Suyako dipped her first piece of tonkatsu in the ponzu sauce, then brought it to her mouth. She chewed carefully on it a few times. Then her face broke into a gentle smile. ‘Delicious.’ The word wasn’t addressed to anyone in particular, but seemed to burst from her mouth. For her second piece, she chose the spicy sauce. This time, before taking a

The moment Tomomi tasted the dish, he involuntarily closed his eyes. That sweetness of the egg, mingling with the slight bitterness of the tiny sardines. The nutty aroma of the sesame oil . . . it was all just like back in the day. Tomomi leaned forward and, in a slight breach of etiquette, hovered his chopsticks back and forth over the various

‘I’m just glad I spotted your advert in Gourmet Monthly,’ said Tomomi, breaking into a smile. ‘But that doesn’t even give our location, or any contact details!’ said Nagare, smiling. ‘All it says is Kamogawa Diner – Kamogawa Detective Agency – We Find Your Food. People go up and down the Kamogawa river looking for us.’ ‘Plus you don’t even have a

‘From top left,’ began Nagare, tucking the tray under his arm, ‘Miyajima oysters, simmered Kurama-style, miso-glazed baked butterburs with millet cake, bracken and bamboo shoot stew, chargrilled moroko, breast of Kyoto-reared chicken with a wasabi dressing, and vinegared Wakasa mackerel wrapped in pickled Shogoin turnip. In the bottom right you

‘I think I was just . . . afraid,’ said Nobuko, choosing her words slowly, as though addressing Nejima himself. ‘The idea of happiness pitching up in my life like that all of a sudden – it terrified me.’

‘I don’t mean to be rude, Mr Yamamoto, but I have to say this is a pretty odd request. This sushi you’re describing doesn’t sound very tasty at all! There are plenty of Kyoto restaurants that serve incredible mackerel sushi these days – but all you care about is this weird version of yours.’ ‘You’re still young, aren’t you? All you care about is

‘See, the owner actually lived in part of the ryokan, and I used to play on her veranda. When it got to about three o’clock, she’d always bring me out a snack. Nothing too sugary – it was always baked sweet potatoes, or sticky rice with adzuki beans – just something to keep me going. But what I remember most vividly is her mackerel sushi.’ ‘So,

‘Well then, Mr Taro Yamada. Let’s get to business. What dish are you looking for?’ asked Koishi. ‘I’d like you to help me with a certain kind of mackerel sushi.’ ‘What kind, exactly?’ asked Koishi, scribbling away with her pen. ‘The refined type they serve at the Izu restaurant? Or something a bit more rough and ready, like you get at Hanaori?’

‘Will tea be fine?’ asked Koishi, bringing over a black lacquer tray. On it was the mackerel sushi, arranged on a long, narrow Koimari-ware dish. ‘We have sake too.’