takeout

We stood around, underneath the twinkling lights of Tokyo Tower waiting for tonight's dinner. It was a humble one this time, not the usual 2-train-stops-away ramen, nor the once-a-week karaage(fried chicken) that we always look forward to at the end of the day. Instead, tonight we set our palettes to simpler tastes and more practical appetites. We dine on take-out bento this evening, the one in front of our office, the one you eat when you're in a hurry, too much rice and too little meat, pedestrian.

But we have to since we started running low on funds, a direct consequence of an unscheduled project extension and unforeseen hotel charges. This 390 yen bento meal will be the first and last thing I'll be eating today. The excessive rice should fill me right up after the long, productive day we had today.

I've been dreaming of the tender, succulent meat I'd bite into since I sipped my budget McDonald's milkshake this morning across a man biting deep into his steaming Big Mac. The wafting smell of the precisely cooked patty would keep me going while we tried our best to comprehend our boss' rapid, but still polite, requests.

The freshly prepared vegetables would be crispy and tell my tastebuds of the green fields where they were picked and the morning dew that would collect upon their leaves. I'd feel them burst in my mouth while I concentrated on finishing the assigned test items I should complete quickly, and precisely.

The katsudon's golden shell would easily break open between my teeth and from them escape flavorful juices and an aroma of the fires of the kitchen and the richness of the earth. And on I rapidly got everything done and headed out of the test site for home, stopping by this bento place to catch our breath and realize slowly the day is over.

We stopped by the office with our boss and bento to wait for tomorrow's instructions. We sat around our desks and I carefully pried upon my dinner. The rubber band twanged brightly with a pull and as the clear lid came off, an invigorating aroma freed itself and settled in the room. It was beautiful, the golden breaded fish slathered in its teriyaki sauce would be a joy to sink my teeth into. The vegetables were cheerfully placed on the side while a layer of fresh nori covered the rice underneath the fish. And, oh, how the rice glistened.

Hasegawa-san, our boss, stooped over the table and suddenly dropped a sizable chunk of karaage and said he was watching his weight. I wondered if this was a Japanese custom first, then bit into the tender chicken and knew it also embodied gratitude for a job well done. Unlike all the other nights I spent so much and travelled so far to find the culinary delights that Tokyo promised and our overworked bodies deserved, tonight my stomach will dine a pauper, but inside me now dwells a heart that knows the satisfaction of kings.