The Power of Ramen

On this particular day, I will die.

Because of this fate, I decided to go to my favorite ramen shop, both to kill some time and to get something to eat before my time of death. There was no reason to worry or be disconsolate, not when there were more beneficial thoughts to be had.

Today of all days it worked out right – it was a Monday. I preferred to go when a restaurant is quiet. The staff are more easygoing when not in the middle of an unruly rush. They won’t be overly worried or scurrying about tying to please their customers when there is lack of time.

Not that I minded much in those situations. I made every effort to allow extra time when dining in, where quality takes time. Food is a gift and hospitality is privilege. Especially since my presence in any restaurant automatically made the establishment overflow with people. I made a habit of being discreet and less flashy like today.

I dressed much differently than normal.

In my line of work, it was easier to choose carry-out, as I could be called to action. I was always on call.

All troubles aside, I prefer to sit down to enjoy a meal. There was something intimate about the experience and irreplaceable about it. To be served by another was a treat of society. Customer service is something that provides a place of refuge from ills of life. Someone sacrifices their time and effort to please another.

***

My dress shoes squeaked as I walked through the parking lot to the restaurant.

I came to where I tasted ramen for the very first time. I remember this restaurant whenever I look back on my life. I found this place randomly one day, well before it was remodeled to its pristine condition. At that time it was a run-down old shanty structure, a true hole in the wall restaurant.

We all change with time.

I was young and reckless, filled with boundless energy, and too bold for my own good. I stirred up plenty of trouble, although it was always to help others. That part never changed.

Nowadays, I was more level-headed.

I owe many well deserved lessons in my early days working at a Mexican restaurant in my hometown, which sadly no longer around, having succumbed to one too many unlucky incidents. It was a small, rural place, but it held many memories. I understood how hard the staff worked there and what it meant to earn a living cleaning tables. Those times were before I discovered that I had a gift – a great ability as many say.

I walked up to the door, knowing how far the owner had worked to build this place up.

Kumo Ramen was a small noodle shop and sushi bar at the edge of town. The building was re-designed with a modern taste, keeping it’s tradition Japanese architecture plus a modern flare.

I stood in front of this small building on a sunny day. It was around ten o’clock on a Tuesday morning and there were no cars in the parking lot.

I took the thick steel handle and swung open the door. It felt like entering a temple. The tall doors were like a symbol of power. Power in the sense to grant me entrance to a land of carnal delights of the tongue.

I looked around inside the restaurant. It was painted with dark colors and lined with gold paint, which gave off a feeling of being inside an old shrine. Natural light from large windows helped to see the menu without much trouble and spot light lamps hung from the ceiling.

There was a small water fountain with a kamidana attached above it on the wall. This was a small wooden alter decorated with plants, vases, and at the center, a stature of a red-crowned crane.

Today was going to work out nicely. Since the place was in a lull, I could dine here in peace. Most of the clientele ate in the evening hours anyway. The atmosphere was befitting of more formal night dining. There was also a good selection at the bar. And most corporate businesses were on the other side of town, so few lunch orders rang up, except for a couple of small online deliveries. 

I stood for a few seconds, then I heard the sound of footsteps rushing forward. A woman appeared from the steel door that separated the kitchen from the front counter.

She was dressed in a button-up, dress pants, and an apron.

“I apologize for the wait!” she said promptly and tipped her head.

It took a second as she did not recognize me at first.

“OH! Mr. Invigor! I did not realize you wore suits.” Susan explained her reaction and lifted a menu from the host stand.

She had been a faithful server at Kumo for a long time and knew me more than most people still alive.

“Today is a special day. Normally, my other clothes are – preferable.” I said, checking to see if my cuffs were tidy and buttoned. 

It was the cheapest suit I could find of reasonable quality. A quick visit to a discount and second-hand shop came in handy for a good bargain value. There was even a tailor who made simple alterations. He was surprised that I would drop by for a suit. 

I chose a navy blue, white striped pin suit with a silver intricately designed tie. It was the only one I found to appease me as I was used to wearing functional jumpsuits, exercise wear, and specially created skintight clothes of the highest durability that modern technology could conceive. Business suits on the other hand were impractical and uncomfortable to wear. Especially when eating in excess, which always resulted in tight buttons on my stomach.

If anything of this suit was left intact at the end of my mission, they could just bury me in it. I wanted today to be nice day.

“You look spectacular! Are the others joining or just one today?” she asked, looking around.

I smile, “just me. The others are busy at the moment. Serious business – you know.”

She understood and directed me to a seat of my choosing. There were no limitations at this moment to constrain seating assignments and Susan was the only server there. 

The perfect location was a far wall near the back corner of the restaurant. The booth was in the back, near a window that looked out to a retaining wall and employee parking lot. There was a perfect view of birds, squirrels, butterflies, and other wildlife since few cars were there to disturb them. This was the outskirts of the city. Splotches of forest were underdeveloped from empty lots. A natural aesthetic that I hoped more developers would preserve in the future as this was one of many growing metropolitan areas.

A city shouldn’t just be functional for one class of it. A perfect city should be livable for everyone. There needed to be easy access to transportation, food security, and entertainment.

That’s what made life good.

My wish was that everyone should be able to eat at a good restaurant from time to time. All humans should have a reasonable shelter and a meal from time to time good enough to make them cry tears of satisfaction.

I loved eating out at restaurants.

Sometimes too much.

“Do you need a minute, Mr. Invigor?” Susan asked, placing a glass full of water.

She was used to my indecision on what to eat as nearly all the restaurants I visited came to recognize my dining flaws.

I could clear out a buffet in an hour; I was banned from many because of this. The amount of food was not the problem. I could taste everything and consume more calories than a Blue Whale, yet not be satisfied. And my credit card was well funded enough to back my bottomless stomach. 

Knowing what my cravings really wanted was the real issue. It was a burdensome choice every time I looked at a menu. All food was good to me! Everything a cook pains and labors over should be appreciated. 

They work in freezing and sweltering environments, all in the midst of finely timed chaos that is a kitchen. Chopping, cutting, slicing, dicing, broiling, boiling, sauteing, grilling, blanching, baking, and in some cases last minute microwaving food to the utmost dedication of quality. The restaurant would have to be in a truly deplorable state for me not to like the food. Every dish here was always wonderful to taste.

Cooking is a sacred art performed by skillful, dexterous hands who have a godly vision in mind. I had nothing but respect for chiefs, line and prep cooks, and even the stockers and dishwashers because a kitchen would never function without them. 

More than most who eat at restaurants, I realized the teamwork it took to deliver one single dish of food to the table. Some teams who fight in wars or protect citizens on the streets don’t have that type of synergy – and they don’t even have to like each other to fulfill the needs of the shift. They simply do a job and do it well.

I look at Susan.

“I’ll take the Tonkotsu Ramen and this imported beer,” I say without hesitation and point to the Japanese brand beer on the menu.

“You are quick today, sir!” she smiled while writing down his order.

I laughed and winked at her. 

“I decided beforehand this time.”

She laughed and was about to step away when another food item popped into my mind.

“Oh! And I would like one more thing. I almost forgot to order.” I said quickly.

She stopped mid-step, turned back, and listened closely.

“Those red bean buns you have –”

“The Daifuku.”

“Yes. Three of those please, Susan. I would love that to be served along with the ramen.”

“Of course, sir!” she answered, then walked over to the restaurant computer screen to input his order.

Today, I would need all the energy I could get, but I needed to be choosy. Too much food would be bad for a fight.

Beer, ramen, and sweet mochi. 

Now that’s a selection worthy of being called the Last Meal. It was an otaku meal in many respects. I’ve seen many of those fans go from watching anime to saying, “Hey we need to find a ramen shop!” after watching some characters eat good-looking food. They became obsessed with completing a pilgrimage to a place that had ramen. 

Back when I was a kid, it was harder to find Asian restaurants that offered it, but now the world feels smaller, having accepted more diverse options. I think it is a good thing. I did the same when I watched different shows as a child. 

I grew to appreciate more cultures as I ate a new range of foods and became exposed to new flavors, especially with my current job. I traveled across the entire world and had to adjust to different traditions and ideas. One thing all the people I met had in common was that we loved to eat food.

I did not even need to speak the language to know that. 

To me, that is the brilliance of restaurants. 

You taste hundreds of years of history bursting with incredibly rich flavor. Some flavors are more intricate and balanced than others, suggesting and hinting at the subtle tastes refined from taking up different cooking styles. From ancient times, multitudes of cultures overtook each other, mixed and combined, then separated and expanded, only to boil back into a similar in form. Other recipes have been unchanged for far longer than one would think, while others are a complete fusion of cultures at their best. 

“Enjoy!” Susan said, sitting down with a cold glass of beer.

She popped the bottle and poured it into a pint with a perfect layer of foam bubble at the top for me.

I took a sip and loved it.

This was how I wanted to relax today. Somewhere deep in my thoughts, I wished I had more time to live as simply as I was doing right now. 

I pushed that thought away. This moment was enough. All I need is this – I decided yesterday to let regrets die in the past. 

“Oh…” Susan uttered with an unusually shy voice, “um…I know this is rude, but do you think I can have your autograph again? For a friend – I mean! I still got the one I asked from you before. Sorry!”

She said quickly and completed a quick bow.

“That’s all!” I exclaimed, “for you of course. I’ll give you two. It’s no bother at the moment. Plus – you have always been good to me, Susan.”

Her face lit up.

The owner of Kumo asks his staff not to bug people like him while he dines. I agreed that was a good rule to have. I was a human being despite being heralded as something more. Although, I often broke that rule of my own volition and gave out autographs. 

I grabbed two napkins from the table and signed my name, Invigor – may you live on with a joyful heart and a full stomach, on both flimsy writing surfaces and gave them to her.

“Thank you!” she said and laid down linen-wrapped utensils and chopsticks at my table.

She merrily skidded into the kitchen to show off the autographs. I smiled at the occurrence, assuming it to be one or two of their new cooks.

I went back to daydreaming about life and looking at the ordinary sights around me.

The table was black granite with golden etchings matching the decorative trim painted around the restaurant. Porcelain vases and Japanese paintings hung on the wall, some with various folklore elements. Yokai monsters and spirits, oni demons, and Chinese dragons were painted on different surfaces depicting a detailed story from a flowing action. 

Even the arrangement of the little plastic bamboo shoots in pots on every table was a nice sight to look at for a moment. It would be difficult to discern what words I could describe to others about this feeling of gazing at the trivial.

Appreciation for existing – I suppose – would be sufficient to state what was on my mind. I wanted to recognize what my eyes saw as there was a reason for it, a value in it. A person had to choose the decoration in this restaurant. Someone had to design the object for it to be manufactured. It all had an impact on the customer that dined here. The end value was not of its only as its own importance, but also as a function of ambience. Secondary to the restaurant’s goal of feeding the patron was making them feel at ease.

This line of thinking was silly and mundane, until you reach your end. Doing things in life that are enjoyable in such a way that is free from the collection of nagging responsibilities is what I find to be a true treat. The everyday is important when you know there is no time left.

There is freedom in that idea. A tranquil “live in the moment” reflection. When bad news arrives to a person, a profound declaration is usually made in their hearts. For me, when I realized that today was my last day, I had but one thought.

Go to a ramen shop. 

My family had passed away and my friends were far too scattered around to find in time. 

There was a time limit, which gave me just enough time to eat at my favorite ramen shop.

Perhaps that was a pitiful admittance, although I did not think of it that way. I may have no kids, and my romantic relationships did not work out for good reasons, but I am vividly aware that I had a wonderful life. I met people everywhere I went. 

I found comfort in knowing the kids of this world will play safe with me overseeing the skies. That teens can goof off while loitering in parking lots as they always do and that the parents around me can focus on providing for their family when I protect them from great dangers.

I enjoy seeing society bloom.

Many of my work partners agreed with that assessment, at least the ones who worked for more than solely monetary reasons.

I let out a chuckle and looked towards the ceiling.

It was bare steel and concrete out in the open as there was no intention to hide the metal arteries and veins of the building.

 It could have been nice to eat with some of them today, but their responsibilities and commitments at the present hour. 

Dining alone was good. It was not lonely to me.

On most days I had off, I went to eat at a restaurant and went to a movie. Usually in disguise as I like to watch films without talking. Doing things by yourself was freeing.

I told my couple of my colleagues what I was about to do before my last mission and most of them laughed. The entire conference call was tense, but that one answer re-confirmed to them that I was the right one for the job. My ability sold them on that. 

I was now the number one hero around.

Based on the reports of my prior missions, the facts of my abilities, and my decision-making ability, I became the right person to defend Earth from a surprise calamity. The Organization Chief Counsel and Chair agreed with my assessment. This judgment was not decided on favoritism, nepotism, or classism. This time there was not even the power struggle of egos from the others. This mission was unlike any other we have dealt with and hopefully have to deal with in the future.

I looked out the window at the green foliage and chirping birds.

Most of the public, including Susan, had no idea that death and destruction would soon rain down on the whole world. My organization got a tip-off and made plans to stop that nightmare scenario. 

Some of the contingency plans discussed were despicable, so it was a good thing I would die. That was part of the grand strategy for the others to do their work.

Responsibility is a hard thing to delegate. Everyone had a job and this one was mine. They all thanked me as I gave a heartfelt, but brief goodbye to The Organization. 

Susan carefully walked up with a tray of food in her hands.

“You look so serious – like you are brooding about all the evil in this world.” Susan said with a keen sight.

“Oh – there’s always lots of things on my mind – but thanks to you it will now be about food.”

She smiled enough to beam brighter than the sun itself. Susan could keep calm in the most stressful situations, yet if someone made trouble, her stares could kill.

After setting the tray down, she placed a large bowl of ramen in front of me, along with a funny-looking spoon and a plate of mochi.

“Is there anything else I can get you? More beer or water?” Susan asked, clasping her hands together and holding them at her apron.

“I believe this is perfect,” I say.

She nodded, then headed to the kitchen. Probably to finish rolling silverware, polish glasses, and sanitize various working areas if I had to guess.

I turn my head to my piping hot bowl and sniff the fumes of steam flowing from the lake of broth. What a sweet and savory smell it is – a delectable concoction. The bowl was filled with a ton of crinkled-long noodles in a pale tan broth with a swirling creamy hue. Floating on top were slices of pork belly, chopped scallions, mushrooms, leeks, seaweed, and the white circular fishcake with a pink swirl that some people knew the name of because of the anime of the same name, despite the food being named after the water vortexes. 

The best part of the ramen was the two halves of the egg that came with it, called Ajitsuke Tamago. Sliced open and floating on the top was a soft-boiled egg. It was discolored by enhancement of soaking it in soy sauce, a type of rice wine called mirin, and a spice blend. They were absolutely delicious!

I picked up the spoon that Susan had explained to me the first time I tasted ramen that it was called a chirirenge or renge spoon. It translates to lotus petals. It made eating the ramen broth so much easier than a regular spoon.

How I loved learning about other cultures. There was always something to learn about how or why this item came to be.

I picked the renge spoon up and dipped it into the soup. I stopped right before it hit my tongue to blow and disseminate a little heat to the right temperature. 

A burned tongue would be awful at the moment of delicate taste testing.

I waited for a second more, then sipped the pork bone-soaked water.

The taste hit my tongue and sent tingles to my brain like a barrage of super umami punches.

What a dazzling flavor it was to drink! 

The salty flavor was cured after at least a day or more of preparation, soaking the meat juices and fat from the pork in the water. I was so excited and put down the spoon and grabbed the chopsticks. I wanted to enjoy this meal the traditional way. It took weeks of coming here to learn how to become proficient in using these tools. 

Susan was quite helpful in that endeavor.

I grabbed the noodles with the chopsticks and chowed down, slurping up the long tender strands. I chewed on them in delight. I had to stop myself and slow down. Given how many noodles I put in my mouth, I might accidentally eat them all in one go!

I picked up the egg and got wrapped up in how tangy, salty it was! Not slimy or overdone, it was a perfectly cooked egg drenched in flavor. Finally, I picked up the steaming chashu. This seared pork belly was really tender and caramelized to perfection. The fat on it melted in my mouth with every bite.

It was amazing.

I sat in the booth alone, going back and forth between sipping the soup to chewing until everything in the bowl was all gone. Once I was down to a small puddle of broth that was thin enough to see the patterns of the bowl at the bottom, I grabbed the bowl and lifted it in the air. Perhaps bad manners in most places, I tipped the bowl to my lips and drank the rest.

I would rather offend this way than not finish all of it.

Returning the bowl to the table, I let out a loud burp of satisfaction and drank the rest of my beer to refresh my pallet.

Now it was time for dessert!

I bit into the red-bean mochi.

The outside was chewy and made from rice that had been stretched and pounded over and over until it became stretchy like dough. The inside was made of adzuki bean paste. And when I first heard about this type of dessert, I was appalled.

Beans in a bun!

I did not think it would taste good, so I tried it.

While the beans were sweetened and the taste was not overpowering. One after another, I ate all three.

To finish my meal, I drank some water which had been neglected since my time here. It was good to have something to wash down everything and get pesky food out of the teeth.

One should not fight crime with food stuck between the teeth.

Susan walked up next to me with another man.

It was Mr. Hibiki Noguchi, the owner of this restaurant and a second-generation family owner of ramen restaurants. He was the first owner of this particular store in the United States. His late father owned two locations of a different name in Japan – one in Tokyo and one in Sapporo, where his extended family lived. Those were eventually sold to someone else. Hibiki talked a lot about his youth when he worked at his father’s ramen shops.

“Mr. Invigor! Good to see you again.” Noguchi said with a smile. 

He was well into his seventies with only a few wrinkles and wore a white chef coat and black paints. He was both the owner and a well-seasoned ramen chef. It was his method to always manage and teach good cooking standards, thus providing excellent quality of service.

Susan stood next to him with a small cup in her hand.

“Likewise, Mr. Noguchi. I am always pleased to say hello to you. I can thank you more for a pleasant experience. It has always been a fantastic place to enjoy food.” 

“Of course! There is no better feeling than knowing that someone feels truly satisfied with your cooking. The reason I cook is to make sure my customers love what they eat.” he said with his hands behind his back.

“What a bowl this was – that ramen is the best in town!” I exclaim.

“Thank you!” both Noguchi and Susan said.

“We have brought you a little surprise today.” Noguchi said as Susan placed a small cup filled with a clear liquid in front of me.

“Saki!” I say, smelling the smooth aroma of rice wine.

It was warm to the touch.

“On the house.” Susan said and picked up my dirty dishes.

“Oh – you spoil me. I said, trying to get them to let me pay for it.

“You deserve a little treat. You must have very important business today. You should drink something that can give a little extra kick to the face of evil.” Noguchi insisted. 

I really don’t deserve anything, not even a thanks.

That’s why I became a hero.

“If you don’t drink this one, I’ll bring two more to you.” Susan joked.

I gave them a grin at being strong armed and picked up the cup.

“Alright. I never like to be rude if I can help it.”

The saki went smoothly, heating my throat with a sweet and melon-like taste. 

“Ah – delightful,” I say to them, “it’s these moments which I live for.”

They smiled at those words.

After paying my bill and saying goodbye to Susan and Mr. Noguchi, I exited the restaurant. I looked outside to the normal day, no evil villains or petty criminals running amuck at the moment.

I patted my stomach. That is how you walk into the arms of death. Full of noodles, brimming with power and bursting with confidence.

I straighten my back, loosen my belt, and shift back and forth in my dress shoes. My muscles tightened as I now felt more powerful than ever. The energy inside me skyrocketed nearly to the point that I started glowing. My skin began to shine and I resisted the urge to explode with even more hidden power. I squatted down, then propelled myself up into the air with a mighty jump, but I did not come down.

I flew up.

My hair fluttered around as the air rushed past me. I waited until I was near the clouds to hit Mach speed and flew even faster like a rocket taking off. 

Like many other heroes, I could fly, but in addition, I also have super strength, speed, and endurance. My eyesight, smell, taste, and any kind of sensory perception were superior to normal people and further maxed out at this moment. I had heightened resistance to cold, heat, lightning, and there were a couple of times I dove straight into magma. While I still required oxygen to live, I could take in enough to go without breathing for long periods of time.

I had to defeat several villains that pushed me to the brink of death in order to become stronger and all the more hungrier. Most people know me as Invigor; I am a Superhero from Earth and I take my job very seriously.

My power comes from eating good food. 

It is a strange type of ability compared to the other superheroes. My fans sometimes called me Lunchman or Diner Boy. Occasionally they use joke names, like The Muncher or Grubs to which I only laughed, never once offended. 

Who cares what they called me: I got to eat good food and save lives for a living.

I chose this life. 

I was born with a special gift. One that required enormous amounts of training to control. I count this as a lucky occurrence, a blessing.

I looked down at the Earth as I flew what was probably into the exosphere by this time.

It was a beautiful sight. A marvelously huge sphere. I wish I could take people up here to show them this same sight without them running out of air to breathe.

But I have no regrets, given this mission.

I put my life on the line too many times to count and saved more lives than I thought, even ones that did not deserve it. In this world, not every hero was what I called a good person, and not every criminal deserved what justice they were given. Carrying out justice was a responsibility that required ultimate accountability and sacrifice.

I slowed my acceleration, having already zoomed well past the moon by this time. I was heading towards preordained coordinates, where I was briefed on where the wormhole would appear. I checked my watch given to me by the Organization: it started to beep!

This is it! 

I was right in time as a giant circle appeared in space, cutting the fabric of reality. An unknown type of energy source ripped out an entire Saturn-sized hole in front of me.

It became a gateway and out from the cosmic tunnel came an asteroid. Larger than a hundred-kilometer wide or a sixty-two-mile asteroid for non-metric people, it did not take much to know that this was bad. The one that killed the dinosaurs was wiped out by a ten-kilometer asteroid. 

Beyond countable were the smaller fragments that came with it. Worst of all, flying right ahead of the debris cloud was the villain.

He had a snake-like body that was slithering through space.  His body was fitted with dark-colored scales that were said to be nearly unbreakable and had claws sharp enough to cut through any known metal with ease. The report indicated invulnerability to most conventional weapons, including nuclear explosions. 

The alien criminal was called Serpent. 

He originated from an unknown planet and was encountered by another superhero who went on a deep space mission. Despite being incredibly powerful, she was outmatched and died from wounds after fighting Serpent. She gave up her last minutes of life to send us intel from the fight and warn us about the planet-wide destruction he was planning. 

I looked at Serpent as his eyes glowed red. 

I could not help but smile.

In an instant, he teleported right near me and transformed into a humanoid shape with two legs and two arms, although his face was like a snake.

“Are you ready to die like that last one? I want to feed on all the corpses of your weak planet.” Serpent said, using a telekinetic link to my mind.

“Die? Ah!” I say, responding back to the same mental link while crossing my arms,  “You don’t get it do you? I just ate the best bowl of ramen in my life! I’m ready to kick your ass!”

The confused look on his basilisk-like face was priceless. 

I am not even sure if he knew what ramen was food or not, but he was far from being ready when kneed him in the gut.

“How dare you!” Serpent screamed, punching me back.

The fight was beyond what few could ever imagine and it could not be witnessed on Earth without tearing the planet asunder.

Every punch could have decimated an entire country in one blow or sliced a moon in half, which was particularly difficult as I had to keep Earth’s moon safe from long-distance attacks. 

The Serpent was going delirious.

He could not fathom how powerful I was, how easily I kept up to his sudden appearances and blocked the insane out-put of his energy blasts.

I waved my finger mockingly at him as he regrew an arm that was blasted off when I partially redirected his energy beam back at him.

Serpent did not know how my power worked. Even people on Earth misunderstood my power. The secret was not simply eating an impossible amount of calories which fueled my superpower, rather it varied with my emotions every time I ate. My ability was based on how much I enjoyed a meal; true fulfillment was what provided me with greater or less power. 

And today, I ate some damn good ramen. 

I punched Serpent in the face, sending him into the asteroid he sent here, cracking it almost into half.

I cracked the bones in my hand in the process. 

The serpent was not defeated yet, but once I do, I will break down the bulk of the asteroid. The other heroes will have to clean up my mess before it hits the Earth. By the time the other superheroes arrive here, my oxygen will be depleted, all my calories will be burned, and I will die in the void of space with a broken down body.

I smiled.

My suite was torn, my muscles already ached and my blood began to float around me from open wounds. This was my end.

And that’s ok with me.

I understood that you can do impossible things once you enjoy living. That truth was so simple, yet an impossible dream for people living on Earth.  

A simple bowl of ramen, some mochi, a beer, and a sip of saki can bring enough appreciation to save the world. 

I turned my head one last time to see a faint sphere in the distance, which was my home.

It was the small things I hoped people would remember me for, not as the grandiose Superhero, Mr. Invigor, but as that jolly guy who liked to eat a lot.