The Special-Order Menu

An Indian curry shop opened near my home. Bursting with curiosity, I headed over.

The man who greeted me with a halting Japanese “Welcome~,” who seemed to be the manager, said he was from Nepal.

The two in the kitchen were from the same country, and when I heard that many Indian restaurants in Japan are run by Nepalese, I was seized with an overwhelming craving for Nepalese food.

Being selfish, I tried asking the manager for a Nepalese home-style taste, and he cheerfully took it on with an “Okay~.”

I ordered, leaving it to him with plenty of vegetables, and what was carried to my table was a salad of daikon, cucumber, green pepper, onion, lemon, and chicken tangled together with several spices, and a simmered curry seasoned with complex spices, with okra, tomato, and small beans for ingredients.

The customer who took the seat next to mine after me kept sneaking glances, a puzzled look on his face—what on earth did this person order?

Told, “Pour the curry over the vegetables and eat~,” though it looked mismatched, I did as I was told, poured it on generously, and shoveled a heaping spoonful into my mouth. …? The combination and texture I tasted for the first time were stimulating, exceedingly delicious, an unforgettable flavor.

Ever since, I still have never eaten this shop’s curry—”the usual, please,” I say, enjoying a Nepalese taste at an Indian restaurant.