Prologue
Translator: Skythewood
Editor: Deus Ex-machina
One night, I had a dream after a long time.
A dream when I slept really soundly, and dreamt about things I had long forgotten.
And when I woke up, I would have no memory about them.
When I occasionally remember the scenes in my dream, it would have already ended.
In my dream, I was still a child in elementary school.
Dad watched TV as he drank beer and cheered for his favourite baseball team.
Mother cut some sort of vegetable in the kitchen, probably onions.
Our family runs a restaurant, so this must be the off day that happens once a week. If not for this, it was impossible for our entire family to be around for dinner.
It was a family scene commonly seen in Showa period dramas.
I wasn’t interested in baseball, and asked Dad during the commercials:
「Dad, your culinary skill is better, but why is mother always the one cooking dinner when we are home?」
「Damn it, you——」
Dad leaned in close in a panic:
「Why are you saying this all of a sudden? What if your mother hears this?」
「That’s why I’m asking so softly… Why?」
「You… Asuta, do you dislike the meal cooked by your mother?」
「No, I like it.」
The six years old me shook my head firmly.
I was a likeable child back then, even I myself thought so.
「But I like the dishes prepared by Dad more, because your food is the most delicious.」
A line that I would never say now.
Also because I have lost the person who I could compliment.
「Well… Because I’m a professional chef… My job is to cook delicious meals...」
Dad had a troubled and complicated expression. He was just past 30 back then.
He was probably wondering if he should deal out judgement with his fists after hearing my answer. But after hearing a six years old give such an answer, he stayed his hand and admit his defeat.
「By the way, you have been eating the food I cooked everyday, right? Don’t you want to eat mother’s home cooked meal once a week?」
「I didn’t say I don’t want to, I’m just curious.」
The match had started on the television.
But Dad was still facing me, with his arms crossed and troubled.
「Your thinking is still wrong. When we’re home, mother should cook.」
「But why?」
「You ask me why… Because I’m a chef.」
Dad said with a stern face:
「The chef’s job is to cook for customers, and cooking for a family is a mother’s job.」
「Hmm…?」
I was just six and didn’t fully understand the significance behind his words.
Since his words appeared in my dream in this way, that means it left an impression on me.
One year later, my mother passed away. I said in tears:「I wish I can taste my mother’s cooking a little more.」
Prologue
Translator: Skythewood
Editor: Deus Ex-machina
One night, I had a dream after a long time.
A dream when I slept really soundly, and dreamt about things I had long forgotten.
And when I woke up, I would have no memory about them.
When I occasionally remember the scenes in my dream, it would have already ended.
In my dream, I was still a child in elementary school.
Dad watched TV as he drank beer and cheered for his favourite baseball team.
Mother cut some sort of vegetable in the kitchen, probably onions.
Our family runs a restaurant, so this must be the off day that happens once a week. If not for this, it was impossible for our entire family to be around for dinner.
It was a family scene commonly seen in Showa period dramas.
I wasn’t interested in baseball, and asked Dad during the commercials:
「Dad, your culinary skill is better, but why is mother always the one cooking dinner when we are home?」
「Damn it, you——」
Dad leaned in close in a panic:
「Why are you saying this all of a sudden? What if your mother hears this?」
「That’s why I’m asking so softly… Why?」
「You… Asuta, do you dislike the meal cooked by your mother?」
「No, I like it.」
The six years old me shook my head firmly.
I was a likeable child back then, even I myself thought so.
「But I like the dishes prepared by Dad more, because your food is the most delicious.」
A line that I would never say now.
Also because I have lost the person who I could compliment.
「Well… Because I’m a professional chef… My job is to cook delicious meals...」
Dad had a troubled and complicated expression. He was just past 30 back then.
He was probably wondering if he should deal out judgement with his fists after hearing my answer. But after hearing a six years old give such an answer, he stayed his hand and admit his defeat.
「By the way, you have been eating the food I cooked everyday, right? Don’t you want to eat mother’s home cooked meal once a week?」
「I didn’t say I don’t want to, I’m just curious.」
The match had started on the television.
But Dad was still facing me, with his arms crossed and troubled.
「Your thinking is still wrong. When we’re home, mother should cook.」
「But why?」
「You ask me why… Because I’m a chef.」
Dad said with a stern face:
「The chef’s job is to cook for customers, and cooking for a family is a mother’s job.」
「Hmm…?」
I was just six and didn’t fully understand the significance behind his words.
Since his words appeared in my dream in this way, that means it left an impression on me.
One year later, my mother passed away. I said in tears:「I wish I can taste my mother’s cooking a little more.」
