sketch in the

corner of one page. it looked a little like mount fuji.

‘a mountain? hmm . . . right, i think i’m off to okayama,’ said nagare, unfolding a map.

‘okayama? but the stew is from when he lived on that island near hiroshima!’

‘oh, i’ll go there too. but the first port of call is definitely okayama,’ said nagare, pointing to

the city on the map.

‘if you say so! bring me back some kibi-dango dumplings, would you?’ said koishi, patting her

father on the shoulder.