Day 6: Part V

Ramen had been one of the things I was most looking forward to trying in Japan. Those chewy noodles and a nice big, warm bowl of salty and savory soup. I had been deprived of it that first night because of my inability to speak frankly with Sean and then I had been deprived again every time I did not mention it.

The restaurant looked like a more traditional ramen setup. The kitchen was the center of the room and had a few big pots on stoves curtained by a raised sit-in bar. We placed our orders at the vending machine, Sean showed me how to do everything of course, and then handed the ticket to the chef. It was lively but not full. There was a quiet atmosphere as most people seemed to be eating alone, slouching over their bowls of udon curry.

I had told Sean I wanted curry, thinking of the boxed bullion my mother would buy at the grocery store when Sean explained the concept of udon curry to me. “It’s curry, but they put it over the thick udon noodles, and they slap on a nice fat slab of roast beef.” It wasn’t hard to forget the ramen.

After the chef inspected our tickets and moved back to help the other guests. Sean, resting his arms on the countertop, said, “I’m sorry about my family. I hope they didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“No, not at all. It was nice to see them again. It was like going back in time.”

“And sorry my mom called you Alejandro. She’s been talking to your mom ever since you bought your plane ticket.”

“It’s okay. I figured it was something like that. I don’t think she even noticed it.”

“But you did.”

The chairs were raised kind of high up, my feet dangled before the floor. A middle-aged man sat across from us and was chowing down, sometimes coughing as though he couldn’t breathe. The smell of curry, so spicy, floated around the room. “I notice a lot of things.”

“That’s true.” He nodded and again that period of intermediary though expired. “Why don’t you go by Alejandro?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know.” An oiled pan hissed, the grease just barely missed that man’s hand. “I’m only used to my family calling me that.”

“So it’s like a relation thing. I vaguely remember you introducing yourself as Alejandro when we first met. A long time ago, but then you switched. I was always curious."

I was kind of glad when the chef set two giant bowls in front of us. Of course, I knew why I’d stopped, but the reason would sound so obtuse and superficial, and I’d rather enjoy the great dinner whistle of a Japanese chef shouting out his culinary ritual.

The curry was that shining golden brown just like in the pictures. There was so much sauce that it seemed to be a mini ocean in his bowl. The roast beef was like the Titanic after hitting the iceberg of chopped green onions, while the mostly hidden krakken of soba noodles wrapped the tentacles beneath the beef.

It came with a small bowl of pure white rice. I raised the noodles a few centimeters above the bowl and slurped it down. It was seeping hot. Not spicy like in the comic, but rather straight from the stovetop that I may have burned my tongue and wouldn’t have cared as for too long it had beckoned me to eat. I gasped the sweet release after a mouthful, then attacked the rice to start it all again, enjoying the rest of the thick curry and noodles as they were meant to be.

Sean pinched his thumb and finger together, ascending to the likes of Buddha. “These noodles, man. Perfectly al dente.” I slurped in agreement. “And this croquette, oh my gosh, dude, you really should’ve bought it.” The cheese as it oozed out of the potato’s center, eventually flapping down on Sean’s chin.

“I’m sure it’s great.”

“You’ve got to try it.” Sean cut some off using the side of his chopsticks, hovering his hand below it, and brought it to my face. It was steaming. I cooled it and then took a bite, my teeth lingering on the chopsticks. “Good, right?”

“Yeah, too bad I’m full,” I said, but I still had the roast beef to eat. It was tender and fatty, and not at all modest in size. I had to tear through the meat with gritted teeth like a starving dog and then quickly shifted to my rice, holding the small bowl with one hand, and diligently spooning in rice like a disciplined samurai. Once the whole meal was done, I pushed the dishes to the side and rested my head on the greasy countertops as though my stomach would explode.

We took an extra long stroll back to his home, stopping at a convenience store for some water bottles to balance our high sodium. As we looked around the store, more for the trinkets than treats, Sean found a small sports section that had plastic wiffle balls and bats, kid-sized soccer balls, and badminton. On a whim, he bought the latter set, and we wandered to a park that had at least one lamppost near a bench.

We played for a few hours, starting off with a light volley which, after some practice, and much to Sean’s compliment, I could actually manage to keep going, but sooner or later there’d be an opening for a nice power shot that I couldn’t execute and our streak would be lost. Yet, each defeat in scorning, not that we were keeping track--I grew more competitive and though I’d be panting from running back and forth to get it, I kept at it until Sean suggested we rest at the bench.

“Here,” he said, handing me his water bottle. I’d been drinking mine between paces and had finished it while he’d taken a few sips. “You need it more than I do.”

“Thanks,” I said, panting. The cap was still a little loose from the last he’d drunk it. I was about to waterfall it as Sean took his seat beside me and stretched out his legs, but I was desperate and chugged it. “Alex.”

“What?”

He shook his head, then dried his sweaty bangs from his forehead. “It’s nothing.” Although I’d gained control of my breathing, my heart rate wasn’t receding. Sean was looking up at the night sky or maybe the moths flying around the lamppost or maybe at some transcendent power that had granted us a quiet hour. We could hardly hear the insects or cars or strangers passing through. You would think being at a park this late someone would be bound up to something, but there was only us. “It’s just,” he smiled, pointing up, “I remembered we’d promised to see the full moon. But it’ll be gone in a day or two. Just like you.”