The City of Flower Fields and Fried Shrimp

In my hometown—a small town, or perhaps a bit too rustic to even call a city—there were two specialties that, at first glance, had nothing to do with each other.
One was a small, nameless flower that, come spring, dyed the entire hill in the center of town a vibrant pink.
The other was a giant fried shrimp served by an old-fashioned Western-style restaurant on the outskirts of town.

No one knew the name of the flower.
It wasn't a cherry blossom, nor was it a cosmos.
It simply layered its tiny petals over and over, and when the wind blew, it scattered a sweet, somewhat nostalgic scent all around.
Every year, without fail, it bloomed with the arrival of spring, covering the entire hill as if a pink carpet had been laid out.
The locals simply called it the 'pink flower field,' and it became the scenery that symbolized the city.

And the other specialty, the fried shrimp.
This, too, was a symbol of the city, yet it was the exact opposite of the flower field.
If the flower field was a quiet and elegant beauty, the fried shrimp radiated a powerful, primal vitality.
The two eventually became intertwined in my heart, forming the strange puzzle pieces that defined my hometown.

✅ Specialties of our city

My hometown, Aozora City.
The population is about fifty thousand.
It doesn't have any particular industry, and it isn't very famous as a tourist destination.
If I had to say, its mild climate and idyllic rural landscape were its pride.
Why that pink flower field was born in such an ordinary town, no one knew.

It hasn't been there since ancient times.
By the time I was old enough to understand things, the flower field already existed.
At first, it was a small cluster, but with each passing year, it expanded its area until now it covers the entire hill.
Strangely, the flowers do not try to spread beyond the hill.
As if protected by an invisible boundary, the pink carpet stops abruptly at the top of the hill.

Many people have tried to uncover the secret of the flower field.
The city's botanist examined the soil, and students from a nearby university even made it a research topic.
However, in the end, no answers were found.
The only speculation made was that the soil contained trace minerals that might be making the flower color more vivid.
Everyone accepted its beauty uncritically and cherished this flower field as a special treasure of the city.

Meanwhile, the fried shrimp restaurant was located on the outskirts of the city, near the sea.
Its name was 'Western Restaurant Comet'.
It was an old wooden building with peeling paint on the sign and cloudy window glass.
However, once you stepped inside, it was another world.
The smell of burnt oil, the savory aroma of spices, and above all, the silent presence of the owner, an old man, created a unique atmosphere.

The old man always wore a white chef's hat, and his words were surprisingly few.
Whether taking orders or handling the bill, he would only nod.
However, the fried shrimp he fried was truly a supreme masterpiece.
It was larger than the palm of a hand, the batter was crispy, the shrimp inside was plump, and with every bite, a rich umami spread throughout the mouth.
It was a taste that felt as if the sea itself had been condensed.

In this way, two specialties were born in my hometown.
One was a mystery of nature, the other was the skill of a craftsman.
The two existences, which had no connection to each other, nevertheless shaped the identity of my hometown.
People take pictures in the flower field in the spring, and on special days, they eat fried shrimp at Comet.
That was the very ordinary daily life for us living in Aozora City.

✅ Fried Shrimp Restaurant

Mr. Tanaka, the owner of 'Western Restaurant Comet', always stood in the same place.
Behind the counter, in front of the deep-fryer.
His life seemed to be dedicated to frying shrimp.

A strange rumor followed Mr. Tanaka's fried shrimp.
They said, 'If you eat that fried shrimp, happy memories come back to you.'
When I first heard it, I thought it was just a joke.
However, when I actually ate it, I realized that the rumor was not just an exaggeration.

The first time I ate Comet's fried shrimp was on the day of my high school graduation.
Worried about my future path, I was taken to the restaurant by my father.
The fried shrimp brought to the table shone golden, as if reflecting my own face.
When I took a bite, a hot lump of umami spread across my tongue from inside the crispy batter.
And at that moment, the memory of going to the sea with my family when I was a child vividly returned to my mind.
My father giving me a piggyback ride at the beach.
The sandwiches my mother made.
Those fragments of happiness, which I should have forgotten, were played back like a movie.

Since then, whenever I had something to worry about, I started visiting Comet.
Before university entrance exams, during job hunting, and when I had my heart broken.
Every time I took a bite of the fried shrimp, memories of distant days that warmed my heart would return.
It didn't have the power to change reality, but it gave me a quiet strength in my heart.
The fried shrimp was not just food to me; it had become a pillar of support for my heart.

One day, I made up my mind and asked Mr. Tanaka.
'Mr. Tanaka, why is this fried shrimp so delicious?' Mr. Tanaka was staring at the deep-fryer as usual, but he slowly looked up.
His eyes looked like they were smiling just a little.
He said nothing.
He simply handed me a small, well-worn notebook that had been in the corner of the counter.

It was a notebook where Mr. Tanaka recorded the days he fried shrimp.
In it, the names of the customers who ate that day, the weather, and the expressions of the customers while eating the fried shrimp were written in short words.
'Mr. Sato, on his way back from job hunting, had a slightly lonely face, but the moment he ate the fried shrimp, he seemed to be holding back tears.' 'The Yamada family, lively, the children's eyes sparkled when they saw the fried shrimp.'

On the last page of the notebook, there was my name.
'Young man, seemed worried about his future path, but while eating the fried shrimp, he had a calm expression.'

I finished reading the notebook and looked up.
Mr. Tanaka smiled and spoke to me for the first time.
'Your memories are the best spice.'

Those words pierced deep into my chest.
Mr. Tanaka doesn't just fry shrimp.
He was putting the life, memories, and thoughts of each customer into it, embodying them.
His fried shrimp might have been a kind of magic tool for reading the customer's heart and awakening those memories.

✅That flower was grown by the old man

It was a few years later that Mr. Tanaka closed his shop.
They said he had fallen ill and could no longer stand in the kitchen.
The shop quietly pulled down its shutters, and it seemed to be gradually forgotten by the town's memory.

Even after Mr. Tanaka was gone, the flower field on that hill continued to bloom every year.
However, was it just my imagination that the color of the flowers felt a little paler than before?
Perhaps it was because the happy memories in my heart were beginning to fade.

One day, I visited the house where Mr. Tanaka used to live.
It was a very ordinary house with nothing but a small garden.
The garden was overgrown with plants and seemed poorly maintained.
However, in a corner of that garden, there were things I recognized lined up.

They were small, unglazed pottery jars.
Inside the jars was something like a dried powder, and from it, a faint scent of fried shrimp drifted.

“That is the solidified oil from the fried shrimp.”

Suddenly, a voice came from behind me.
When I turned around, Mr. Tanaka was there.
He was a little thinner, but he had a gentle expression.

“Whenever I fried shrimp, I always imagined the happy memories of my customers in my heart. Then, strangely enough, those thoughts would melt into the oil and release a special scent. I collected that oil, solidified it, and mixed it into the soil of the flower field.”

I was stunned by Mr. Tanaka's words.
Was it the oil from the fried shrimp that had dyed the hill pink?
No, that wasn't it.
It was the happy memories of people that Mr. Tanaka had poured into the oil that were making the flowers bloom.

“But why fried shrimp?” I asked.
“And why flowers?”

Mr. Tanaka smiled again.
“Fried shrimp is a treat for special days, isn't it? Everyone makes a happy face when they eat something delicious. Just watching that face made me happy too. And that happy feeling became the power that made these flowers bloom.”

“Flowers are memories of happiness that have taken a visible form. That is why no one knows their names. It is because they have special names that exist only within each person's heart.”

Mr. Tanaka said this and looked out at the distant hill.
His words connected the flower field and the fried shrimp, which had been separate dots in my mind, into a single line.

After that, Mr. Tanaka departed.
His house became vacant, and the fried shrimp shop remained as it was.
However, that flower field on the hill still blooms with pink flowers across its entire surface every spring, just as it always has.

Every time I remember Mr. Tanaka's words, I wonder.
Is that flower field still blooming today, feeding on the flavors of our memories?

And what is it that nurtures the invisible flower fields within our hearts?
Perhaps it is the modest kindness we have shown to others, or the happy moments we have created unconsciously.

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