A Recommendation for Cultural Decadence: Ippei-chan the Greengrocer & Kacchan & Maruchu @ Keisei Tateishi

In Kanamachi, holding my bowl, I quietly set down my chopsticks just before reaching full capacity. The stage, of course, was Ichijo-ryu Ganko Ramen Kanamachi. I am not one to cheapen the word 'exquisite,' but on this day, it was unavoidable. The salt was sharp yet had a core. The broth was layered, like a seasoned diplomat—saying nothing unnecessary, yet firmly asserting only what was essential.

I halved the noodles. A sensible decision for an adult. If I write it that way, it sounds good, but in reality, it was merely a calculated 'eight-tenths full' strategy in preparation for the drinking session to follow.

The buzz was moderate. My reason was still breathing.
There was nothing left to do but return to Tateishi.

At Kanamachi Station, I parted ways with Mr. Maruji, who was heading home, and President Y, who planned to return home briefly before heading back out for the 2:00 PM opening of Maruchu. I, like a straggler heading toward the battlefield, swayed on the Kanamachi Line alone.

The time was exactly 12:00.
When I arrived in Tateishi, Uchida had already taken down its noren curtain. There is a certain post-festival loneliness in the sight of that shop closed. I chatted briefly with An-chan in front of the shop, and when I wandered over to Ippei-chan the greengrocer, Neko-chan and the regulars from Uchida were clinking glasses, looking truly happy.

There was no way I could resist.

Three cups of coffee milk high (unsweetened).

Sweet yet somehow decadent, the flavor reminds me of a Showa-era candy shop and a back-alley snack bar at the same time. As for snacks, I couldn't manage any. My stomach was still proudly holding onto the lingering impression of Ganko. I chatted with Neko-chan, and before I knew it, it was 1:40 PM. Why are people so weak to the phrase 'one more place'?

I left the shop and poked my head into Maruchu before it opened, like a theater lover peeking into a venue before the doors open. Then, flowing naturally, I toasted again at Kacchan.

Spending 20 minutes on just one drink—I'm not sure if I'm being graceful or stubborn.

And finally, Maruchu.
Uchichu-san was in the prime seat. I sat down opposite him and said, 'Lemon high, American style.' It means diluted. The fact that I'm concerned about my alcohol intake suggests I still think of myself as a gentleman.

There were many first-time customers that day, and orders were piling up. Yayoi-san was very busy. Even so, the casual words exchanged in between, the glances across the counter, the nods to those sitting next to us—those fragments complete the microcosm that is a tavern.

Neko-chan headed home, and President Y slid into that seat. The temperature of the place rose even further, and before I knew it, two hours had passed. Three lemon highs, American style. Even if they were diluted, three drinks are still three drinks.

'Excuse me for leaving early.'

When I said that and left the shop, Tateishi before dusk felt somewhat soft.

On the way home, I bought two croquettes at Aichiya. The crispy, freshly fried batter caused the plastic bag to fog up slightly with condensation. I felt a little proud of myself as I headed home carrying that warmth.

The halved noodles.
The American-style lemon high.

They all seem like evidence of moderation, but since I ended up drinking from morning until evening, it lacks persuasiveness. However, perhaps this day of moving through the city while leaving room in my stomach and heart is, for me, a luxury.

Starting with the line in the early morning, passing through the steam of the Uchida theater and Ganko Ramen, adjusting my time at Ippei-chan the greengrocer and Kacchan, feeling relieved by the sense of unity at Maruchu, and finishing with the scent of croquette oil.

It was a truly cultural, and truly decadent, holiday.