Blog 2: I Heart Teriyaki

In a way, teriyaki is one of the main reasons why I left the prestigious women’s liberal arts college in the East Coast and returned to the temperamental climes of western Washington. Even though I spent two years in Pennsylvania, I could never quite shake off the feeling of longing, of homesickness for Washington. While I lived on campus, I searched vainly for things that would remind me of home, namely the not-quite-fast-food teriyaki.

                The cheap and delicious dishes I used to be able to eat whenever the urge struck were nowhere to be seen. Oh, maybe there were a handful of upper-end Japanese restaurants, but what I wanted was not high class cuisine ̶ I wanted my steaming hot plate of white rice shaped by an ice cream scoop and grilled chicken slices drenched in teriyaki sauce. In my desperation, I even tried Chinese takeout but it just wasn’t the same. My desire for teriyaki was so extreme that it came to the point that when I returned home for the winter or summer holidays, my very first meal would be chicken fried rice (or Mongolian beef).

                Teriyaki wouldn’t be teriyaki if it weren’t for my best friend Melissa. Back when we were in high school together, she had a particular teriyaki restaurant that she was attached to, and lucky for her, it was within walking distance. In the summer, whenever she got the urge, she would contact me and the two of us would walk the three miles to the I Heart Teriyaki restaurant under the warm Washington sun. This was back when neither of us could drive, and even if we could, we still would have walked. The road there was mainly a long straight sidewalk next to a busy road. There was a public bus route which coincided with our walk, but unless the weather was horrible, it wasn't an option.

                We would walk at a leisurely pace and we’d talk about whatever came to mind. (She was always the friend I could say anything to, without the fear of being judged.) And when we finally reached the restaurant, we would order the exact same things we’d always order, eat (me with chopsticks, her with a fork), and walk back home. Though I’m sure I had a few worries even back then, looking back at it now, it seemed like such a stress-free time in my life.

                This teriyaki restaurant has long since changed hands, and our favorite dishes have taken on different tastes. Melissa and I now attend different colleges, and no longer live close enough to walk to each other’s houses, much less this teriyaki restaurant. But in some ways, it's preferable this way. I can preserve the memory of that particular summer without any adulteration.