Nikuman

When my FIL was alive, he frequented the local izakaya Shinobu. It is run by a mama who was born in China and still speaks Japanese with a charming accent. She oversees the self-medication of a significant portion of the over-60 men of the community. She is wonderful. She makes some of the best nikuman (pork buns) you will ever eat. My FIL used to bring some home every once in a while—I’m pretty sure only when he ordered more than he could ultimately eat, because he would bring them home wrapped in cellophane by Mama who did not want the buns to go to waste.

I did not usually accompany him to Shinobu, although he would often call me to come, because it would inevitably lead to a night of him taking me to several more favorite haunts, which would be successively more esoteric and of let us say suspicious management vis a vis certain laws intended to exclude antisocial forces from society. But I admit that I longed for those nikuman.

Last night was the Ume Grove Association bonenkai. The former city assemblyman who I long supported and volunteered for suggested we hit Shinobu as a second stop. Only a single shochu oyuwari was required of me to get at some nikuman. It was great to see Mama again and talk a little bit of my FIL and hear a detailed discussion of the political history of our community. Really a great night.