He Who Does Not Work Shall Not Eat Hot Pot

“We’re having ‘He Who Does Not Work Shall Not Eat’ hot pot!”

My father calls out.

My younger sister and I gather around, and the four of us surround the table to start the hot pot.

Chinese-style soup base with Chinese cabbage and carrots floating in it.

“Everyone make your own!”

On the table are dumpling wrappers and filling.
Should I make pleats like a gyoza, or just put it in like a wonton since it’s for hot pot?
Considering the texture and my appetite, each of us puts the reward for our labor into the pot.

‘He Who Does Not Work Shall Not Eat’ hot pot is a Chinese soup hot pot where everyone adds their own handmade dumplings.

My mother cooks, but my father is also someone who cooks.

And it’s delicious.

Even though it always looks like he’s just throwing things together, it’s delicious.

On the other hand, now that I live as a mother of three children, when I think of hot pot, it’s always sesame soy milk hot pot.

The finale is rice porridge.

I swirl some ponzu into the reduced hot pot broth, add rice, bind it with egg, and right before eating, I tear up some nori seaweed and sprinkle it on top.

Even if I wanted to do ‘He Who Does Not Work Shall Not Eat’ hot pot, the rising cost of ingredients and the lack of daily free time are currently obstacles.

Come to think of it, I feel like ‘He Who Does Not Work Shall Not Eat’ hot pot didn’t start when we were little, but only after my sister had grown up a bit.

My youngest is currently in the fifth grade of elementary school.

It wasn’t possible when my eldest daughter was around, but it might be fun to try setting it up when she comes home to visit.

Yes.

The reason I have been thinking about my casual life at home before I got married lately is probably because my eldest daughter started living on her own this spring.

I was informed that she would be coming home during Golden Week.

If this LINE message represents the food she wants to eat at her parents' home, then the okonomiyaki I make must be delicious.

It has only been a month since my eldest daughter started living on her own.
It might not be long enough to feel nostalgic, but I am a little excited about my first child coming home for a visit.