Geric Plankton
I spent the morning idly, as if observing the rain itself. The summer rain during a trip leaves delicate memories. Each time it rained and stopped, the colorful umbrellas scattered throughout the city. The sight was like dancing butterflies in the air. However, stepping outside, the refreshing dance of the butterflies was overshadowed by the abundant humidity. The sweat dripping from my body felt like the rain pouring down from the sky, and perhaps it was more comfortable to bathe in the rain falling from above. This city I have visited many times seemed to be engulfed in waves of redevelopment everywhere in the central area, with large buildings being constructed in various places. It seems that all major cities in Japan are exposed to redevelopment, but is it really a fundamental necessity? Perhaps it is just lingering in the illusion of economic thinking that still clings to the Showa-era concept of economic growth. Wiping away the sweat dripping incessantly, I passed through Tenjin from Akasaka and reached the Nakagawa River, which had turned brown due to the daily rain. The Nakasu area, where young people are usually seen, was sparse, and flashy signs shone vainly under the dull sky. I realized that my energy was being drained by the rain and humidity. Something was lacking within me. What could it be? It was something I had not yet encountered in Hakata. What was it? It was the eel dish I had read about in an article. It was past 11:40. Not minding the humidity, I hurried to the subway station, feeling the onset of noon approaching. Hakata Station was bustling with people of all ages, emitting an uncomfortable humidity. The east exit of any major station in a city, including Hakata Station, was filled with lifeless buildings and chain izakaya restaurants. The restaurant I was looking for stood quietly between buildings. Although there was a pond on the first floor of a brand-new building, there was no atmosphere of an eel restaurant, but seeing customers entering the elevator one after another indicated that the restaurant was on the second floor. It was exactly noon. As I entered the neat interior of the restaurant, it was bustling, and I informed the young female staff in a kimono that I did not have a reservation. "Please wait a moment," the female staff replied with a somewhat uncertain voice and disappeared. When she returned from the back, she unexpectedly said, "You're the reserved customer, right? Please go inside." "No, no, I didn't make a reservation," I corrected her half-heartedly. "Huh?" The female staff muttered to herself and said, "I'm sorry, let me check again," before disappearing into the back again. My desire for eel, which had been dominating my mind, quickly began to wither. When the female staff returned from the back, she said, "I'm sorry, it was my mistake. You're fine. Please go to the table in the back." I felt like a winner who had made a comeback in a loser's revival. Wrapped in the comfortable coolness of the air conditioning, I felt relieved as I looked at the menu. Unadon and unajyu, which can be eaten anywhere if you want traditional eel dishes. I confidently chose the "Nami Unagi Seiro Mushi 2 pieces" (2,800 yen) while recalling an article I had read in the past. Nevertheless, the orderly and beautiful interior was quickly filled with customers. It seemed like everyone had made a reservation. How fortunate. "Thank you for waiting," said the female staff, and the Nami Unagi Seiro Mushi was placed in front of me. It had a rare appearance, with the burnt brown grilled eel supported by a prominent tamagoyaki. The rice lying beneath seemed to blend with the grilled eel. I started with the tamagoyaki. It was not too sweet, with a good elasticity and heat dominating my palate. The deep, fragrant sauce and the umami of the eel permeated the rice, creating an excellent taste experience.