[Oita Gourmet] A Single Bite Journey, A Letter from Oita Atsumeshi [Atsumeshi]

The spring breeze brings with it, just a little, the scent of the sea.

What arrived was a Ringbell catalog gift.

It was something I was lucky enough to receive from a campaign by a Kyushu company.
The moment I turned the cover, a journey was already unfolding before me.

Kagoshima's Kurobuta pork, Kumamoto's Ajisai beef, Nagasaki's champon...
Every time I slid my fingertips across the pages, the scenery and scents came to life.
Suddenly, my hand stopped on one page.

Oita's fisherman's meal.
Memories of the sea aren't bad either.

Speaking of Oita, it's Atsumeshi, or Ryukyu-don.
I just introduced a Ryukyu-don restaurant on note the other day, but my family and I have a weakness for seafood bowls.

We visit our favorite Ryukyu-don place so often that we're regulars.
From the moment my hand stopped on that page, it didn't even take a few seconds to decide.
Things are convenient these days.
In the past, catalog gifts required waiting for a postcard to be sent and then for the item to arrive at the recipient's home, but now, it's just a tap on a smartphone.
While it feels almost too simple, it does mean I have time to look at the screen repeatedly and grin.

What arrived was frozen marinated yellowtail.
When I picked up the bag, I could feel its cool weight.
This is Oita, a memory of the sea.
This is the warmth of the hands of a fishing town far away.

After a few minutes under running water,
the yellowtail meat began to shine as if it were waking up.
The glossy sauce wrapped around the fish, and it slid quietly into the bowl.

One bite.
What surprised me was its gentleness.
I had imagined a more masculine flavor with a stronger salty kick.
But what I found there was a taste like the sound of calm tides, where the fully drawn-out umami of the fish melted together with the sweetness of mirin.
It was a flavor that didn't insist on itself, yet quietly struck a chord in my heart.
A lingering aftertaste that gently remained on my tongue and in my heart.

The white rice just keeps disappearing.

Words decrease, and smiles increase.

I've always liked yellowtail and often make marinated bowls at home, but this 'Atsumeshi' had a different expression somehow.
It was a flavor steeped in the slow passage of time of the fishermen.
A flavor prepared by people who grew up listening to the voices of the fish, as if they were conversing with them.

Before I knew it, the bowl was completely empty after I set down my chopsticks.
I was satisfied, and quietly, I was happy.

To eat is to travel.
While imagining the scenery of a distant town, one bite, and then another.

Thank you, Oita,
I will come to see you again.