[Food Memories] At 51, the tears I shed while eating omurice. It was a time slip back to the 'me' of 40 years ago.

Hamburg steak, curry, karaage, and omurice.

Whenever I am asked, 'What is your favorite food?', this lineup is always what comes to mind.

I am a middle-aged man, nearly 51, but a boy who loves 'kids' meals' still lives inside me. That said, I don't eat these things all the time. In fact, the reality is that as I age, the opportunities to eat them are decreasing. Even so, when I ask myself, 'What do you really love?', I always end up with this answer.

Today, I would like to write about a strange event related to 'omurice' that I experienced the other day.

■ The one and only taste called 'Showa'

Even though we call it omurice, there are many different styles today.

The stylish 'modern omurice' wrapped in fluffy, runny eggs that goes well with demi-glace sauce.

In contrast, there is the 'Showa-style omurice' (I call it that because I was born in the Showa era), which is chicken rice wrapped in a thin egg crepe and served with tomato ketchup.

Both are very charming, but what my soul craves is definitely the 'Showa' style.

Some time ago, I had the opportunity to receive a homemade omurice bento from a senior colleague at work. The colleague's parents were professionals who had run a popular restaurant serving everything from Japanese to Western and Chinese cuisine for many years. The year before last, that was the dish the father delivered to me right at lunchtime.

When I opened the lid, there sat the ideal 'Showa-style omurice'.

When I took a bite, I wanted to shout in my heart, 'I knew it!!' It was the nostalgic taste I had imagined, or rather, it exceeded my imagination. I couldn't help but mutter to myself, 'Delicious.'

As I continued to eat, hot tears suddenly overflowed from my eyes.

I never expected to be the kind of person who would shed tears while eating omurice. I was the most surprised by this unexpected reaction.

■ The reason for the tears, and the moment the lid of 'long-term memory' opened

I think there were at least two reasons for those tears.

One was that I felt the omurice was 'a gentle, nourishing taste, and every single grain of rice was packed with the maker's love, or perhaps some kind of bottomless compassion.'

And the second, which is the central experience of this story, is that the taste violently dragged out a scene from 40 years ago that had been sleeping deep in my 'long-term memory.'

My parents' house was right next to a park famous for its hydrangeas called 'Howa-en'.

When I was in elementary school, I went there almost every day. Playing on the playground equipment, running in the open space, fishing for crayfish in the reservoir, and chasing stag beetles and rhinoceros beetles in the summer. Much of my childhood was spent within the scenery of 'Howaen'.

At its entrance, there was an old-fashioned diner called 'Fukurai'.

When I ordered delivery, the owner, 'Ken-chan,' would ride his Super Cub, making a clattering sound as he brought it to my house. I used to wait for his arrival with bated breath, wondering if he was here yet.

A single bite of omurice became a key in my brain.

The tang of the ketchup, the aroma of the butter, the texture of the egg. The moment these stimulated my five senses, the lid of a deep archive in my brain that I usually never access suddenly flew open.

The sound of the Cub's engine.
The smell of my childhood home's living room.
The lively, slightly noisy atmosphere of the time when I lived with my grandfather, grandmother, parents, siblings, and myself—a total of 'eight people'.

It wasn't just a 'memory,' but a vivid 'torrent of long-term memory' that brought with it the temperature, humidity, and surrounding bustle of that time.

The scenery of the past and the smiles of my family passed before my eyes with incredible density, like a kaleidoscope. I think my heart couldn't bear that nostalgia, which seemed to nullify 40 years of time in an instant, and it overflowed into tears.

■ To the 'Showa-era omurice' and its creators, once again, 'gratitude'

Back in elementary school, I would order a 'regular size,' then a 'large' in the upper grades, and a 'super-large' once I reached junior high and high school.

No matter the time, 'Ken-chan' would always say yes to my selfish orders that grew along with my growth.

Now, belatedly, a deep sense of gratitude wells up for that taste that supported me back then, and for the people who made it.

Nowadays, such local diners are disappearing, and I sometimes feel a sense of loneliness.

However, a single plate of omurice taught me something. Even if the restaurant is gone, the memory of that taste will live on forever, never losing its light, within my 'long-term memory'.

To the father of my senior who provided this wonderful experience, and to the 'Showa-era omurice' that makes me feel like my life is worth living.

I want to say from the bottom of my heart, 'Thank you, and that was a delicious meal'.

I wonder if anyone will read this article... Well, that's fine, it's important to keep it as a precious experience of my own.