News came that the cherries had started to blossom down in Kyushu, but in Kyoto their buds were
only just starting to show. This year, like most years, it would be another fortnight or so until they
were at their peak.
Still, that hadn’t stopped crowds of tourists, eager for their taste of Kyoto in the spring, from
descending1 on the area around Higashi Honganji temple. There was a precious quality to the early
evening air.
The junction2 between Shomen-dori and Karasuma-dori was busy with vehicles. Suyako, dressed
in a cherry-blossom-pink dress and thin white cardigan, was waiting at the pedestrian crossing.
Compared to two weeks previously3, it wasn’t just her outfit4 that had brightened – her expression,
too, seemed more cheerful.
The light turned green, and she began striding east. Soon she had reached the entrance to the
restaurant.
‘Oh, hello, you. Drowsy5, was it?’
She squatted6 down and petted the cat sprawled7 by the door. With a soft miaow, Drowsy hopped8
onto her lap.
‘Drowsy! Get off. You’ll get her clothes dirty!’ Koishi had come out to greet her.
‘Don’t worry. This isn’t a special outfit or anything.’
‘How’s your ex-husband doing?’ asked Koishi cautiously.
‘Oh, the same,’ said Suyako, a faint smile playing about her lips.
‘Welcome back!’ called Nagare as she entered the restaurant.
‘Hello again,’ said Suyako, bowing in his direction.
‘I’ve prepared a portion for your ex-husband. But first, please, try it for yourself,’ said Nagare,
pulling out a chair.
‘Thank you,’ said Suyako, settling at the table.
‘Before you start, there’s something I want to tell you. About why your ex-husband opened a
tonkatsu place.’
Suyako straightened up in her chair. Nagare went on, his expression humble9.
‘See, I went and spoke10 to Mr Masuda, the sous-chef at Fuguden. I had to search pretty hard for
him, but eventually I tracked him down to Hakata. After making amends11 for what he’d done, he
opened a small restaurant in the Tenjin neighbourhood. Did you know?’
‘No,’ replied Suyako, her eyes widening slightly in surprise. ‘He came to see me when the fugu
restaurant shut down – that was the last time I saw him.’
‘Denjiro helped set him up with the place in Hakata. He’s still running it today.’
‘Denjiro . . . helped him?’ repeated Suyako, dropping her voice.
‘Apparently12, he also told him not to contact him after that – which is probably why you didn’t
hear about it either. Mr Masuda didn’t know anything about Denjiro setting up a tonkatsu
restaurant in Kyoto, either.’
Nagare showed her a photo of a small traditional-looking restaurant tucked away at the end of a
narrow lane, a noren curtain hanging over the door.
‘You went all the way to Hakata?’ asked Suyako, bowing her head slightly.
‘Dad likes to see things for himself, you see!’ chipped in Koishi cheerily.
‘When I told him about the tonkatsu restaurant, Mr Masuda said, “Well, that makes sense.”’
‘That makes sense?’ repeated Suyako, her voice tense.
‘Apparently, Denjiro once told Mr Masuda he wanted to open a tonkatsu restaurant one day.
Maybe he was half joking, but it seems he got the idea after you complimented him on his
tonkatsu.’
‘I complimented him?’ Suyako’s face had turned blank with surprise.
‘Koishi, time to start cooking. Remember how I told you!’
Koishi nodded and headed to the kitchen, while Nagare sat up in his chair.
‘Whenever he brought you food he’d cooked for his staff, you’d never say a word about it. You
just ate whatever he put in front of you, never commenting on how it tasted. Except, that is, when
he brought home tonkatsu. Don’t you remember, Suyako?’ Nagare was looking straight at her.
‘I’m afraid I . . .’ said Suyako quietly.
‘You said, “I had no idea tonkatsu could taste like this!” Denjiro told Mr Masuda all about it –
he was beaming, apparently. And not just the once. Every single time, he’d tell Mr Masuda about
it – boasting that if it had gone down that well with you, when you didn’t normally go near meat
or greasy13 food, it would probably be a hit with anyone. Mr Masuda sounded awfully14 nostalgic
when he told me all this.’
‘I had no idea,’ sighed Suyako.
‘I think it meant a lot to Denjiro that you enjoyed his tonkatsu so much.’
‘I never normally ate fried food, or fried anything myself at home, you see . . .’
‘Denjiro really is a chef to the core. Even after he shut the fugu restaurant, it seems he chose to
keep making people happy by filling their bellies15.’
‘I don’t even remember saying that about his cooking – and I was the one who said it!’ said
Suyako, her gaze dropping to the table.
‘Chefs always remember when someone enjoys their food,’ said Nagare, looking right at her
again.
‘Almost done here!’ said Koishi, appearing from the kitchen.
‘Tonkatsu’s always best freshly fried. I’ll bring it over right away,’ said Nagare, getting up in a
hurry and setting a tray in front of Suyako. On it were some chopsticks and three small plates.
‘Thank you very much,’ said Suyako, sitting up in her chair.
‘My own memory isn’t too reliable, so I got a little help from someone who knew Denjiro well.
It should be a pretty close recreation.’ Nagare began filling the small plates with different sauces.
‘What are those?’ asked Suyako, leaning over the plates to sniff16 them.
‘At Katsuden they always served three types of sauce with the meal. From right to left: sweet,
spicy17, and ponzu. They’d serve six bite-size pieces of tonkatsu, so most customers would dip two
in each sauce. I’ll tell you more about the recipe for those sauces in a moment.’
‘Eat this while it’s hot!’ said Koishi, placing a round Tachikui-ware plate in front of Suyako.
‘It’s a little early for dinner, so we haven’t served any rice on the side.’
‘My, this is all very refined,’ said Suyako, gazing at the dish for a moment before placing her
hands together in appreciation18 and reaching for her chopsticks.
Koishi and Nagare retreated to the entrance of the kitchen and peered over at her as she ate.
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 bite, she brought it to
her nose, smelled it, and nodded. She ate her third piece with the sweet sauce, then repeated the
same order for the other three pieces, alternating them with mouthfuls of the shredded19 cabbage
served on the side until, in no time at all, all six pieces of tonkatsu had disappeared from her plate.
‘Thank you.’ Suyako set her chopsticks down and joined her hands together again over the
round plate. ‘That was exactly how my husband’s tonkatsu tasted.’
Nagare sat down opposite Suyako.
‘In the twenty years since we separated, tonkatsu has been my husband’s constant companion.
It’s so delicately cooked . . .’ Suyako’s gaze was still fixed20 on the plate in front of her.
‘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 ponzu.’
‘Never forgot those Yamaguchi flavours, did he?’ chipped in Koishi, who was standing21 at their
side.
‘This ponzu sauce is like the type you get with fugu sashimi, but it goes well with tonkatsu too!’
said Suyako, dipping her little finger in the ponzu and licking it.
‘There’s a tiny bit of garlic in there,’ explained Nagare with a smile. ‘You know how fugu
sashimi is served with negi onion? I think it’s a similar idea.’
‘But how did you manage to recreate these sauces so well?’ asked Suyako, looking keenly at
Nagare.
‘Mr Masuda helped me with those. I asked him to remember the tonkatsu he’d eaten after work
at the fugu restaurant. Normally, it’d be an ordinary chef who’d cook for the staff, not the master
of the restaurant, but Denjiro always insisted on making the tonkatsu himself. After you told him
you liked it, he started varying the sauce each time.’
‘So that’s why . . .’ Suyako took the Tachikui-ware plate, now empty, in her hand, and stroked
it fondly.
‘As you’ll have noticed, the tonkatsu at Katsuden had a distinctive22 batter23. It’s so soft that you
might imagine Denjiro used fresh breadcrumbs rather than the usual dried ones, but then they still
have quite a crunch24. It turns out he actually sourced his breadcrumbs specially25 from a local
bakery.’
Nagare placed a tray full of breadcrumbs on the table. Suyako wordlessly set her plate down,
then tested the texture26 of the breadcrumbs with a finger.
‘The bakery was called Ryujitsudo, not far from Katsuden. He’d place custom orders with them.
I went to see the owner and asked him about the tonkatsu at Katsuden.’ Nagare paused to take a
sip27 of his tea. ‘Soft, but also quite fine-grained. Like I said, almost like fresh breadcrumbs, but
slightly drier.’
The breadcrumbs trickled28 gently through Suyako’s fingers.
‘Now, these have a roughness of five millimetres. But Denjiro always thought three millimetres
was the ideal size. Why? Because that was the version you’d so enjoyed. The finer grain made for
a softer texture. But then habitual29 tonkatsu eaters would expect the rougher feel you’d get from
five millimetres. Apparently, this was a recurring30 topic of debate between him and the bakery’s
owner.’
Nagare placed some breadcrumbs in the palm of her hand.
‘Who knew two millimetres could make such a difference!’ said Suyako, a sad look on her face
as she traced a fingertip through the breadcrumbs.
‘I’ve written down the recipe, as close as I could get it. I’ve included breadcrumbs in both sizes.
As for the pork – and this part is based on my own memory – I think it was Yoro pork from Gifu
prefecture. The frying oil was probably a mix of untoasted white sesame and Dutch salad oil.’
Nagare tucked a small stack of lined paper into a clear plastic file, which he handed to Suyako.
Now that he seemed to have finished, Koishi placed a paper bag on the table.
‘I wanted to give you it ready-fried, so your husband could eat it right away. But Dad said it
would be better if you fried it yourself at home when the time was right. Bit of extra work for you,
I’m afraid. Anyway, the frying oil and sauces are all in there.’
‘Thank you for being so thoughtful. Now, how much do I owe you?’ asked Suyako, reaching
into her bag.
‘Please,’ said Koishi, handing her a slip of paper with their bank details. ‘Just transfer however
much you feel like to this account.’
‘Thank you ever so much. I’m sure my husband will be delighted, too,’ said Suyako, bowing
deeply to them both.
‘It must all have been very tough for him,’ said Nagare, taking her hand.
‘Thank you.’ Clasping his hand with both of hers, she squeezed it tightly several times.
Wiping the corner of her eye with her little finger, Koishi slid the door of the restaurant open.
Drowsy mewled in response.
‘Ah, Drowsy, thank you too,’ she said, bending down towards him. ‘I’ll be back, okay?’
‘Let us know if he says it doesn’t taste right, will you?’ said Koishi, still teary-eyed. ‘We can
always get Dad to make it again!’
‘I wish he’d never bothered with fugu. Should have just opened a tonkatsu place in the first
place!’ said Suyako, biting her lip.
‘I’m sure your father would have hated that even more,’ said Nagare, a gentle smile spreading
across his features. Suyako gave a single, long bow, then set off west down Shomen-dori.
‘Mrs Hirose!’ called Nagare.
She turned around.
‘Make sure you fry it right, okay?’
Suyako gave another deep bow.
‘I hope her husband will like the taste,’ said Koishi as she cleared the table.
‘Me too,’ replied Nagare vaguely32.
‘But couldn’t you have made it a little quicker? Suyako must have been sick with worry while
she waited. Have you forgotten how it felt when you missed Mum’s passing? I mean—’
‘Koishi,’ interrupted Nagare. He sat down on a chair.
‘What?’ said Koishi, her lips tightening33 as she sat down opposite him.
‘A dead man can’t eat tonkatsu,’ said Nagare abruptly34.
‘What? When did he die?’ asked Koishi, her eyes widening.
‘I don’t know exactly,’ said Nagare, casting his gaze down at the table. ‘But I think he’d already
passed away when she dropped by a fortnight ago.’
‘But . . . how can that be?’ asked Koishi in an almost accusing tone.
‘Didn’t you notice anything odd about that photo of him in the ward31?’
Koishi tilted35 her head to one side in silence.
‘You could see the grounds of Tofukuji temple out of the window. The leaves looked like they
were just starting to turn red.’
Koishi sat up in her chair, a look of astonishment36 on her face.
‘Then it must have been early November at the latest. And three months after that would be . . .’
Koishi counted on her fingers. Her shoulders sagged37 in dismay.
‘She had light burns all over those slender fingers of hers. Must have been from splashes of
frying oil. That’s not all, either. Did you see how Drowsy wouldn’t leave her alone? Well, you
know he likes greasy food. Her clothes must have smelled of the oil.’
‘You think she’d been frying tonkotsu at home?’
Nagare nodded in response. ‘Probably carried out all sorts of experiments. But it was harder to
recreate that Katsuden flavour than she’d thought.’
‘Oh, right . . .’ murmured Koishi.
‘I think she really did want to eat that Katsuden tonkatsu with him one last time,’ said Nagare, a
tender expression on his face. ‘You know, sit down with his ashes and tell him how good it tasted.
That was what she meant when she told us she wanted him to eat it.’
‘So she wasn’t exactly lying, then,’ said Koishi, nodding.
‘You know, I reckon Katsuden could be back in business in time for the Gion festival this
summer,’ said Nagare, his voice brightening.
‘What, you think she’d take up his job? After separating from him more than twenty years ago?
No chance. She’s hardly going to give up being a piano teacher to run a tonkatsu place!’ said
Koishi, dismissing Nagare’s idea with a laugh.
‘Married couples are complicated things, Koishi. Sometimes separating just means you’re each
able to follow the path you want. Some couples get divorced precisely38 because of how much they
care about each other.’
Nagare slowly got to his feet.
‘Married couples, eh?’ said Koishi, then shrugged39. ‘Well, I wouldn’t know about those.’
‘You can be separated in all sorts of ways, and end up very far away from each other, but the
bond between you never breaks. Isn’t that right, Kikuko?’ said Nagare, heading into the living
room. He sat down to face the Buddhist40 altar, the smile on his face as warm as a ray of spring
sunshine.
点击
收听单词发音
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1
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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junction
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| n.连接，接合；交叉点，接合处，枢纽站 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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6
squatted
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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7
sprawled
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| v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的过去式和过去分词)；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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8
hopped
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| 跳上[下]( hop的过去式和过去分词 )； 单足蹦跳； 齐足（或双足）跳行； 摘葎草花 | |
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9
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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10
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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11
amends
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| n. 赔偿 | |
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12
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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13
greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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14
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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15
bellies
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| n.肚子( belly的名词复数 )；腹部；（物体的）圆形或凸起部份；腹部…形的 | |
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16
sniff
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| vi.嗅…味道；抽鼻涕；对嗤之以鼻，蔑视 | |
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spicy
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| adj.加香料的；辛辣的，有风味的 | |
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18
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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19
shredded
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| shred的过去式和过去分词 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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distinctive
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| adj.特别的，有特色的，与众不同的 | |
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batter
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| v.接连重击；磨损；n.牛奶面糊；击球员 | |
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crunch
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| n.关键时刻；艰难局面；v.发出碎裂声 | |
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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texture
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| n.(织物)质地；(材料)构造；结构；肌理 | |
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27
sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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28
trickled
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| v.滴( trickle的过去式和过去分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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29
habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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recurring
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| adj.往复的，再次发生的 | |
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31
ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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tightening
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| 上紧，固定，紧密 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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35
tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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sagged
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| 下垂的 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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39
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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Buddhist
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| adj./n.佛教的，佛教徒 | |
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