Had Proust seen the ad placed by Nagare Hamagowa, proprietor of the eponymous Restaurant of Lost Recipes, he would have hightailed it to the former’s diner faster than you can say madeleine. Nagare and his daughter Koishi are culinary sleuths. Imagine their restaurant as the novel’s appetizer. The main dish is their detective work, tracking down and recreating recipes for the clients wanting to savor again a treasured taste from the past.
Hishashi Kashiwai serves up a melange of culinary longings. A husband and wife arrive hungry for the Christmas cake served at their young son’s wake. A printer of business cards and CD jackets hires the pair to recreate the ramen noodles he and two bandmates downed each evening after rehearsals. An aging singer engages the food detectives to recreate her father’s tempura and simple sardine broth from her childhood. After Koishi transcribes the clients’ descriptions of the memorable dish, father Nagare sets out to find the person or persons who can lead him to the recipe.
I admit I skipped over a few of the author’s food descriptons: “fish glistening in their white turnip sheaths” and “eel skin served with pickled okra.” A Japanese foodie I am not. But I am a fan of The Restaurant of Lost Recipes. If I ever see an ad for its doppleganger in Michigan, I will hire Nagare and Koishi to recreate my grandmother’s noodle pudding recipe faster than you can say kugel.
What an interesting theme for a book. Given how meaningful, as well as both physically and emotionally satisfying, a particular dish can be to a person, especially if the recipe was created or made by a significant loved one who is no longer able to cook or bake, I can see the importance of a competent food detective. Reliving a cherished memory can bring joy and great comfort.
Wanting to taste a cherished dish from the past is so tender with longing.
I once had the chance to purchase a bottle of a discontinued perfume.
It was my mother’s scent. I wish I had taken the chance.