Luschka, Flower Flower / No. 2 "Cappellini"

In my case, food often triggers forgotten memories.

I heaved myself out of my desk chair to go buy some instant spicy ramen I had stocked up on.

At the supermarket, a thin pasta suddenly caught my eye, and a memory resurfaced.

It was a small bar, up a rusty staircase and through a cheap door.

The back of the counter was a wall-to-wall window, and beyond the master's back, I could see street trees and

streetlights swaying.

The deep green of the night and the orange light reflected in it were so beautiful, they made the sake taste several times

smoother.

But the most delicious thing was,

the capellini that could only be ordered when the master had a free moment.

I loved it so much that I would go to that bar in my pajamas, even though it was almost bedtime and I had already showered.

I wasn't exactly flush with cash.

But my wallet has always loosened when I'm overcome by the urge to eat, ever since those days.

That bar, where I quietly enjoyed conversations with strangers and the master, closed about a year after I discovered it.

The capellini I made myself, relying on my memory of the taste, was nowhere near as good as the real thing, to the point where I wondered, "Is that all it is?"

I think what made that taste special was,

the light from the showcase and the glasses, shining with a dazzling champagne gold that almost drowned out the orange of the streetlights, yet next to them, the small, flickering candle flame never went out,

that entire space was simply too brilliant.