A Broth That Warms Body and Soul
When your body's worn out, you actually feel less hungry. Your appetite vanishes, your tongue turns rough and dry, and even the finest meal tastes like chewing sand. What you need in moments like these is something rich in flavor yet light enough to seep gently into every corner of your being... yes. A warm broth dish.
Broth is just the thing.
"Welcome... ah, welcome! It's been a while!"
"Got any seats?"
"Sit wherever you'd like!"
And the place I head to at times like this isn't a restaurant—it's a bar. Izakaya Hortenshop. One of my go-to spots when my body's exhausted but my mind is still sharp as a tack.
Maybe because it's not even evening yet, the place is nearly empty. Perfect timing for a leisurely unwind.
"You're early today! Pulling an all-nighter at work? The usual?"
They know exactly what I want since I come here so often. Can't be helped—it's always the same order.
I settle into a quiet corner table and wipe my hands with the wet towel. The order's already in, so it'll be out soon.
"Here's your Hayanosuke Cauldron and The Promise of Two People! Enjoy!"
The overly cheerful server sets down a small cauldron and a squat wooden box holding a tiny glass. She leaves with a bounce.
"Now that's a combination I love."
The wooden box cradles a glass brimming to the dangerous edge with clear liquor. The box itself isn't large, and paired with the full glass, it's barely two servings. But right now, that's perfect.
"Ahh."
I knock back the cold liquor from the glass in one go. Despite the grandiose name, it doesn't taste great. It's diluted shochu—distilled alcohol mixed with artificial sweeteners and flavorings. A cheap floral scent masks the harsh booze stench, while a upfront sweetness hides the tongue-stinging burn. Ordinary stuff.
One gulp, and the high-proof alcohol scorches my throat on the way to my stomach. Absorbed in a rush, it spreads through my body, fuzzing my brain. Makes my throat dry, too—alcohol sucking the moisture out, maybe.
Normally, I wouldn't give this stuff a second glance. I'm not big on drinking anyway; if I'm indulging, I want something good. But right now, this cheap harshness is oddly welcome.
"Now then..."
Hayanosuke Cauldron. Hayanosuke-style hot pot. Another fancy name for plain old oden stew, apparently created by some guy named Hayanosuke running a tavern in another world, tailored to local tastes.
The light miso-based broth simmers gently. Inside: a fried tofu pouch, a beef tendon, three familiar curly fish cake skewers, and a hefty daikon chunk. The ingredients in that little cauldron never fail to amuse.
I scoop some broth into the side plate with the tiny ladle that came with it, then sip.
"Hoo..."
The pale miso broth delivers a nutty sweetness that's pure bliss. Not spicy like soy or gochujang bases—milder, sure, but not bland. Umami built from nutrients and flavors leached from the ingredients, tied together by the salty-sweet-nutty miso. The hearty broth flows down my throat, washing away the cheap booze's aftertaste.
The moment it hits my stomach, the warmth seeps in along the path the liquor cleared. Heavy flavor, yet it permeates so lightly. My over-sharpened cells from the all-nighter—all riled up by this booze intruder—melt away in a soothing haze.
"Haa..."
Tension drains from my body. No empty laugh this time—just a satisfied rumble. This is the taste. The kind that soaks into your bones.
Once the broth loosens me up, hunger stirs faintly. Tension gone, appetite returns—as it should. No rush, though. I sip another half-ladle of broth. Gotta melt away the last of the fatigue and stress.
Good. Now my stomach growls fiercely, rumbling like it's complaining. Perfect timing!
"Mm."
First up: the tofu pouch, soaked in hot broth with a little rice cake inside. Fried tofu—my body rejoices. Fried things taste great. Tofu is healthy and tasty. So aburaage is even better!
I nip the sopping, softened-yet-sturdy pouch with my front teeth. Broth floods my tongue like a bursting dam. Could burn if I'm not careful, but I've paced myself for this.
Hot broth hits—my body jolts. But my tongue quickly registers it's cooled just enough, diving into the torn pouch, swimming through waves of juice. That heavy umami spreads across it all, mingling with the tofu's savoriness and chewy texture for pure bliss! The soft rice cake clings lightly to my teeth. Small and not too chewy, it yields easily to a gentle nudge.
A storm of textures in my mouth. Body's exhausted, but my tongue's working overtime.
"Hoo..."
Stomach quiets, somewhat appeased. But it's not enough—it nudges my brain: That's all? As if.
We're just getting started. Another sip of broth to reset my palate, then I pick up a fish cake skewer. Curly and ordinary-looking.
First one: chewy and snappy, fish flavor blooming softly amid the crunches.
Second: softer, stewed tender enough to bite with my tongue. That very tenderness amplifies the umami—severing it sweeps the savor across my whole mouth.
Third: over-stewed, threatening to slide off the skewer. Melts away smooth and slightly dry, nutrients mostly leached into the broth.
"Time to fire it up again..."
The Hayanosuke Cauldron comes with a mini hibachi. I light the processed charcoal briquette with a match. It catches slowly, providing a steady flame. Pot back on, and I can reheat the cooling broth.
"Kuh."
I finish the remaining shot, pouring from the box into the glass and downing it. Different from the first— the artificial sweet and floral notes now feel almost refined. My drowsy cells jolt awake from the warm broth, but without the earlier wariness. My whole body welcomes the alcohol, sucking it in eagerly. The cozy warmth, once bottlenecked by tension, surges freely as booze clears the path. Not fuzzy-headed—my very soul feels clarified.
I don't drink much, but this sensation? Addictive every time. Still, that's it for the booze. Not here to get smashed—just to unwind. For drunkenness, I'd pick cheaper, bigger quantities.
Lost in boozy musings, the broth has reduced. A miso-caramelized ring lines the cauldron. Just right.
"Mmm."
Out comes the daikon, infused with broth into miso-pickled bliss, soft yet intact. Chopsticks slice it effortlessly—perfectly stewed, firm enough to pick up without crumbling. Prime moment.
One piece in my mouth crumbles gently, unleashing a waterfall of intense miso umami. Rich. This softly yielding richness is heavenly. No contest against lingering booze.
Another bite. Heavy as a boxer's punch, it envelops my tongue. Daikon wipes out the alcohol and prior fish cakes in round one, securing a KO in round two. Victor of the dish: the daikon!
"Hoo..."
No—last bite remains. Beef tendon and the final half-ladle of thickened broth, now a glossy miso glaze packed with condensed umami.
I slurp the tendon with it. Sticky savor from the meat synergizes with the reduced broth for deep satisfaction. That glutinous chew makes my brain and gut melt too. A smile creeps on unbidden.
This is why I come here when beat. The sticky happiness lingers all weekend, washing away exhaustion. A dish that never fails to hit the spot.