Driving Four Hours For Ramen.

Mother-in-law told me she used to work part-time in a ramen shop in her hometown in Yamato, Kumamoto.

“Unlike Anzen, they use pork belly with fat for their charsiu,” she said, followed by: “Pop quiz hot shot: Do you know what makes Kumamoto ramen, Kumamoto ramen?”

(She didn’t exactly say that, but that’s how I remembered it.)

The garlic, I responded.

“That’s right, they add burnt garlic to the soup. Oishii yo,” she said.

Is the shop still there? I asked.

“Yes. I think they retired and the daughter and husband are running it now,” she said.

I want to go.

“Too far!” She said.

What’s the name, let me search.

“… Ochika,” she said.

Sorry, what?

“The name is Ochika,” she said.

The same name as your daughter, my wife?

“Yes,” she said.

Now I really gotta check this place out.

“Too far!” she said.

Three hours is not far. See, if we take the toll road, it’s only two hours and 10 minutes.

“Too far…”

That was September, and she brushed it off.

This trip, she brought Ochika up herself.
Maybe because she heard that I drove an hour to Kurume for ramen two weeks ago.
If we want to go, this is her last ‘free’ weekend.

Ramen, they always end up looking for me.

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