Another dish I ate, or rather
was forced to eat, was Okinawa soba.
Soba is not my favourite food, having ordered a teishoku of katsudon
plus soba. Both came full-sized and by
the end of the meal, I decided that I wasn’t going to eat soba again if I could
help it. I had assumed that Okinawa was
like the rest of Japan, where there would be restaurants around major
sightseeing areas. Okinawa Peace
Memorial Park evidently isn’t one that is swamped by tourists. There were a few shops selling soft ice-cream
but no shokudos. I could either eat soft
ice-cream for lunch, or tolerate a rumbling tummy for an hour’s bus ride to
Okinawa Cultural World, where there would definitely be lunch. Luckily at the end of the row of ice-cream
sellers was a shop with a sign Okinawa soba on the window. It’s almost like a sign: it’s time to return
to eating soba once again. I was rather
concerned with the freshness of the ingredients of the shop, seeing that there
was only one other customer finishing his soba.
Nevertheless, I ordered a soba and waited for an unexpectedly long time
for the soba to arrive. While waiting, I
entertained thoughts that because the shop probably served like two customers a
day or maybe less, the shopkeeper-cum-cook was busy getting the rock-hard pork
to defrost, which was why my soba was taking soooo long to arrive. And when it did, I was initially surprised by
the rather generous serving of the pickled dakon that came with the soba. Usually, the pickles serving is rather small,
and I wondered if the shop found a chance to get rid of its pickled dakon
through me.
Surprise! Surprise! Surprise!
Surprise #1: Okinawa soba is
wheat soba, not buckwheat soba. The soba
is much thicker and chewier and tastier than buckwheat soba. And I decided that I could eat soba, that is
Okinawa soba, again.
Surprise #2: The
shopkeeper-cum-cook obviously marinated his own pork, and he obviously had good
skills. The pork had visible layers of
skin and fat and meat. Ordinarily, I
would have removed the layer of fat and skin.
But this pork literally melted in my mouth with slight pressure from my
tongue. And the lingering fragrance of
the pork in my mouth made the one-hour ride to Okinawa Cultural World after
lunch very pleasant.
Surprise #3: No, the
shopkeeper-cum-cook wasn’t trying to get rid of his pickled dakon. He knew that his dakon was good, he probably
also knew that people might ask for a second serving if their skins were thick
enough, so he kept his customers faces intact and their tummies and tongues
happy by giving a larger-than-normal serving of dakon. His dakons were a pretty shade of pink, and
crunchy, and just the right tartness.
Paired with self-made ginger as well, the Okinawa soba is a real gem
hidden away in a little non-descript ice-cream shop at the Okinawa Peace
Memorial Park.
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