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| カカオ二ブのドーナツ / Cacao Nib Donut |
At my local DEEN & DELUCA, the food used to be kept in refrigerated cases, but having it openly displayed feels more like a market and makes shopping more enjoyable.
The shop itself is located inside a stylish shopping mall, so there's no particular need to worry about hygiene management or anything like that.
One of my vague dreams that doesn't need to come true is to visit markets in Paris, Italy, England, and America.
I'd buy a few things that caught my eye, let the fishmongers, butchers, and greengrocers know right away that I was a “foreigner who couldn't speak a word,” and then we'd both choose to engage in extraordinary, over-the-top communication. We'd laugh together, take the food back to my room, cook it up in a simple kitchen, and eat it. That's the dream of a month-long stay.
It's inexpensive, safe, and allows you to stay put without wandering around an unfamiliar country at night. Plus, there's the fun of directly experiencing both the everyday and unusual foods there.
This is cheap and safe, letting you stay put instead of wandering around an unfamiliar country at night, plus it offers the fun of directly experiencing (touching) both the everyday and unusual foods there.
The trick is probably to do it like we do at the supermarket: a “wife who seems familiar though you don't know why” or a “middle-aged man who somehow seems knowledgeable (usually stylish)” will exchange a word or two expressionlessly when placing an order, likely with a joke thrown in. You'll catch them saying things like, “(You're pretty good at this, huh)... By the way, how's Mercury doing?” “Not bad,” “That's good to hear.” Watching them exchange this while receiving their goods and change, you might think, “...I'll take the same as that person.” “(This foreigner has a good eye), sure. 10g? 20g?” Buying like this, you'll likely get the day's cheapest and freshest items.
Then, on the way out, the owner—a guy with incredibly muscular arms, handsome like Nicolas Cage, and who seemed to understand life's subtleties—would say, “See you later.” I'd go home, boil something, and imagine, “Maybe that guy was actually Nick himself, secretly swapping places with the shop owner for an acting gig.” And then everyone would sigh and shake their heads, saying, “Enamel, you should never go overseas.” I imagine everyone sighing and shaking their heads at this fantasy, and the day passes pleasantly.
About two weeks later, I find a regular coffee stand. There, the Nicolas Cage lookalike master smiles slightly with one side of his mouth and says, “An Asian guy just like you used to come here.” I hesitate, wondering whether to ask, “What were Nick's days like with that person?” Just as I'm debating whether to ask, a woman in her thirties who looks exactly like Olivia Newton-John walks in. Nick snaps out of his memories and joins the conversation between the two of us. Over drip coffee, we end up talking about rummaging through wallets in pockets. I guess I want to be an outsider when I travel.
Perhaps that foreign element, like an external virus, causes glitches in the people who live there permanently, and the feedback of atmosphere before it becomes language is enjoyable.
The reason I kept repeating solo trips, though only within the country, was probably to quietly experience the sensation that being a foreign element quietly causes good things to happen and then quickly subsides, reaffirming the advantage of not fitting neatly into a place called community.
Those who return, those who send off, those who simply remain—it's believed we only conduct disadvantage checks and gradually stagnate.
Those who arrive always try to fit into the daily lives of those who live there.
They bring only new scents, neither seeking nor changing the everyday.
Yet the closed community of daily life tries to change the individuals who remain uninvolved.
If you make just one true friend in your lifetime, you're fortunate. If you spend most of your time not socializing but focusing on yourself, then after decades pass, you might suddenly find the human world beautiful, see connections in things you once didn't understand, and begin a time of rich intellectual engagement.
Is it really true that if you don't socialize, your human perspective stays narrow?
At my age, when I say, “I'm not really good at socializing,” most people react positively.
But those who suddenly get angry or insistently preach the benefits of socializing, saying, “No, you should socialize. That's wrong,” are just getting worked up because I'm not following the rules they think are best.
If you replace this with a romantic relationship, you can see how absurd it is.
How would you feel if someone told their romantic partner, “I hate being lonely, so I want to be with you”?
I wouldn't stay with someone like that.
Isn't socializing the same?
I loved mornings in unfamiliar cities, seen from my hotel window.
I'd brew coffee, glance at the local news playing on the muted TV while checking my checkout time, and vaguely review my next plans while watching the buildings ahead brighten.
Somehow, it always felt exhilarating.
Probably because deep down, I was laughing, thinking, “This is actually the right way.”
Have a wonderful Sunday.











