As You Like It
Kaori, 26, is part of an okonomiyaki family dynasty in Hiroshima. A regional specialty, okonomiyaki, literally meaning “as you iike it,” is a savory pancake usually consisting of cabbage, pork belly, and in Hiroshima, Chinese noodles. When her father dies, her uncle takes over the eatery and kicks Kaori out of the business, forcing her to try to introduce the family recipe to New York City, where her best friend now lives. While Kaori is ambitious, she’s also naïve and is taken advantage of in both business and romance. Will she learn from her mistakes, or will her family’s okonomiyaki legacy die in America?
Stories from this series
Chapter Six—“We Believe in America”
Feb. 4, 2017 • Naomi Hirahara
We are sitting in a restaurant in Battery Park, which is on the south side of the island of Manhattan. Morgan tells me that it is a new restaurant that opened a few months ago. Apparently restaurants open and close in America all the time. I don’t know if he’s telling me this as a cautionary tale. But I won’t be discouraged. Red Okonomiyaki and I will make it in New York City. I try to order modestly. Yes, I’m …
Chapter Five—Death by Yelp
Jan. 4, 2017 • Naomi Hirahara
“This was just amazing.” Morgan Taketa says after wiping his lips with a cloth napkin that was hand-sewn by my best friend, Risa. He still has a bit of brown okonomiyaki sauce in the corner of his mouth, but I am not going to say anything. Morgan the banker can make my restaurant dreams come true in New York City. He could have come dressed to dinner as the Kentucky Fried Chicken ojiisan and I would have treated him like …
Chapter Four—Deep Like the Rivers
Dec. 4, 2016 • Naomi Hirahara
Deep’s Butcher Shop in East Harlem is nothing like the ones I’ve seen in other parts of New York City. Yes, there’s a large refrigerated case of meats, but the walls, for the most part, have cases of books. And not cookbooks, but books of poetry and classics, ones that I attempted to read in translation in high school in Japan. I never was good in literature. Through two small speakers mounted on the ceiling sounds Bob Marley. I know …
Chapter Three—The Perfect Cut
Nov. 4, 2016 • Naomi Hirahara
My feet are swollen and sore, and it’s all because of pork belly. In Japan we had a special distributor which brought our okonomiyaki restaurant fresh cuts two times a week. They were sliced thin like American bacon with just the right amount of marbling. The slices cooked perfectly on our grill—not too crisp, not too limp. Risa, my best friend and roommate, had told me about Chinatown and Little Korea. I couldn’t believe how expansive Chinatown was—long blocks filled …
Chapter Two—Trade Secrets
Oct. 4, 2016 • Naomi Hirahara
A-ra, I think, struggling to turn off the hot water shower faucet. My uncle. The last person in the whole wide world that I want to talk to. Risa’s holding out her cell phone from the open crack of the bathroom door. Her white arms are as thin as broomsticks. I pull a towel from a shelf and wrap it around my body. I am usually not shy around Risa, especially since we’ve seen each other naked dozens of times …
Chapter One—Throwaway Girls
Sept. 4, 2016 • Naomi Hirahara
“I guess we are throwaway girls,” Risa says, helping me to unpack one of my boxes. I do not know why it is taking her so long. That box has my special okonomiyaki cooking tools—my extra shiny and sharp spatulas, my special knives to slice cabbage extra thin. It will go into the cupboards of her tiny kitchen. Thankfully, Risa does not know how to cook anything, even a bowl of rice. “What is this?” Risa frowns, holding up a …
