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 b

‘Can I ask you something?’ said Asuka, looking Nagare in the eye as she stood up. ‘Of course,’ said Nagare, returning her gaze. ‘Why do you think I remember that spaghetti in particular, out of all the other dishes I ate with Grandad?’ ‘Well, this is just a guess, but . . .’ Nagare paused and took a breath. ‘I wonder if this trip was the first time

‘Okayama? But the stew is from when he lived on that island near Hiroshima!’ ‘Oh, I’ll go there too. But the first port of call is definitely Okayama,’ said Nagare, pointing to the city on the map. ‘If you say so! Bring me back some kibi-dango dumplings, would you?’ said Koishi, patting her father on the shoulder.

‘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 ea

‘Winter, fifty-five years ago. I imagine it was a chilly day just like today. I believe you and this gentleman would have arranged to meet at Sanjo station on the Keihan line. He probably wanted to show you Shimogamo Shrine. These days, the train runs all the way to Demachiyanagi, but back then you had to walk north along the banks of the Kamogawa.

‘Before you do that, could you sprinkle that stuff in the little ceramic jar into the pot?’ ‘All of it?’ ‘All of it. Scatter it all over, then give the soup a good mix with the ladle. Then whack the heat up. Simmer everything for a bit, crack the egg in, then turn the heat off and pop the lid on right away. Not tightly, though – leave it a little a

‘So you call it Kurama-style in Kyoto. Where I’m from, if you simmer something with sansho pepper, that’s Arima-style.’ ‘Must be a case of local pride then. Kurama and Arima are both famous for their sansho, aren’t they?’

‘The sauces are quite subtle too, don’t you think? As his wife, you must have guessed the secret ingredient right away.’ ‘Bitter orange?’ asked Suyako, looking up. ‘That’s right. Seems he used Yamaguchi oranges. Boiled them into a jam for the sweet sauce, mixed the rind with red chilli pepper for the spicy one, and squeezed their juice into the pon

Asuka watched nervously as Nagare transferred a series of tiny plates, each smaller than the palm of his hand, onto the lacquer tray in front of her. ‘These are so pretty!’ she found herself blurting out. ‘Oh, they’re a real mix. Antiques, old Western plates, some by modern artisans . . .’