Sailor's Stand-up Soba

Today, I came to a stand-up soba shop for sailors.

I like the way that sounds.
For sailors.

Just that alone gives it a bit of a story.
It's not for tourists.
It's not a trendy lunch spot.
It's not an Instagrammable shop.

A place for working people.
The scent of the nearby harbor.
The slightly damp air.
The sound of the rain.

Soba and a mini curry. 600 yen.

Cheap. Amazing.

The moment I saw the price, I felt a little happy.
This kind of happiness is quite honest.
There are days when humans are more cheered up by a 600-yen set meal than by noble ideals.

Cash only. It comes out fast.

Soba.
Mini curry.

Steam.

First, I slurp the soba.

Delicious.

It's actually quite good, more than I expected.
No, it's really delicious.

I wonder why.

Stand-up soba shops often use pre-boiled noodles.
In that case, the noodles usually end up soft.
The aroma and the texture of the soba usually disappear somewhere.

But the soba here was different.
It was properly soba.
Even though it's a stand-up shop.
Even though it's 600 yen.
Even though it's for sailors.

No, maybe it's because it's for sailors.

A shop that fills the bellies of working people doesn't try to look cool.
Because it doesn't try to look cool, it does exactly what's necessary properly.
The broth is warm.
The noodles aren't sloppy.
The curry is a little sweet.
The portion is just right.

That's what it is.

Business is probably like this, too.

A shop that is clear about who it is for is strong.
Sailors.
People working nearby.
People in a hurry.
People who want to fill their stomachs.

It doesn't aim for every stylish person.
It doesn't propose a harbor-like lifestyle.
It doesn't talk about food experiences utilizing local resources.

Soba and curry.
600 yen.
Delicious.

That is enough.

In fact, that is better.

I want to build a new strategy.
But it's a hassle.
To a me like that, the stand-up soba shop teaches me something.

Aren't you thinking too much about unnecessary things?
First, decide whose stomach you are going to fill.
We can talk after that.

I felt like the soba said that to me.
Quite annoying.
But, it's spot on.

◆ The comfort of mini curry

I also eat the mini curry.

It's not a special taste.
But, it's a comforting taste.
Not school, not home, not a service area.
A taste that is somewhere in between all of those.

Curry is amazing.
It silences most of life for a moment.

Even if your worries are deep.
Even if you can't see your future.
Even if human relationships are a pain.
For the few minutes you are eating curry, the curry usually wins.

This is quite admirable.

Slurp the soba, eat the curry.
600 yen.

Life is complicated, but lunch can be simple.
In fact, there are days when you need something simple.

When you reach your forties, you gain a bit of strength to hold onto complicated things as they are.
But the power to return complicated things to simple ones is lost if you aren't conscious of it.

That's why this kind of shop is necessary.
Soba.
Curry.
Steam.
Rain.

Before structuring your life, fill your stomach.

It's obvious.
But, you forget.

Freelancers, in particular, tend to forget.
The line between work and life is thin.
Meals, breaks, and even travel all end up becoming material for work.
That is convenient, but a little dangerous.

Life becomes entirely content.
Everything becomes fodder for a story.
Everything is assigned meaning.

That, at times, is quite exhausting.

So, a mini curry can just stay a mini curry.
It is simply delicious.
And that is enough.