Geric
On this day, everything ended up being left to chance. While the unexpected cancellation of a train journey around the countryside brought about new discoveries in familiar places, the little adventure of exploring sake and sushi was coming to an end. As the snow began to fiercely fall, almost provoking something, there was still some room in my stomach. The question was, what could I confidently reach in this blizzard? It was already 10 PM, so there should be no time constraints. Meanwhile, the situation in Susukino area seemed less lively with fewer people bustling around and the lights dimming. In the midst of this sense of stagnation, the idea of a specialty "chanpon" shop came to mind. As I opened the door to this shop, memories flooded back. Pressing the "chanpon" button on the vending machine like in the past, I sat at the counter at the back of the shop. Memories from the time when I used to frequent this place resurfaced, a time when I worked tirelessly, sometimes even pulling all-nighters, at the peak of my life. The two customers in the shop seemed somewhat subdued. In the past, even late at night or early in the morning, the place would be lively, with even drunken customers snoring. As I got lost in memories, my "chanpon" was served. The dish looked just like before, with a generous serving of crunchy cabbage and bean sprouts, and a strong garlic aroma that awakened my slightly tipsy body. I didn't forget to sprinkle black pepper to give the whole dish a sharp taste. The more memories deepened, the more ingrained the way of eating this dish became. The fat in the soup enveloped my mouth in a garlic aroma. Even the chewiness of the thick noodles felt like I was confidently moving backwards towards the peak of life. I remembered the next step - adding pickled ginger. However, I couldn't see it on the counter seats. I glanced at the table seats, but it was nowhere to be found. Perhaps as a measure or as part of cost-cutting, did they eliminate pickled ginger? The lone staff member, devoid of his usual smile, stood in the kitchen, and I had a premonition that calling him would darken the good memories. Sometimes, silence is necessary for good memories. Even without pickled ginger, the essence of the "chanpon" at this shop remained unchanged, I reassured myself. The satisfaction from finishing the "chanpon" at the peak of life. While reaching the peak might also signify decline, finishing the dish could be a small step towards a new peak in life. As the night deepened, the snow showed no signs of stopping...