katka(かてぃか)
After finishing my prayers, I walked to the next shop in the miserable rain that made me feel cold. Even though the temperature in Kyoto's winter always feels cold, it is actually much lower in Sendai. When I arrived at the storefront, my hands were freezing and the hem of my denim was uncomfortably wet. I hesitated before calling out, "I called earlier, I'm Katka." The landlady rushed over and said, "Welcome, please come in from the bad weather." The master also warned me about the eel as he greeted me. I have seen stylish townhouse storefronts before, but this place preserved the essence of the townhouse in a way I had never seen before. "I'm very sorry, but would you mind sharing a table?" the landlady asked. "That's fine, I made a reservation earlier," I replied shyly. I slid into an open spot and immediately started rubbing my hands together on the brazier. Warmth was the best treat of all, as the ancients said, and I couldn't agree more. "The eel bowl comes with eel liver, and the set meal includes that as well as tamagoyaki," the landlady explained. Since this is primarily an eel restaurant, the menu is limited to what can be done with eel. I decided to indulge in the set meal. Knowing it would take time, I opened my laptop and checked my emails and updated my Facebook. Even though I felt a bit lonely, I decided to enjoy my own time. Whether in London or Kyoto, nothing really changes. I took some photos with permission, capturing the brazier, hanging scroll, flower vase, and the small garden with a chest of drawers that all reflected a Kyoto-inspired lifestyle. "I apologize for the wait, here is your eel set meal," the landlady finally brought out the food. It took about 30 minutes, but the meal was finally served. I immediately noticed the container of sansho pepper, toothpicks, and soy sauce dispenser. "The eel is already seasoned, but the rice is not dressed with sauce. Please add the sauce to your liking," she explained before quietly leaving. Coming from a culture where eel is usually served with the belly closed, the belly-open eel felt like a different kind of food to me. I picked up a piece from the edge and chewed it, feeling the skin was somewhat hard. The eel and cooking method were completely different from those in the Tokai region and north, but I honestly thought the eel here was delicious. I decided to pour the sauce over the rice and savor it. The sauce was rich and elegantly sweet and savory, coating the fluffy rice with its stickiness. The rice was made from a variety close to the original species, which may explain why Kyoto's rice is less sticky compared to the rice in Tohoku, where non-rice varieties are mixed in. The texture and taste of the rice varied depending on the temperature when eaten. Despite the differences in taste and culture, I enjoyed the rice as well. I opened a packet of sansho pepper to sprinkle on the meal, and the fragrance immediately reached my nose. There's something silly about sansho pepper that lacks aroma, so having freshly ground pepper is a thoughtful touch similar to that of freshly ground pepper. The liver flavor was strong in the eel, and the tamagoyaki, not too sweet, had a nice umami taste lingering from the kombu and shirasu. The konbu-wrapped pickles had a satisfying crunch, and all the dishes had a simple charm that I appreciated. The hospitality and effort to entertain the guests were impressive. I thanked the landlady as I left, feeling energized by the delicious eel. Just like diving into the water again.