The Hot Pot Party

 

 

 

The Hot Pot Party

 

PEOPLE have different opinions on how to make a great boar hot pot, but I think Chinese cabbage and spring onions are a must, with chrysanthemum greens and enoki mushrooms making fine additions. Tofu goes without saying.

For the stock, the main flavor comes from the miso and ginger. When everything’s been thoroughly simmered together, the meat should almost melt in the mouth, while the vegetables and tofu will be bursting with all the flavors they’ve absorbed from the stock. Add a mouthful of white rice to balance it all and you won’t know what hit you. It’s that good.

But before we could even think about that, we had some shopping to do. Techi and I had barely survived our last trip to the supermarket, so attempting to carry back ingredients for twenty-odd people without a car would’ve almost certainly killed us. We needed a lot of rice and some extra cooking pots, so Techi promised to arrange some transport.

She was going to pick me up from my house on Saturday morning, and we’d go to the supermarket and hardware store together from there. Once we had everything, we’d bring it back to my house and prepare the ingredients for Sunday.

The rest of the week was very peaceful, and little of note happened in the run-up to the weekend.

🐿🐿🐿

IT was Saturday morning, around nine o’clock. Nobody worked in the orchard on weekends, so I’d taken the opportunity to catch up on assorted life admin. When that was done, I settled in for a little relaxation on the veranda, simply letting the time pass me by, until I heard the sound of tires on the dirt path outside.

The path started down at the border gate and ran straight past the house—it was separate from the smaller path that led toward the orchard. I’d yet to explore it any further. But presumably, at some point, it joined onto the main forest road I’d seen the other day, as that was the direction the noise was coming from.

Soon, a white van came into view—not quite what I was expecting. It was a delivery van, no doubt about that, and there was something written on the side in big, neat letters:

Kurikara Cakes

Premium Pâtisserie

That was Techi’s surname, and there she was in the driver’s seat… Was her whole family in the bakery business? The surprise must’ve been evident on my face, because Techi rolled down the driver’s side window and immediately corrected me.

“It’s not what you think,” she said dryly.

“…Um, what’s not what I think?” I asked as I got up from the veranda.

She gestured for me to get in.

“This isn’t the family car. It’s my brother’s. He uses it for deliveries for his cake business.”

I opened the passenger side door, got in, and buckled my seatbelt. Techi yanked the steering wheel hard to turn us back onto the path toward the settlement and resumed her explanation.

“Out there, in the human world, the profession’s called a pâtissier, or pastry chef, right? Well, my brother fancies himself a pâtissier and he uses the term with great pride. But the truth is that the title’s self-appointed. He’s completely self-taught.”

“He’s self-taught?!” I cried. “Are you serious? That’s incredible! I would have never guessed…”

“Well, we don’t exactly have any student exchange programs going on with the outside world, so he had no choice but to teach himself…” Techi said dryly. “We do have western desserts here—beastfolk have tried making their own—but it’s all amateur baked goods that aren’t much different from the mass-produced stuff you can get at a convenience store.

“But when we were younger, there was this TV show. Every week, the presenters would visit these beautiful, luxury cake shops and try all these different desserts. And all us kids made such a fuss about it; we whined and whined, we wanted to try these incredible-looking cakes so much. We had no idea that we were asking the impossible. But for some reason, my brother was inspired by the whole thing, and he set his sights on becoming a pastry chef. He wanted other young beastfolk to be able to enjoy those fine desserts that we couldn’t, growing up.”

Techi explained how he’d started by studying from books and websites. He’d completely destroyed his childhood savings, pouring money into his education year after year—constantly spending on baking supplies, cookbooks, and such, as his disciplined training continued. By the end of it, he was on another level—his desserts were truly first-class. The mass-produced convenience store cakes didn’t hold a candle to him. Now, he ran his own business.

Techi snuck a quick glance at me as she drove along to see my reaction. I was deeply, deeply impressed and I’m sure it showed. A short, sharp breath escaped her nose, no doubt a whiff of pride at her brother’s achievements.

“Remember the marron glacé he brought round the other day? First, he claimed he’d brought them as snacks for the kids. Then he said it was to celebrate our new pact. But those were just cover stories. He actually wanted you to try them. He wanted to see how they tasted to someone who’d eaten plenty of desserts in the outside world. So, to see you enjoying them so much, completely lost in the flavor…to him, it was proof that he’d finally made it. I’m sure it’s given him a big confidence boost.”

Interesting.

“Hmm, so that means…” I muttered, trailing off into my own thoughts. After that first serving of marron glacé, Rei had come by the orchard almost every day to bring us sweets of one kind or another, all of which I’d thoroughly enjoyed. I’d grown a little suspicious of his regular appearances, though—didn’t he have a shop to run? Now it all made sense.

“Rei’s very dedicated to his craft, isn’t he?” I said after a while. “His shortcake, his Mont Blanc, whatever that other unpronounceable dessert was—they were all impeccable. To think he’d go so far for the sake of a childhood whim so that other children could enjoy what he didn’t have… It really is something else.”

Techi had been gently smiling. But now, she pursed her lips.

“Well, it wasn’t all roses and dandelions,” she said, with a note of irritation in her voice. “As part of his self-inflicted training, he’d make the same desserts over and over. Guess who had to eat them all. That got old fast. Also, because he always had his nose in some book or other, he became this really annoying walking encyclopedia of dumb food facts. You heard him the other day when he was going on about the fruit of the marronnier tree.”

“I remember,” I said, “He was telling us all the French words for chestnut… So, he learned all that from studying?”

“Yeah. Now imagine living with him,” Techi said wryly. “If he ever gets married, his partner had better like fun facts.”

“Some people love fun facts,” I said. “Besides, being married to a top-class pâtissier would have its advantages. With his level of skill and no local competition, he must make good money. I’m sure his family would be quite comfortable financially.”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” said Techi. “Yeah, he brings in plenty of cash, but he always has his eye on some new tool or oven upgrade. Everything he makes, he dumps straight back into his business. So, while the books look great, his personal finances are a different story.

“He’s always ordering ingredients that have to be shipped from hundreds of miles away or importing weird foreign cooking utensils, and everything always has to be the very highest quality. He can never compromise.

“Take Tomiyasu’s chestnuts and walnuts. They’re a luxury food that fetches an incredible price. They’re best sold at the market. But Rei’s always using them in his desserts. It’s irresponsible.”

The topic had gotten her quite riled up—Techi seemed to have plenty to grumble about when it came to her older brother. I gently steered the conversation in a new direction, picking up where she left off.

“While we’re on the subject, how much do those chestnuts and walnuts sell for?” I asked. I’d been curious about it anyway.

“Hm? How much was it again…” she pondered. “Walnuts don’t sell for all that much, but chestnuts…last year, I think the big ones went for ¥3,000 each.”

“Three thousand…” I began. “That sounds pretty goo—”

I paused.

“EACH?! ¥3,000 for ONE chestnut?!”

I was in hysterics. Techi did not appreciate my loud cries and her mouth twisted into an expression of annoyed disapproval. She gave me a withering look to remind me that she needed to focus on driving. I obliged her and shut my mouth.

How could those chestnuts be so valuable? I was desperate to ask more questions…but I thought it best to let Techi cool off first. Instead, I sat there quietly with my own restless thoughts.

 

For the rest of the journey, I was reeling from the news that a single chestnut from my orchard could be worth ¥3,000. It simply boggled the mind. I wanted to find out more. But by then, we’d arrived at the supermarket. It was time to focus on the shopping, so I decided to shelve the topic for later.

First, we bought all the vegetables, seasonings, and rice we’d need for the party. Since we had the car, we also picked up some bits and pieces I still needed around the house. After the supermarket, we headed for the nearby hardware store for the rest of the shopping…including plenty of impulse purchases. At least, they all seemed useful.

There was plenty of space in the delivery van, but we still managed to almost completely fill it with shopping bags. Most of the cash I’d brought with me to the Wilds was now gone, so we got in the van and set off.

When we were driving back to the house, I finally felt that I could pick up the conversation where we’d left off. I brought up the topic of the chestnut prices again. Techi was visibly taken aback.

“I thought you seemed lost in thought,” she said. “You’ve hardly said a word since we got to the supermarket. But I didn’t think you were still thinking about that! Three thousand is nothing to write home about.”

“N-no!” I protested. “That’s definitely something to write home about! I could write a whole essay about it! From where I’m standing, ¥3,000 seems like an absurd price for one chestnut.”

“Now, you listen here,” she said, trying to bring me back down to earth. “Do you really think that every chestnut we pick sells for that much? A chestnut has to be perfect to fetch that kind of price—no scars, blemishes, worms, or other bugs. It has to be large, shapely, and top-quality. Only then can you think about asking ¥3,000 for it. But chestnuts are very uneven in shape and size, and bugs absolutely love them, so you’ve got to hunt quite hard for the really good ones.”

“Well, when you put it like that…” I began. “…No, I’m still surprised. Three thousand yen is simply amazing.”

“I forget where exactly,” said Techi, “but I did hear about an orchard outside the forest that manages to get ¥2,000 for their best chestnuts. The quality and taste must’ve been very good, although they still don’t compare to ours, of course. After all, Tomiyasu’s orchard is tended by us, the chipmunk beastfolk. Don’t forget that the word chipmunk contains the Japanese character for chestnut! You couldn’t ask for a more fitting workforce, eh? That goes without saying! Our chestnuts are far better than anything they grow out there.”

That may be true, but Techi was laying it on pretty thick.

“Hm, well…it can be fun to pat yourself on the back,” she continued, calmer now, “but the real reason the orchard produces such great chestnuts is the fact that it’s inside this forest. Our quality and prices are entirely down to geography.”

Techi said nothing for a while, then started talking to herself as she wrestled with her memory of the human-grown premium chestnuts.

“…Where were they from again? Was it Kyoto? Or maybe Hyogo? Hmmm, I’m pretty sure it was one of those two…”

But it seemed her sense of geography was not all that strong, as she soon shook her head and gave up her attempt to remember with a quiet sigh.

“Going back to what we were talking about…” she began. “Mikura, you said it yourself when we were in the heart of the forest—the air’s cleaner here. It’s a blessing that benefits everything in the forest, not just humans and beastfolk. The bugs, the animals, and, of course, all the plants are affected by this pure air. There are more insects and they’re all hardier. The animals are larger and stronger, and the plants are overflowing with nutrients and flavor. They make incredible crops.”

So… I thought to myself as she continued, everything is thanks to the mysterious power of this forest—it’s the forest that has allowed beastfolk society to flourish; has allowed this whole hidden world to exist.

The insects, plants, and animals here were so different, they could almost be considered a different set of species—stronger, healthier, more resilient. That let those who lived here—the beastfolk who fed on these plants and creatures—lead healthy, wholesome lives.

But it didn’t just affect their health. No doubt, it must’ve contributed to their unique physiology, too—to their physical prowess and great dexterity. And that in turn had let them protect their forest and culture all these centuries.

Then things changed. On the outside, we humans had been developing our own power, in the form of science and technology. That soon exceeded the ability of the beastfolk to protect their forest with muscle alone. The balance of power had shifted, and the beastfolk’s territory was absorbed into the nation of Japan, becoming the self-governing autonomous region that we knew today.

But humans had become very reliant on technology. The crops produced by modern agriculture were no match for those of the beastfolk, which quickly gained a reputation for being highly nutritious and extremely good for your health. The beastfolk were able to start exporting them for huge profits, which allowed them to invest in technology of their own. Now they had their own dam, their own hydroelectric power station, and a full-blown power grid.

All in all, they seemed to be doing pretty well for themselves.

“…Mikura,” said Techi, taking a brief pause from her drive-by history of the Beastly Wilds. “This forest is very special, very unique. Have you ever wondered why the humans don’t just march in here and take it away from us by force? You must’ve thought about that, right?”

I hadn’t. I tilted my head to one side.

“I can’t say I’ve ever thought about it, no… Although the way you just asked that sounds like a leading question. So, you mean to say there is a reason?”

“Wha—? Really, you’ve never thought about it?” exclaimed a puzzled Techi, looking directly at me even though she was still driving. She looked like a chipmunk in the headlights—she must’ve been expecting a very different answer. “Yes, you’re right. There is a reason, a specific reason…but I can’t tell you it just yet. It’s kind of top-secret. But since you live here now, I’m sure you’ll find out sooner or later. Tomiyasu knew all about it.”

She was still looking at me.

“Eyes on the road,” I urged her, before returning to our earlier topic. “Well, thanks for the history lesson. I think I get the gist of it. Something about this place makes the air extremely pure, that clean air makes for extra-healthy, extra-nutritious, extra-tasty chestnuts, and that leads to these astronomical prices. Of course, the chipmunks’ hard work plays a major role as well—that goes without saying. So, does that mean our walnuts fetch a high price too?”

“Yeah, they do,” replied Techi, “although they don’t go for as much as the chestnuts. They’re way above the norm for walnuts, though. As a matter of fact, as far as the numbers go, they say that walnuts are actually way more nutritious and way healthier for you than chestnuts. But chestnuts take the crown when it comes to flavor, and that’s always reflected in the price, as you can imagine.”

“Yeah, I can understand that,” I said. “Chestnuts are pretty delicious. I can only imagine what a freshly picked, ¥3,000 chestnut tastes like. Great-Grandpa never let us taste the merchandise, and I can understand why. You don’t let your great-grandchildren snack on ¥3,000 chestnuts, no matter how much you like to spoil them. You’d probably ruin all other chestnuts for them for the rest of their lives. That would be tragic.”

The thought of normally priced chestnuts never tasting good again was a horrifying one.

“…Say, Miss Techi, can I ask you about our chestnut buyers?” I asked. “You mentioned one of the two—this bum, as you called him—never offered more than half the market rate. Does that mean he’d pay ¥1,500 for one of those ¥3,000 yen chestnuts and then go on to sell it for an even higher price?”

Techi’s eyes narrowed.

“Yeah, that’s right,” she mumbled through tightly gritted teeth.

I wondered what exactly the relationship was between this greedy buyer and my great-grandpa and why he’d let it continue for so long. It was a terrible decision from a business standpoint, but the buyer’s demands were also completely out of line. I’d never met the guy, but seeing how Techi reacted at the mere mention of him, my opinion was about as low as it gets.

“What was Great-Grandpa thinking?” I muttered to myself. “What reason could he have? I can’t see any upside. The second buyer always pays a fair price… I’m surprised he’d stand for such unequal treatment. There’s no way you’d get that kind of situation at my old job—people would be up in arms…”

When she heard me mention my old job, Techi perked up.

“What exactly was your old job, Mikura?” she asked. “You never did say…”

“Hm? Oh, I was a regular office worker. I had a regular job at a regular trading company. When I put it like that, it doesn’t sound like I did much of anything at all. But if I had to pin it down, I’d say I worked in sales.”

Techi made some noncommittal noise that showed she was listening but not especially engaged. I don’t know if she was disinterested or if she simply didn’t know much about human companies, but we’d arrived at the house, and the conversation naturally ended.

We unloaded some of the food-filled shopping bags from the van and carried them to the warehouse. There were a total of twenty-five children under Techi’s care—that’s twenty-five portions of food, plus extra for the adults. There was no way that was all going to fit in my home fridge. Fortunately, I had another one.

The warehouse refrigerator was an imposing silver tomb that took up a whole corner of the main room. Taller and wider than a standard kitchen fridge, Great-Grandpa had ordered this custom-made industrial unit for food preservation. It could’ve easily accommodated the meat of three or four boars like the one Techi had killed. There was a separate freezer unit of about the same size as well.

The warehouse was roughly divided into three sections. One area filled with row upon row of shelving, a separate area for cold storage, and a third area that housed the cellar entrance. It was truly impressive in size and scope.

The warehouse building itself was equipped with a high-end ventilation system, and everything was carefully insulated despite the building’s intricate construction—clearly a custom job. I couldn’t begin to guess how much money had been sunk into this place.

The refrigerator door had a display on it that showed the current temperature inside. Pulling on the large handle opened the door, revealing a large space divided up into four levels by wire shelves.

“Wow, this thing is massive,” I said, gaping into the giant refrigerator. “This has to have at least several times as much space as a normal fridge. If you bought one of those bulk boxes of frozen food, you wouldn’t even have to unpack it. The electricity bill for this thing must be astronomical.”

As I held the door open, Techi slid past and started swiftly emptying the shopping bag contents onto the shelves.

“It does use a lot of electricity when cooling things down. But, once the temperature is stable, it’s actually not much of a hog at all,” she explained. “But if you hold the door wide open like you are right now, the cold air escapes rapidly. It’ll end up costing you a lot more than staring at the contents of your fridge at home, so make sure you don’t accidentally leave the door open, yeah? Now, let’s load this stuff up quickly—every second we’re chitchatting, this thing is getting warmer.”

I quickly snapped to it for the sake of my utility bill. It took us several trips between the van and the refrigerator to get all the food put away. I made sure that the refrigerator door was firmly shut between each trip.

The boar meat from the other day was also stored on stainless steel trays on the bottom shelf. Everything was neatly separated into different cuts and bound up with stainless steel mesh. I couldn’t help but stare at the glistening cuts of meat. It was a heavenly sight for an empty stomach like mine.

Tomorrow, that beautiful meat would become a steaming boar hot pot. Any cuts that were unsuitable for hot pot purposes would be left over for me to enjoy at my leisure…or to preserve in some delicious way. As I indulged in this little food fantasy, my mouth started to water. I gulped the saliva down unconsciously.

“That’s a scary look in your eyes,” said Techi. “And to think that while we were butchering that thing, you were paler than a freshly laundered sheet. It’s a good thing that experience didn’t put you off boar for good. That would’ve been a real shame.”

I scratched the back of my head nervously.

“Once it’s all cut up, I’m fine…” I said. “Sorry about all that. Hopefully, I’ll be able to help you out next time. Oh, speaking of which, I heard that half that meat belongs to you. Will you be taking half of what’s in the fridge there, or have you taken your share already?”

“The meat in the fridge is all yours,” Techi replied. “When Mother came by with our change of clothes after we butchered the boar, she also took our half of the meat home with her. Mother’s not the kind of fussy cook who’ll age meat for days on end, so we’ve already barbecued and eaten a bunch of it as yakiniku. I think she’s using the rest to make chashu boar and a big batch of boar stew.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “Does boar make for good yakiniku?”

“Hmm… This boar was male, so it wasn’t the finest yakiniku I’ve had,” she said. “Male boar meat tends to have a strong odor, so female meat is always better. But it wasn’t bad by any means. It was fine.”

“So that’s why you bought so much ginger today,” I noted. “Once the meat’s been simmered in the miso stock with all that ginger, it should mask the smell completely.”

“Exactly. Speaking of which,” Techi began, “ginger doesn’t go in the fridge. Make sure you store it at room temperature in the future.”

She held up a shopping bag that she’d been holding for a while—it was full of the ginger I had placed inside the refrigerator earlier. I hadn’t noticed her take it back out again. The plastic rustled as she pushed the bag into my hands.

“Ginger needs to be stored at room temperature?” I asked. “But it’s always in the refrigerated section at the supermarket.”

“The supermarket workers don’t know what they’re doing either,” Techi replied. “Ginger is a tropical plant, so it keeps best at room temperature with some level of humidity. Some people will even wrap it in damp newspaper. But, since the skin isn’t bone dry on these, they’ll be fine as is. Since we’re using them tomorrow, it won’t make a big difference.

“Right! Next up, we need to wash the new hot pots and dishes we bought. Once they’re nice and clean, we can start thinking about the tables. The food’s the least of our worries—the vegetables only need a gentle rinse and cutting up into rough chunks. But setting up seating for two dozen people is always a puzzle. Come on.”

With that, Techi was already on her way out of the warehouse, and we started moving the cooking pots and other utensils from the van to the house. There was so much to be done that it was a bit overwhelming for me. But fortunately, I could just follow Techi’s instructions and do as I was told.

As a kindergarten teacher of sorts, Techi had many years of experience with children. She was a pro among pros—it seemed like she’d organized plenty of these kinds of parties before. It’d explain how she knew everything that we’d need and everything that needed to be done. She also had very specific ideas about how best to set up dining tables for children, which I was happy to follow to the letter. I did the best I could not to get in her way and to carry out my tasks without question.

🐿🐿🐿

SUNDAY had arrived.

I’m not sure it quite deserved to be called a garden, but my house did have an open area without any trees or shrubs just past the veranda, large enough that it could fit a row of several parked cars. We laid out a picnic sheet on the grass, on top of which we’d placed a wooden shipping crate to use as a table. On top of the crate was a camping stove and atop that was a cooking pot, where today’s magic would be happening. With that, the first table was in place.

Only five more to go.

Once the tables were out, we prepared all the dishes, tableware, drinks, and floor cushions for everyone to sit on. The ingredients that’d be cooked in the hot pots were divided up into portions for each table and placed on bamboo strainers, then wrapped in cling wrap so they could sit out on the veranda until they were needed. All that remained was to wait for the kids to arrive.

“The rice is cooked. The ingredients are divvied up. The drinks are ready…looks like everything’s good to go,” said Techi, restlessly making her last-minute checks.

She’d been at my house since first thing this morning, helping me out with everything as if it were a matter of course. It appeared there were two reasons for that. First, it was her job to look after the children. And second, I suspected she wanted to help me get used to life in the Wilds as quickly as possible.

Today, I’d get a chance to break bread with the youngsters. This hot pot party would be a neighborhood housewarming as much as anything else. No doubt, the children would be on their best behavior, cautioned by well-meaning parents to be sensible, but hopefully, we’d all still have a good time.

It wasn’t like we’d all suddenly become bosom buddies. But, with any luck, everyone would be a little closer after this. So I could see why Techi would decide to give up her whole weekend to help make it happen.

As I was sitting on the veranda, I decided that I’d have to do something to show her my appreciation after the party. I was snapped out of my reverie by the sound of loud, cheerful voices and saw the first group of children approaching, with Kon leading the pack.

“Hey!” I greeted them. “Welcome, welcome!”

Hearing my voice, the whole group ran up to me excitedly. Kon and the others were all wearing backpacks, which they removed and rummaged around inside. Out came an assortment of paper bags, which the children then politely held out for me to take.

“Thank you very much for inviting us to your party today. It’s not much…but these are for you…” said Kon, with the awkward intonation of a kid trying to remember their lines in the school play. No doubt his parents had written the script.

“That’s very kind of you. Thank you so much,” I said, matching his level of politeness. I reached down and accepted the children’s gifts.

Inside the various paper bags were all sorts of boxes, big and small, all neatly wrapped. The names of a range of famous brands of tea, sweets, and luxury soaps were printed on the different sheets of wrapping paper.

“Right, you guys,” said Techi once the children had handed everything over, “there’s the spigot. Wash your paws and rinse your mouth out. When you’ve freshened up, grab some tableware, chopsticks, a cup, and one of the small floor cushions. I’ll only light the fire under the hot pot once all of you are seated, y’hear?”

The young chipmunks gave out a loud, sudden cheer and dashed over to the spigot next to the front door to make themselves presentable. Soon, everyone was clean as a whistle, and they grabbed their bowls and other bits and sat down politely on their knees as they’d been asked.

Their eyes bounced restlessly between the hot pot, the waiting Techi, and the eating utensils they held at the ready. It was quite a sight, all those bushy tails nervously twitching at once.

Seeing them all so eager, Techi couldn’t help but flash a warm smile. She grabbed one of the bamboo strainers from the veranda and started loading ingredients into the pot on the table.

Today we’ll be cooking fresh boar meat, cut from the leg, with miso paste and ginger providing the basic flavor for the hot pot broth. We’ll also be adding Chinese cabbage, spring onion, and chrysanthemum greens, as well as enoki mushrooms and grilled tofu.

Start cooking on high heat, reducing to a simmer once the broth has boiled. Now simply continue to cook until all the ingredients have soaked up the flavor…

…is how I’d have narrated it, but Techi was the one handling the cooking. In the meantime, I was helping out in the background, preparing the condiments and serving up the rice. A row of rice cookers stood patiently in the living room, keeping the freshly cooked rice warm, which I spooned into a small bowl for each child. When everything was ready, the children gave thanks for the meal in far, far louder voices than needed.

“THANK YOU FOR THE FOOD!”

With all the polite stuff out of the way, they proceeded to attack the hot pot. It was go time. Green lights on the hot pot highway. A fierce race to see who could get their chopsticks into the pot first and snap up a juicy piece of boar meat.

One chunk after another, the meat was fished out. Once firmly grasped, it was swiftly ferried to a waiting mouth and tossed in without delay. The children’s little cheeks bulged with food and they chewed eagerly, their sparkling eyes leaving no doubt as to the flavor. They continued to chew with flushed faces, keen to dig into their next piece.

“Hey! Make sure you eat your vegetables too!” Techi admonished them. “There’ll be no seconds until all the vegetables are gone from that pot! Oy, Mikura! The next group of kids is here! What’re you standing around for? We’ve still got plenty to do!”

I went to greet the new arrivals, relieve them of their gifts, and set up the next hot pot. Eventually, all twenty-five young guests had arrived as planned and been seated, leaving us free to set up a hot pot for Techi and myself…and for Rei, who’d conveniently decided to arrive at that very moment. We set about the preparations.

“You know,” Techi said to her brother, looking at him through narrowed eyes, “the kids all brought gifts for the host…”

She smiled insincerely and gestured for Rei to take a cushion, which he did in a great hurry.

“I-I brought dessert!” he stammered, a slight squeak creeping into his voice. Clearly, he was flustered by her comment. “It won’t arrive until after the main course!”

The children’s ears pricked up at the sound of the word “dessert,” but they’d more important things to attend to right now, with all that juicy meat still waiting to be devoured. Both mouths and chopsticks continued to work without pause. They were grinning from ear to ear and clearly enjoying the food, yet they were unusually quiet.

Far too busy to talk, clearly.

There wasn’t a single cloud in the sky. A fresh breeze blew through the garden, and the last hot pot portion was finally ready. Our pot was a fair bit larger than the others—a more fitting size for the grown-up table. Each of us held a large bowl piled high with rice in one hand and a pair of chopsticks in the other. We sat down around the table on our floor cushions.

“Thank you for the meal!”

Nothing further was said—there was food to be eaten. Despite Techi’s earlier admonition of the children, I had to try the meat first. I reached out with my chopsticks and grabbed a piece of boar, admiring its color as it came out of the ginger and miso broth.

I caught the dripping liquid with my rice bowl and guided the morsel to my lips. As soon as it was in there, the seasoning did its work, and the taste and aroma spread instantly throughout my mouth. I took a single bite into the tender slice of meat and all the delicious juices that’d been bound up inside came spilling out in a further explosion of flavor.

Exquisite.

Simply exquisite.

Not a hint of boar odor. Just a beautiful, savory umami taste and a soft texture.

Techi had said that male boar meat didn’t taste that good, which had lowered my expectations. But this was simply brilliant. I was deeply surprised and couldn’t begin to imagine how this hot pot might’ve tasted if we’d had a female boar. I shoveled a helping of white rice into my mouth, just as engrossed in my food as the children were.

The cabbage was also delicious, adding a refreshing note, while the characteristic taste of the chrysanthemum greens served as an extra highlight. The fried tofu soaked up the warm broth, filling with flavor, while the enoki mushrooms’ texture felt so good in the mouth.

Just as I thought I might like a few more of those enoki mushrooms and reached out my chopsticks to help myself, Techi and Rei also reached for the pot, determined not to fall behind.

It was a party of few words. There was no space for talk between mouthfuls, no thought of anything except the delicious food before us. But we all enjoyed ourselves very much.

🐿🐿🐿

THE boar gave me a new perspective on what meat should taste like. Some of the children cheerfully clamored for more as they peered into the empty pots, while others sat comfortably on the picnic sheet, allowing their packed tummies a little time to rest and digest.

In the middle of this lull, a familiar car appeared—Rei’s white delivery van, the one that we’d borrowed yesterday. I don’t know who was driving—Rei’s coworkers perhaps, or Techi’s mother—but they didn’t stick around for long. Rei hopped to his feet as soon as it arrived and quickly grabbed several large objects out of the back of the van. When he was done, the mystery motorist promptly drove back into the forest.

Rei laid out his delivery on the veranda. It appeared to be a number of steel trays. I was extremely curious as to what had arrived and I stood up from my seat to get a better look.

The trays, carefully covered in cling wrap, were full to the brim with jello, wobbling with every touch. But that wasn’t all. Encased in the jello itself were all manner of fruits—from what I could see: strawberries, tangerines, grapes, pineapple, and white peaches—all carefully peeled and separated into segments, but very much recognizable by shape.

Rei fetched some glass bowls from the cupboard inside the house, then proceeded to use a kitchen knife and a spoon to carefully cut the jello into cubes and deftly roll those cubes out of the trays and into the bowls. It looked very appetizing and was the perfect choice of dessert for the rich boar hot pot, finishing on a light, fresh note.

As soon as they realized what was happening, the children started chirruping with anticipation and crowding around the veranda.

“Hold on, hold on,” laughed Rei, “I still have to add the finishing touch!”

He picked out a bottle of lemonade from the drinks that’d been prepared for the children to enjoy and unscrewed the cap.

“N-No way!”

The youngsters were stunned. Rei took a bowl containing a portion of fruit jello and topped it up with the lemonade, right to the brim. The addition of a spoon completed the presentation. He flashed a grin at the children.

The little ones all scrambled for the first portion, arms outstretched. Before long, everyone had a bowl, and they alternated between drinking the lemonade and biting into the jello, cheeks puffed out by the large chunks of fruit. Everyone was thrilled. Smiles all around.

“It’s all quite simple,” Rei told us, very proud of himself. “You just need the right proportion of gelatin, sugar, and citric acid. Then add the fruit—as much as you can fit in the tray. Keep everything in the fridge until it sets and you’re good to go.

“But the real trick is in how you prepare the fruit. Some people will cut the fruit up into small pieces that are easy to eat, which is fine, but I prefer to leave the chunks as big as possible. The more it feels like you’re eating actual fruit, the better. It’s much more satisfying that way and it looks much better. It’s definitely best eaten the same day, though—I wouldn’t recommend making it the day before.”

I did listen carefully to what Rei was saying. But I was already reaching for my spoon. I scooped up a bit of jello and had a little taste. The balance of sweetness, acidity, fruit, and fizz was just right. A real treat. There were hardly any gaps between the fruit chunks too, which made it feel very luxurious. The children seemed to be enjoying it even more than the boar hot pot.

“This is really quite good,” I said, sitting down on the veranda as I kept eating. “It must be a hit in the summer.”

Rei suddenly fixed me with a serious look. I wasn’t sure if it was something I’d said. He sat down next to me and quietly slipped me a business card—a very familiar object from my time in the corporate world.

Perhaps sensing the shift in Rei’s body language, Techi came over to us too. She loomed over imposingly, as if standing guard, and Rei paused for a moment before he began.

“These are the contact details of a trade association president, of which my own shop is a member,” he said casually. “He also happens to be Kon’s father. Thanks to Tokatechi’s dogged, persistent grumbling, Mr. Moriya’s old business arrangements with a certain price-gouging bum are very well known in this forest. There’s some concern that he may try and harass you. The president asked me to give you that business card, in case you ever need any advice.

“It looks like Kon’s been putting in a good word for you at home, eh? So whatever happens, you should know that the members of the forest trade association have got your back, at least.”

I took the business card and considered what Rei had said. Clearly, this is an act of goodwill, and I should make sure I accept it graciously. I thanked him.

I thought we were done. But Techi gave Rei another stern look, urging him on.

“…Mikura,” Rei continued. “You’re not planning to sell anything to that scoundrel, are you?”

“…No, I’m not,” I replied. “Letting someone take you for a ride like that is a surefire way to go out of business.”

“I’m glad that’s your answer,” said Rei, “but there’s no way he’ll take it lying down. That man’s a sore loser with a nasty personality. With the way he beat down the orchard’s chestnut prices, he should’ve made an insane profit when he went to sell them. He won’t let that money go easily.”

“I suppose that’s to be expected,” I said.

“…Then you’d better make sure you’re prepared. Watch out for yourself, y’hear?” warned Rei.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be fine,” I laughed. “Even if he wanted to do something, he’s out there and I’m in here. I think his options are rather limited. What’s more, I’m pretty used to this kind of predicament from my old job. You wouldn’t believe how livid a supplier could get if they lost a big contract—we’re talking much larger sums of money than this bum of yours could ever dream of. Fortunately, I still have some contacts that are very useful in that kind of situation. Even if something were to happen, I think I’ll be able to handle it.”

“Oh…” said Rei. “That’s good to hear. But Tokatechi told me you were just a regular office worker…”

“Well, she’s not wrong…” I began, then thought it might be quicker to show than tell. “Hang on. I should still have some business cards left over…”

At my old company, you couldn’t go anywhere without these things. I took out my wallet and opened an inner compartment to reveal a small cache of my own business cards. I handed one to Rei, which he diligently read. His eyes widened and he looked to Techi for an explanation.

“Now hold on a second!” he exclaimed, both shocked and impressed at the same time. “This trading company deals with our businesses here in the Wilds all the time! Mikura, were you a big fish at the head office or something?”

“No, I was very much a small fish,” I reassured him.

“But I bet you were on the fast track to management!” he cried, an intense look in his eyes, making things up as he went along, apparently. “You left a job like this to come and live out in the sticks with us?! You’re crazy!”

Rei was exaggerating, of course. I’d only been working there a few years, and that meant nothing. He was right in that it was a well-known corporation with some very big clients. But I’d been just one tiny cog in that huge machine. The company’s reputation may’ve been impressive, but I never felt that was something you should take personal pride in—it had nothing to do with me or my achievements, after all.

Besides, I had already given up my job at that company, and you know what they say about spilled milk. It’s not like you can go back to a job like that and expect to resume where you left off. But I still had contacts—my superiors, coworkers, former clients, trade partners, and of course, our on-call lawyer. They’d all been very insistent that I should call them if I needed help, seeing me off with a smile.

If I ever were in trouble, I honestly think they’d come through for me. Thinking of those fine people filled me with confidence in the face of the unknown challenges ahead.

Last night, I’d carefully looked over Great-Grandpa’s business ledgers, contracts, and other documents. He kept them in the prayer alcove, hidden inside the Buddhist altar. I already knew what I needed to do and didn’t foresee any problems. I smiled and nodded to myself. There was far more important business to attend to right now. And with that, I helped myself to another mouthful of delicious fruit jello.