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

‘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

‘The yuzu has a wonderful aroma, too,’ said Nobuko, bringing the bowl close to her nose. ‘That’s from a village called Mizuo in the mountains west of Kyoto. Fragrant, isn’t it?

‘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?’

‘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

‘Shimogamo Shrine is unusual, even for Kyoto, in that you pray in different places depending on your zodiac animal. There are seven little shrines, known as kotosha. Five of them are dedicated to two animals, and the other two just one. The mouse and the horse each get their own shrine. That’ll be why you remember that he was born in the year of

By the way, I wanted to ask – what was it you had me put in Hideji’s soup right at the end? You know, that stuff in the jar.’ ‘Instant dashi powder. He’ll need to get used to that stuff if he’s going to live with Nami.’

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

‘There’s also dessert – sorry, I mean the mizugashi course. So please take your time,’ said Koishi, shrugging her shoulders. ‘That’s right, Koishi. There’s no such thing as “dessert” in Japanese cuisine. The fruit served at the end of the meal is called mizugashi. We’re not in France, after all!’ said Tae, her nostrils flaring.