A few weeks after the Great Hanshin Earthquake in 1995, mom and I went to a local shopping center. Only a few shops have reopened. We managed to get some groceries from a supermarket where most shelves were empty. Freight transportation and distribution systems still have been mostly suspended. 

As we walked towards the exit, I found a noodle restaurant, which we have been to several times before, was open. 

“That shop is open.” I said to mom.

“Is it? They may be just cleaning up.” Mom approached to the restaurant, and looked inside.

“Oh yeah, it’s actually open.”

“Hi.” A middle-aged guy came out from the kitchen and took us to a table outside of the restaurant. He was offering noodles in the foyer since the inside walls were cracked and most of their tableware was scattered on the floor.

We were his only customers. We ordered two bowls of ramen, which was the only menu he could offer. It was cooked on a portable gas stove and served in plastic bowls with disposable chopsticks. 

Sure, it was a very simple and ordinary ramen, but it tasted delicious. We haven’t eaten many hot meals in the previous weeks. 

“Thank you. It was very heartening to have hot noodles.” Mom told the chef as she was paying. The price was surprisingly cheap.

“It is amazing how you have reopened your restaurant in such a short time.” I added.

“Well, I got to do it: I’m a mere ramen chef. I can’t work like rescuers. I’m not a hero. All I can do to help is to offer my customers some hot ramen. Hope people can get a boost.” He smiled.

“The noodles were really delicious. Thank you.” Mom said. And I fully agreed.