Dining Alone is an Emotion: Memories of Ordering 'Cold Noodles and Beer' for the First Time

In 1980, before I had even heard the word 'bubble,' I became a university student.

Indifferent to the economy and forgetting the gratitude I owed my parents for my allowance, my dreams for my first time living alone began to swell.

I don't know much about the youth of the Heisei or Reiwa eras, but most Showa-era university students probably wandered around in search of something, their blood boiling with the thought that they would 'do something big.'

Even if I listened to Mariya Takeuchi's 'On the University Street' and imagined a glamorous campus life, reality was not that easy.

To begin with, it was a mistake to compare the central universities like Waseda, Keio, Sophia, and GMARCH with a local university in Kyushu.

I loved wearing the rugby shirts that were supported by certain magazines. The ones with red and black horizontal stripes, like the Waseda University style.

I was hooked on the manga 'Hakatakko Junjo,' and perhaps I was influenced by the protagonist who joined the high school rugby team and struggled while wearing a rugby shirt.

A red and black rugby shirt, jeans, and low-cut Converse sneakers were my staple. It was a fashion that made me look exactly like a university student, or in some cases, even a prep school student.

My family home was in Fukuoka Prefecture, and my university was in Kagoshima Prefecture. When I went home to visit, I would take an express train from Nishi-Kagoshima Station, and when I returned, I would get off at Nishi-Kagoshima Station.

I suddenly thought I would try entering a restaurant around Nishi-Kagoshima Station. It was probably my first time eating out alone.

Whether in high school or prep school, the pattern was to invite someone along when eating student-discount ramen. But that time, I wanted to go in alone. There was a reason for that.

When I was in high school, I discovered Tamori on late-night radio and became a fanatical fan, and through my connection to Tamori, I learned about Yosuke Yamashita and Akira Sakata.

When reading Yosuke Yamashita's books, I learned there was something called the 'National Cold Chinese Noodle Lovers Association.' I don't remember the details of their activities, but a surreal idea was enough to flip the switch to 'do something.'

I scouted out a ramen shop or Chinese restaurant in front of the station with a suitably weathered storefront and chose one.

Inside the shop, there was a kitchen and counter seats on the right, and several small two-person tables on the left, and I sat at one of those tables.

'Cold noodles and a beer, please.'

It was still early afternoon and bright outside. In fact, the summer sun was beating down intensely.

A young punk who was clearly a student, drinking beer in the middle of the day?

I didn't even say it out loud, but I felt as if the eyes of the man who seemed to be the owner in the kitchen had flashed.

The bottled beer and a glass were placed on the table first. Back then, when you said bottled beer, it meant Kirin Lager, and a glass with the Kirin logo on it. We didn't call that a 'glass' (in the modern sense).

As I nervously poured beer into my glass and sipped it little by little, the hiyashi chuka was brought to my table.

I think it was the first time I had ever eaten hiyashi chuka at a restaurant.

It must have been delicious, but I feel like I couldn't even taste it because I was so nervous.

And so, my first time dining out alone in life became 'hiyashi chuka and beer'.

Without learning my lesson, I continued to do this every time I got off at Nishi-Kagoshima Station, changing restaurants each time.

It's not that I stopped being nervous, but it didn't bother me much anymore. After all, I had the noble cause of the 'National Hiyashi Chuka Lovers Association'.

More than the reason that I liked 'hiyashi chuka', it was the emotion toward the 'Zen-Rei-Chu' that drove me.

When it comes to dining alone, the situation changes between eating out and eating at home.

During my college years, I lived in a rented room. The first year I lived in a three-tatami mat room, and from the second year, I lived in a four-and-a-half-tatami mat room. The toilet and sink were shared, there was no kitchen, and I went to a public bathhouse.

Dinner was basically eating at a set-meal restaurant with club friends or going out for drinks, so I was almost never alone.

But depending on my mood, about once a week I would cook for myself and eat in my room. This was also dining alone.

I would cook using a portable gas stove, but anything that produced smoke, like grilling, was a no-go.

My favorite was champon, made by boiling champon noodles, soup base, pressed ham, and bean sprouts in a pot, which I bought at the local general store.

At first, I ate directly from the pot, but once I got a ramen bowl, I started transferring it to that. It really makes a difference in the mood.

I would turn down the volume on the CRT TV during pro-wrestling broadcasts and play my favorite music on my mini-component system as background music. Eating champon while enjoying that was a moment of bliss.

The advantage of dining alone at home is that you can relax and immerse yourself in your own world without worrying about the eyes of others, unlike eating out.

Recently, it seems there are more restaurants that are easy to enter even alone, starting with 'solo yakiniku'.

However, I haven't eaten out alone since I became a working adult.

I miss the emotion I felt when I was influenced by Tamori and Yosuke Yamashita during my student days.

I believe that people who enjoy 'dining alone' each have their own unique emotions about it.

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