The Mountain of Edamame Piled in Father's Rice Bowl and Memories of That Summer

My family all loved edamame.

When summer came, edamame still on the branches would arrive in mountains from our neighbors and my grandmother's house. Picking them off was our job as children.
"There's a bug!" "It's prickly!" we would shriek, but we kept picking away without stopping. I still clearly remember the feel of those rough stems and the slightly grassy scent.

My father, in particular, was a huge edamame lover. It was his routine to scoop up a handful of the mountain of boiled edamame and pile them high in his own rice bowl to claim them. Before you knew it, a "Mount Fuji" made of edamame shells would be complete in front of him.

However, time passed, and our neighbors and grandmother grew older. They stopped farming, and the gifts of edamame became less frequent. Now, it's normal to buy them at the supermarket. But one bag is never enough. On days when relatives gather for Obon, if we don't boil four or five bags, it's a war.

Of course, it's not that supermarket edamame is bad. In fact, I think it's quite delicious.
But still, something is different.
Maybe it's nostalgia, but I feel like the edamame from the old days had a gentler sweetness and a bean flavor that would slowly spread when you bit into them.

Then, one day.
My mother happened to stop by a supermarket and bought some edamame labeled "direct from a local farmer."
It was incredibly delicious.
It was so sweet that I was surprised after one bite, thinking, "Wait, what is this?" The balance with the salt was exquisite, and I couldn't stop eating.

My father, who is picky about edamame, muttered, "This is good," and before I knew it, he was building his own Mount Fuji.

Since then, both my mother and I have started going to that supermarket in search of edamame.
If the timing is bad, they are often sold out, so when we find them, we put them in our basket without hesitation.

My child also says, "I want to eat beans!" with joy, and they have become an essential part of our summer dining table.
For the sake of edamame, boiling them in a hot kitchen isn't a struggle.
Just thinking that the edamame I boiled and chilled the night before is waiting for me in the fridge saying "welcome home" is enough to help me get through the day.

Chilled edamame is waiting for me after work today, too.
I must remember not to forget to buy beer on my way home.