うどん

 

 

 

It was my first night in Japan, in a Tokyo suburb a stone's throw away from Kanagawa. The late November's autumn chill easily sliced its way through my thin office jacket and scarf. M. and H. took me to a local Udon place. We sat on mats and ate at a low table. The restaurant was busy and I looked like the only foreigner around. The smell of broth and batter filled the air. The kitchen and service area was up front and we lined-up then picked-up our orders straight away. The soup and the tempura warmed my heart. It's been years, but I'm still deeply grateful for my host's omotenashi. 

 

 

 

We went to the mall today to accompany our son while he hung out with friends. They'll be at the arcade and will eat the KFC, while D. with V. and I decide to try out the latest in a series of Japanese chain restaurants that opened in the mall near our house. We stood in line at the Marugame Seimen We had udon, ebi tempura, even gyudon and curry. Like most Filipinos, we've eaten these dishes countless times, but there's still a welcome surprise, the pleasant element of a first-time. I called into my mind that Udon place in a Tokyo/Kanagawa suburb. I remembered the graciousness of my hosts.

 

I am even much happier where I am now, for the fact that years later, I still work with my hosts. For the fact that it's Wednesday afternoon and I'm out with my family for lunch. I am grateful that I'm with D., the constant in this equation, and with whom life is always better experienced with. Even if right now, we're only in a mall in Malate. Pretty soon, when life takes us elsewhere, I'm certain that anywhere we are in the world, udon's going to be great with you.