The Best Part of Misery

My name is Paul Haneishi, I am aspiring chef. I grew up in tokyo and my personality, hobbies, and preferences in life are greatly influenced by those early experiences. I am currently living in Orange County, California but I am constantly on the move, so i may be somewhere else in the world when you read this. This is my first piece of culinary writing. I'm planning on more. Opinions are wonderful. I'd love to hear what you think.

The Best part of Misery
My brother and I used to be very close. We would play basketball, we would wrestle, and we would swing like pirates in playgrounds together. We were booger and snot, inseparable.

When we were in elementary school we joined the swim team. Since I have always been a little plump, I had a tendency to sink while my brother would dart through the pool like a hungry shark. Despite that, we still had a lot of fun together.When we were finished with practice my mother would take us to eat ramen at a shop near where we used to live. The ramen there was more than just something we ate, it was something that lifted our spirits and filled our souls. After eating this ramen, anything was possible. Everyone that ever ate it thought so after eating it too. The shop was called Gokuni.

I grew up in Tokyo, so finding a little shop that sold ramen wasn't difficult. Every corner in Tokyo has one. The one on the corner by my old house was special. Nearly all ramen shops in Japan sell gyoza, or pot stickers, with the ramen. Some ramen shops serve excellent ramen and lousy gyoza, lousy ramen and excellent gyoza at others. It wasn't too often that you find one with both. I truly believe that there is not a single place on this planet that has better ramen or better gyoza than Gokuni. The smell alone was enough to excite anyone. As you would walk towards the shop the rich smell of delicious ramen would fill your nostrils. On the door was a picture of a bear eating the ramen. No creature on this planet could eat the ramen and not enjoy it.

The gyoza always started us off. None of use knew exactly what the ingredients were, but none of use cared as long as we could always eat it. The skin was gray on the tips and a perfect oval of brown, delightful caramelization covered the center of it. The gyoza was made of pork, but the other ingredients brought together incredible bursting flavors. The ramen was served in huge ceramic bowls with a rustic wooden spoon. The oil could be seen in the soup, little bubbles from the melted butter and sesame chili oil floated on the top of it, and the soup had the perfect flavor. The butter and chili oil balanced out perfectly with the homemade base. The soup was one of the many things that made it so good. Tender slices of cured pork floated beside them, occasionally venturing over to visit the other ingredients. The soft corn, the bright seaweed and the sweet bean sprouts huddled in the middle together, never moving. The rice cakes would travel like the pork but were never caught anywhere near the middle as if they despised the colorfulvegetables in the middle. Underneath all of them swam the noodles. The warm, sun colored noodles just stayed underneath, knowing that no mater how many ingredients were above it, itwould never be forgotten. The lack of black ugly caramelization hid the fact that it was fried, but the fatty, rich flavor made it obvious that it was. Nothing compared to that wonderful assembly of happy ingredients.

We used to call the shop Suzuki-san's, because that was the name of the owner. He would come over on Christmas and bring our family gyoza. He would tell jokes to my brother and me. My mother loved listening to his advice on raising troublesome children. Even to this day when I visit, I don't even need to say a word. He recognizes me instantly and pours me a beer. Every time I visit Japan I visit Gokuni. The connection it has with my family will always be there and I will never forget the memories I had there.Everyone in my family holds that ramen shop very dear, but to me there is definitely something deeper. My brother and I never had a falling apart. We still talk and hang out from time to time but there was a time when we were even closer. Growing up we were always together, and I don't think I have ever been so close to someone in my life. We had many adventures together, but I remember the ramen shop times like it was yesterday. The most memorable was on a cold rainy night.

Swimming practice ended late, for me at least. Our coach ordered us to swim five hundred meters that night, and for an overweight second grader this was no easy task. It took me forever but the coach made me stay in the water until I was finished. I couldn't lift my arms when I finished. But as usual my brother was there to pick me up. He put his arm around my shoulder and helped me walk to the locker room. It took me about 30 minutes to change, which was unusual because knowing I was about to go eat ramen it usually took me 30 seconds. I came out of the locker room, still on my brother's arm, to see coach lecturing my mother. He told her it was disgraceful to have a son as big as me, that no child should ever be as fat as I was. That was both my brother's and my last night on the swim team.I'm not sure if that was the first time I felt my self –esteem drop, but I will never forget that moment. I swore to myself I would never embarrass my mother again. I started to cry. I felt very low. My brother held my a little tighter and told me that I didn't need to worry about what the coach said. I did though. He told me that I would never be a disgrace in my mother's eyes. I felt like differently.

What was normally a loud an obnoxious car ride to the ramen shop for my mother that night, instead it was a very quiet one. We arrived at Gokuni and Suzuki-san smiled. I looked up and did my best attempt at one. My mother was speechless. She looked at me and didn't know what to say. She saw how hurt I was and wantedto fix it. I saw that in the way she looked at me. Suzuki-san could feel that tension so he attempted one of his classic jokes to bring laughter to my face. Suddenly, my mother smirked and Suzuki-san burst withlaughter. My older brother was sitting there inhaling the noodles through his nose. It took only moments, but watching my brother inhale all the noodles looked like it took forever. My brother's eyes became wider then I have ever seen them he screamed it pain. "HOT!" I burst out laughing as my brother sat there choking. He than turned his head upside down and poured water down his nose. This made me fall off my chair. No one in that restaurant could stop laughing. I can't remember the last time I laughed as hard.

My brother will always be there for me, and I will always remember when I felt lower than dirt and higher than a mountain in the same day. Every time I eat ramen I think of my brother with noodles hanging out of his nose, and how important my brother was, and is to me.