chapter 4: tonkatsu

1

the long, bitter winter was over, and spring had finally come to kyoto.

walking from higashi honganji temple, suyako hirose crossed the wide avenue of karasuma-

dori and came onto shomen-dori. the colours of spring – pale blues, lemon yellows, pastel pinks

– were also on display in the clothing of people passing down the narrow street.

meanwhile, making her way east, suyako was wearing a plain, charcoal-grey dress and black

jacket.

she’d done her homework before getting here, so she felt reasonably convinced that the plain-

looking building in front of her was her destination. still, given the absence of any sign or other

indications that it was open for business, it was hard to be sure.

by the sliding aluminium door was a small window. the chatter drifting through it certainly

sounded like that of a restaurant, while the fragrances wafting out reminded suyako of the food

section of a fancy department store.

‘thanks for the meal!’

the door flew open, and a man in a loose-fitting white jacket strolled out before closing it again.

the tabby cat that had been dozing in front of the building rushed over to him.

‘excuse me,’ suyako said to the man, who had started stroking the cat. ‘this is the kamogawa

diner, right?’

‘yeah, sounds about right. mr kamogawa and his daughter run the place, if that’s what you

mean,’ he replied, then bowed slightly. suyako gently slid the door open again.

‘here for a meal?’ asked nagare kamogawa, wiping his hands as he emerged from the kitchen.

‘actually, there’s a dish i’d like you to help me find.’

‘well, if it’s the detective service you’re after, my daughter’s the one to talk to,’ replied nagare

plainly, looking at koishi.

‘though it’s dad who does the real detective work,’ said koishi. ‘are you hungry?’

the clock showed half past twelve.

‘what kind of food do you serve?’ asked suyako, eyeing the ramen bowl that had been left on

the counter, in which a small pool of broth remained. ‘i’m afraid i’m a little fussy.’

‘we serve all our first-time customers a set menu,’ said nagare, taking over from koishi. ‘any

allergies?’

‘oh – no,’ replied suyako, now glancing around the restaurant. ‘but i’m not very keen on meat,

or anything too greasy.’

‘well, if you’re happy with something light, i can serve you right away.’

‘that’d be just fine. i eat like a bird,’ said suyako, a relieved look on her face.

‘we actually have a booking tonight for a traditional japanese banquet. i was just preparing the

food. i’ll pick you out some dishes!’

nagare hurried back into the kitchen.

‘please, take a seat,’ said koishi, pulling out one of the red-cushioned chairs.

‘this place really is quite peculiar,’ said suyako, looking around the restaurant again. ‘you

don’t have a sign, or even a menu!’

‘that’s right. you did well to find us,’ said koishi, setting a teacup down in front of suyako.

‘i saw the advert in gourmet monthly.’

‘you mean you worked it out from that single line of text?’ said koishi, pausing as she poured

the tea.

‘there weren’t any contact details, and even when i wrote to the editor she refused to tell me. i

told her that in that case i really didn’t see the point in the advert, but she refused to budge. so i

did a bit of asking around.’ suyako took a long sip of her tea.

‘sorry about that. people are always complaining about that advert, but my dad’s a stubborn

one,’ said koishi, glancing at the kitchen. ‘he always says that, if someone’s really destined to

walk into this place, that one line will be all they need.’

‘apologies for the wait,’ said nagare, arriving with the food. ‘i’ve prepared a selection of light

dishes.’ he began removing a series of small plates from the round tray he was carrying and

positioning them in front of suyako.

‘oh, these are adorable,’ said suyako, her eyes sparkling.

‘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 have a hamaguri clam broth

thickened with kudzu starch. tonight’s customer asked me to create something that evoked both

the lingering winter and the onset of spring, which led to the dishes you see here. today’s rice is

of the koshihikari variety, sourced from tamba. please – enjoy the meal.’

‘i don’t even know where to start!’ said suyako, her eyes widening as she reached for her

chopsticks.

‘i’ll leave the teapot here. just give me a shout if you need a refill!’ said koishi, retreating to the

kitchen alongside nagare.

first, suyako’s chopsticks moved towards the grilled moroko, her eyes drawn to it by the

springlike appearance of the dish. two of the small fish were arranged on an oval kiseto-ware

plate. suyako found herself recalling that time, three years ago, when she had eaten at a traditional

restaurant in kyoto with her ex-husband, denjiro okae.

with a smile creasing his features, he had told her you could catch moroko in lake biwa, and

that in kyoto it was seen as a seasonal delicacy that heralded spring. suyako remembered thinking

that denjiro had become every inch the kyoto man.

dipping the fish in the mix of vinegar and soy sauce provided, suyako polished them off in no

time, then tried a mouthful of the mackerel wrapped in pickled turnip. she’d had mackerel sushi

many times. in her hometown of yamaguchi, she’d occasionally finish off a meal at her favourite

small restaurant with a sekisaba mackerel roll. but she’d never had it with something pickled like

this. the sweetness of the turnip mingled pleasantly with the sourness of the vinegared mackerel

on her tongue.

next she turned to the bowl of clam broth. she removed the lid, with its maki-e design depicting

a budding willow tree, and was greeted by a cloud of steam heavy with the fragrance of the clams

and their yuzu garnish. suyako took a sip of the broth, then let out a deep sigh.

‘food to your liking, then?’ asked nagare, returning from the kitchen.

‘oh, it’s exquisite,’ said suyako, dabbing at her mouth with a lace handkerchief. ‘almost too

good for a country bumpkin like me!’

‘where are you visiting from?’

‘yamaguchi prefecture.’

‘that’s a long way,’ said nagare, clearing away the plates she’d finished. ‘thanks for making

the trip. once you’re finished here, we’ll be happy to show you to the office.’

once nagare was out of sight, suyako took the kurama-style simmered oyster and placed it on

top of her rice, then poured some tea over the bowl and began bolting it down. with the occasional

pause to sample the wasabi-dressed chicken breast, she emptied the bowl entirely, right down to

the last grain of rice.

‘more rice?’ asked nagare, who had emerged from the kitchen again and was extending his

round tray in her direction.

‘i’m fine, thanks. oh – sorry for eating so rudely!’ her face had turned red, presumably because

she was worried nagare had seen her steeping her rice in tea.

‘oh, there’s no such thing as rude or polite when it comes to food,’ said nagare, clearing away

her dishes and wiping the table. ‘what matters is that you eat it the way you like it.’

‘thank you for the meal,’ said suyako, putting down her chopsticks and pressing her palms

together in appreciation.

‘well then, shall i show you to the office?’ asked koishi, who had been waiting for her cue. she

opened the door by the counter and began walking down the corridor. suyako followed shortly

behind.

‘what are these photos?’ asked suyako, stopping in the middle of the corridor.

‘they’re all dishes my dad made,’ said koishi, gesturing proudly towards the sea of photos on

the walls of the corridor. ‘japanese, western, chinese – you name it, he’s done it.’

‘a jack of all trades, eh? so he doesn’t actually specialize in any particular cuisine?’

‘well, yes, i suppose you could put it that way,’ said koishi, with a disgruntled pout.

‘did he make these, too?’ asked suyako, sounding surprised as she inspected a particular set of

photos.

‘ah, that was when the owner of a kimono shop asked him to create a fugu menu. that platter

there is fugu sashimi, on the hob is grilled fugu, and in that clay pot you can see the rice porridge

created from the leftovers of a fugu hotpot. dad is also a licensed fugu chef, you see.’

‘i assumed this was just an ordinary restaurant,’ said suyako, smiling as she turned back

towards the area where she’d eaten. ‘the decor doesn’t quite match the quality of the food you

serve, does it?’

‘do you like fugu, then?’ asked koishi grumpily as she carried on down the corridor.

‘well, i’m from yamaguchi,’ replied suyako airily. ‘so yes, i’ve been fond of it since i was a

little girl.’

‘lucky you. the first time i ever had it was to celebrate getting into university!’ said koishi

over her shoulder.

‘my father was a university chancellor, so people often gave it to him as a gift.’

‘i see,’ said koishi. sensing that this bragging was going to continue, she found her expression

turning sour, and opened the door at the end of the corridor more noisily than was necessary.

‘in here, please.’

nodding, suyako made her way into the room and settled on one of the sofas, apparently

oblivious to the scowl on koishi’s face.

‘could you fill this out for me, please?’ said koishi, her tone even more businesslike than usual

as she held out the clipboard. placing tea leaves into the pot, she glanced furtively at her client.

suyako scribbled down her details.

‘will that do?’

‘suyako hirose. fifty years old – well, you don’t look it. right then, what dish are you looking

for?’ asked koishi brusquely.

‘tonkatsu,’ replied suyako, looking straight at koishi.

‘i thought you said you didn’t like greasy food or meat?’ retorted koishi in surprise.

‘oh, it’s not me who wants to eat it. it’s for a . . . certain someone,’ said suyako, a pleading

look now in her eyes.

‘what sort of tonkatsu?’ asked koishi.

‘i don’t know. that’s why i need your help finding it.’

‘well, yes, but . . . could you at least be a little more specific?’ frowned koishi.

‘i don’t know where to start . . .’ said suyako, puckering her lips as she hesitated.

‘oh, start wherever you like,’ replied koishi curtly.

‘have you heard of demachiyanagi station?’

‘of course i have – like everyone else in kyoto!’ koishi’s cheeks had puffed up.

‘well, there’s a temple right by the station.’

stifling a yawn, koishi tilted her head to one side. ‘a temple? hmm . . .’

‘there used to be a tonkatsu restaurant near there. katsuden, it was called.’

koishi nodded silently.

‘that’s the tonkatsu i’m looking for. the one they used to serve.’

‘and that restaurant no longer exists?’

this time it was suyako who nodded.

‘when did it close?’

‘about three and a half years ago,’ said suyako, a meek look on her face.

‘well, that’s not too long ago, is it?’ said koishi, scribbling away in her notebook. ‘katsuden,

you said the place was called? shouldn’t be too hard to find.’

‘that’s what i thought. i searched online for it, but nothing turned up.’ suyako’s expression had

clouded over.

‘three and a half years ago, you said? i’d have thought people would have mentioned it online.

you know, review sites, blogs, that kind of thing . . .’

‘well, this place hasn’t even shut down, and there’s absolutely nothing about you online.’

koishi’s expression relaxed slightly. ‘i suppose you’re right. dad and i have a thing about

people writing strange reviews. we kept asking not to be listed, but the restaurant still ended up on

the websites. that’s why we took our sign down and made it look like we’d gone out of business.’

‘seems my husband came to the same conclusion,’ said suyako nonchalantly. ‘though i think

he at least bothered to keep the sign and noren curtain outside.’

‘wait. katsuden was run by your husband?’ asked koishi, leaning forward across the low table.

her eyes had widened with interest.

‘yes,’ nodded suyako. ‘more precisely, my ex-husband.’

‘in that case, why don’t you just ask this . . . ex-husband of yours?’ koishi’s cheeks had puffed

up again.

‘if that was an option, i wouldn’t be here, would i?’ said suyako, looking down at the table.

‘see, he’s the person i want you to make it for.’

‘now you’ve really lost me,’ said koishi, twiddling her pen between her fingers in frustration.

‘why would you want to do that?’

‘i married him twenty-five years ago, when he owned a fugu restaurant in yamaguchi. fuguden,

he called it. my father didn’t approve of the match one bit – in fact, my whole family were

opposed.’ suyako paused and reached for her teacup.

‘you did say your father was a university chancellor. so, why did the owner of a fugu restaurant

suddenly decide to open a tonkatsu place in kyoto?’ asked koishi, glancing up.

‘someone got poisoned at the restaurant,’ said suyako, then took a long sip of tea.

‘fugu poisoning? but that can be lethal, can’t it?’ asked koishi with another frown.

‘yes. in fact, the person in question died.’

‘i’m sorry to hear that,’ said koishi in a low voice.

‘he was my cousin, actually. he’d always been the headstrong type. once he’d said he’d do

something, there was no changing his mind. he’d caught his own fugu, brought it into the

restaurant and demanded they cook it for him. my husband was away at a fugu association

meeting that day. he’d left his sous-chef mr masuda in charge. and it all ended in disaster.’

suyako was biting her lip as she spoke.

‘i suppose this mr masuda felt like he couldn’t refuse that cousin of yours, seeing as he was

your husband’s family?’ said koishi sympathetically.

‘apparently he did refuse – several times in fact. but it got to the point where my cousin was

almost threatening him.’

‘what happened to the restaurant?’

‘it was a small town, so word got around. there was no choice but to shut the restaurant. and

that should have been the end of it, but . . .’ suyako’s expression darkened.

‘let me guess. compensation,’ said koishi, flicking through the pages of her notebook.

‘not really. my cousin’s family made their fortune in trade, so they weren’t exactly hungry for

cash.’ suyako lowered her gaze. ‘but the whole affair messed up relations with my family. in the

end it was my husband who asked for a divorce.’

‘but your cousin was the one who marched in there and demanded they cook it,’ said koishi

with a hint of indignation. ‘it’s not like your husband was to blame, is it?’

‘no. but denjiro has a keener sense of responsibility than most people . . .’

‘denjiro is your ex-husband, then?’ said koishi, making a note.

‘yes. denjiro okae,’ said suyako, peering at the notebook.

‘did you really need to get divorced?’ asked koishi, pursing her lips again. ‘couldn’t you have

left yamaguchi together?’

‘this might sound arrogant, but my family is quite well known in yamaguchi,’ said suyako,

straightening her posture. ‘the family name is everything. and i had my piano teaching to think

about . . .’

‘you’re a piano teacher?’

‘oh yes. i’ve taught everyone, from nursery school kids to students at music colleges preparing

for competitions. i had more than a hundred pupils at one point.’

‘so you stayed in yamaguchi after the divorce, while your ex-husband came to kyoto and

opened a tonkatsu restaurant.’

‘actually,’ said suyako coolly, ‘it seems he spent the first two years or so after the divorce

outside the food industry, roaming around doing various jobs in the tokyo area. it was only later

that he came to kyoto.’

‘why a tonkatsu restaurant?’

‘that i don’t know. i do remember him bringing tonkatsu home from his restaurant once, saying

he’d cooked it for his staff to eat after work. he’d do that sometimes – bring home whatever he’d

made them that day.’ suyako was rocking her head from side to side pensively.

‘oh, i love eating spare food from the restaurant,’ said koishi with a smile. ‘we’re always

doing that here.’

‘i wasn’t so keen,’ said suyako, furrowing her brow. ‘sort of felt like i was being given the

leftovers.’

‘so, why the sudden request to recreate the tonkatsu from your ex-husband’s restaurant? why

not just ask him directly? because you want him to eat it? i’m struggling to keep up here . . .’

koishi was staring at suyako with an almost pleading look in her eyes.

‘every year on my birthday, the twenty-fifth of october, he used to send me a little something.

but last year nothing came.’ suyako seemed to be choosing her words carefully. ‘i was a little

concerned, so i got in touch. it turned out he’d been admitted to the japanese red cross hospital

in higashiyama. when i visited him there, just after the new year, he was terribly thin. barely a

shadow of his former self. he’d been quite a big man in his prime, you see.’

‘sounds like a pretty serious illness,’ said koishi in a quiet voice. her pen had stopped moving.

‘the doctor gave him three months at most.’

‘three months? but . . . that means there’s no time to waste!’ cried koishi, glancing at the

calendar on the wall.

‘according to the nurses, all he talks about is the tonkatsu at katsuden. but when i tried asking

him about it, he wouldn’t say a word. and then i happened to see your advert in gourmet monthly

. . .’ suyako gave a long sigh as she reached the end of her story.

‘and he hasn’t told the nurses what kind of tonkatsu he means, either?’ asked koishi, with

another pleading look.

‘not in detail. they did tell me that when he rambled about it at night, he called out “five mil,

three mil”. not that i have the slightest idea what that might mean . . .’ suyako shook her head

from side to side.

‘five mil, three mil? how mysterious. well, i think i’ve got all the details now. i’m sure dad’ll

be able to figure this out. i’ll make sure he doesn’t dawdle!’ koishi closed her notebook and got to

her feet.

‘thank you,’ said suyako, rising and bowing.

‘all okay?’ asked nagare, folding up his newspaper as the pair returned to the restaurant.

‘this one’s urgent, dad,’ exclaimed koishi. ‘start looking for tonkatsu!’

‘what? why?’

‘do you remember a tonkatsu restaurant called katsuden?’

‘katsuden? it does sound vaguely familiar . . .’ said nagare, frowning slightly.

‘a little more enthusiasm would be nice!’ huffed koishi.

‘koishi, listen. if you have something to tell me, you need to calm down and do it properly. it’s

always like this with you!’

these words seemed to have their intended effect. koishi indicated a chair for suyako, then sat

down next to her.

‘so, suyako and her husband got divorced for reasons i won’t go into. but now he’s seriously

ill in hospital!’

koishi explained the situation, starting from the beginning. as he listened, nagare kept tilting

his head to one side, nodding, and at one point fetched a map of kyoto from the shelf.

‘oh, katsuden – i remember that place now. must have been over a decade ago, but i went

there a few times. it was just behind chotokuji temple, by demachiyanagi station. small place,

with this big, burly owner who’d stand there frying the tonkatsu in silence.’

nagare opened up the map.

‘that’s right,’ said suyako. ‘i believe it was very near that temple you mentioned. as for that

burly owner you mentioned, well, these days he’s . . .’

suyako took a notebook out of her bag and showed nagare a photo that was wedged between its

pages.

‘i can just about recognize him,’ said nagare, staring at the photograph. ‘but i do remember

him being a lot bigger . . .’

the photo appeared to have been taken in a hospital ward. suyako confirmed that the haggard-

looking man sitting up in a bed by the window was indeed denjiro okae.

‘what slender fingers you have,’ said nagare, his eyes drawn to suyako’s hand as she held the

photo.

‘she’s a piano teacher, dad – of course she has nice fingers. anyway, there’s no time for chit-

chat!’ said koishi, an imploring look in her eyes.

‘three months, you said . . .’ murmured nagare, unable to take his eyes away from the

photograph.

‘if he’s lucky,’ replied suyako, her voice becoming faint.

‘i see. two weeks should be enough time to track this dish of yours down. will you be able to

come back a fortnight today?’

‘two weeks, dad?’ squealed koishi. ‘can’t you do it any faster?’

‘two weeks,’ replied nagare brusquely. ‘that’ll be the absolute minimum if i’m going to find

out how the tonkatsu was done at katsuden and then recreate it.’

suyako got to her feet and gave him a deep bow.

on her way out of the restaurant, suyako was accosted by drowsy, who insisted on curling

himself around her legs.

‘hey, drowsy! enough of that, okay?’ said koishi.

‘oh, i don’t mind,’ said suyako, scooping drowsy up and handing him over to koishi. ‘i have a

cat myself, you see.’

‘what’s it called?’

‘hanon. you know, after the composer who wrote all those piano studies.’ suyako’s face lit up.

it was the first proper smile koishi had seen on it all day.

‘you really are a piano teacher through and through, aren’t you!’ she replied, returning the

smile. suyako began making her way west down the street. nagare and koishi bowed in her

direction, with drowsy mewing away at their side.

‘looks like i overestimated you, dad.’

‘what are you on about?’ replied nagare as he flicked through koishi’s notes.

‘i was sure you were going to turn around and say something like, “alright then, give me three

days!” have you forgotten what happened with mum?’ koishi was giving him a sharp look.

‘five mil, three mil . . .’ nagare continued leafing through the notebook as though he couldn’t

even hear her.

‘dad, are you even listening?’ asked koishi, thumping him on the back.

‘food poisoning alone is enough to ruin a restaurant’s reputation. but when someone dies,

that’s something else entirely . . .’

‘what are you mumbling about?’ said koishi, still glaring at him.

‘koishi, i’m going to yamaguchi tomorrow. may as well spend the night at yuda onsen if i’m

going that way. i’ll bring you back some of those bean-jam buns. just promise you’ll look after

this place, okay?’ nagare shut the notebook and got to his feet.

‘come on, dad,’ said koishi, with puffed cheeks. ‘you could at least get us a fugu hotpot kit.’

‘that, koishi,’ said nagare, ‘is the kind of luxury we can’t afford.’ for once, it was his turn to

thump her on the back.