Savoring the memories here, translated…
Awhile, around the Memorial holidays, I’d gone back home, as I’d arrived to my parents’ house, it was, already, very late, and, there came the hollering of the vendor, selling stinky tofu.
“Stinky~~~Tofu!”, that heightened first syllable, with that shortened end, that familiar call roused up the memories of my childhood years—on a certain night, I’d gone to take out the trash with my father, as we’d passed the elderly man who’d sold the stinky tofu from the carts, my father asked me, “Are you hungry? Let’s buy a serving, but don’t tell your mother!”, I’d nodded, foolishly, to reply back to my father who was winking and smiling at me. And that, was the very first time I’d tasted stinky tofu, fried to golden on the outside, the aromas were so amazing, it was crisp on the outside, but soft on the in, with a side of spicy cabbage, yum! But, what stayed was the love my father had for me, with that hidden pleasure of sneaking around for a midnight snack, without the rest of the families knowing about it, it’d, given me that taste of magic, in the ordinariness of this food item.
what the item looked like…photo from online…
I’d made my way out of the memories, walked into the house. With the stinky tofu I just bought, I’d told my dad who was sitting square, waiting for me in the living room, “Dad, let’s have a midnight snack together!”
And so, this became a ritual of sorts that the two of you, father and son had come to share, and, the reason why this was your specialty food item was not because of the food itself, but the love you’d felt as your father bought it for you to savor when you were just a young child, that, is why you’d loved this particular food item so very much…
how the item was being sold…photo from online…
Life, the Obstacle Course 