Masumi

For two hours, we’re in Japan. 

An upscale izakaya, our greatest find yet in this food desert. Small menu, extensive sake selection. That’s how you know it’s good. Specials board changes every month. I had their berry chocolate ganache once and inhaled it in seconds. 

—

Through the side door, a Japanese woman adorned in the intricate folds of a kimono glides into the restaurant, capturing the immediate attention of fellow patrons. With a polite request for a table for one, the Japanese server gestures towards a counter table.

She takes a seat with a posture that echoes discipline and grace and surprises the air with an order of Asahi beer in English. The Japanese server nods in understanding and promptly reaches for a menu, accompanied by an introduction to the Specials board also in English.

After a brief survey of the room, she returns her attention to the menu. A subtle smile plays on her features as she reaches a decision. In the midst of her contemplation, a Serbian server, stationed behind the counter, asks if she is ready to order.

She admits the overwhelming choices before her. With a thoughtful suggestion, he recommends starting with the agedashi tofu. Grateful for the guidance, she agrees, and he vanishes into the kitchen. 

Meanwhile, the Japanese server uncorks an Asahi beer bottle, pouring its golden contents into a waiting glass. He places it before her on the counter and tells her to enjoy. She indulges in a sip, a subtle nod of satisfaction punctuating the moment. Lowering her glass, her gaze catches the Japanese server.

“Are you Japanese?”

“Yes, are you Japanese?”

“Yes, yes, I am also Japanese.”

“Ahh, Konichiwa!”

“Konichiwa!”

Pleased with the discovery, she starts to chat with him in indistinguishable Japanese. As the conversation ebbs into a momentary silence, she leans back, hands placed neatly on her lap, patiently awaiting the promise of a warm culinary delight.