Butter Asako Yuzuki Quotes

There are two things that I can simply not tolerate: feminists and margarine.

She was tired of living her life thinking constantly about how she appeared to others, checking her answers against everyone else’s.

What you need above all is strength . . . A fighting spirit that can withstand the tedium of everyday life without getting blunted by it.

In principle, all women should give themselves permission to demand good treatment, but the world made doing so profoundly difficult

Men are inept creatures. They can't build a life for themselves without the support and kindness of a woman.

By treating himself badly, he had accused the people around him.

Nobody has to be fully satisfied by just one thing, and nor do they have to aim to be like everyone else. It's plenty of people can enjoy things a good amount, and be satisfied with their life overall.

Why is it that with nobody to watch over them, men can’t stop themselves from falling into disrepair? And that disrepair is then looked upon kindly and excused by the world, seen not as a failure of personal responsibility but something poignant and tragic.

When I'm eating good butter I feel somehow as though I were falling.

The kind of wife that the men on those sites are looking for is, at base, a woman with no sense of life about her. Their ideal partner would be a kind of ghost.

At the end of the day, men were not looking for a real-life woman, but a professional entertainer.

I do. The ultimate happiness for women is to find their soulmate, raise his children, and make delicious food. And to do so is to make a contribution to society.

If you were accepted by just one person, then you didn’t need to be someone whose beauty was acknowledged by everyone.

You’ll sense the individual grains of rice coated in butter, and an aromatic fragrance as if the rice were being fried will ascend to your nose. A rich, milky sweetness will spread itself across your tongue . . .

Pleasantly full as she was, Rika felt like crying. She might dine with someone, but at the end of the meal they would go their separate ways. She couldn’t stay with that person forever. Even with her stomach full of warmth and the taste of delicious food lingering on her tongue, she remained alone. It didn’t matter who she had for company. She was beginning to understand that the more delicious the time she spent with others, the more alone she felt.

Don't you think that's a disease of the contemporary age? It feels like these days our value is determined by how much effort we make from day to day. That matters even more than our results. After a while, the concept of effort starts to become mixed up with things feeling difficult, and then you reach the point where the person seen as the most admirable is the one suffering the most. I think that's the reason people are so vicious towards Manako Kajii. She refuses to live that life, refuses to suffer.

Rika knew that to get herself out of this place, she had to traverse the bewilderingly long path towards the light. To do so, she had to line up the lowest hurdles she could find, and jump them. Starting by calling upon the people she felt able to call on.

Milk was originally blood. In that case, was the butter in the Babaji story actually a metaphor for all the carnage that took place under the cover of the jungle? What seemed pure, white and creamy had its origins in vivid, bloody red--- was that not the essence of the whole case?

The whipped butter had already started melting across the waffles' latticed brown surface, creating a golden trickling waterfall that pooled in their hollows. Rika bit into the dough, savoring how juicy and moist it had become with all the butter it had absorbed, with a pleasant saltiness.

In winter, the cows stock up on nutrients, so their milk is sweet, with a creamy richness. Milk is originally part of cows' blood. For me, dairy products are both my life and my blood. It's these memories that I have to thank for my love of sweet things and buttery food, particularly butter-rich French cuisine.

So intensely was the spaghetti glistening that it looked as if it were alive. She transferred it into a bowl, then opened up the fridge and took out the packet of Calpis butter, the pollock roe in its polystyrene tray sealed with clingfilm, along with a pack of shiso leaves, an unusually dark green for the season.

The vinegar in the beurre blanc sauce brought the creamy smoothness of the sea urchin into even starker relief. As the warm sea urchin was crushed on the surface of her tongue, it was transformed into sea-flavoured cream that blended seamlessly with the similarly rich taste of the flan pastry, redolent with egg yolk.

This is actually the first time I've ever tried buttercream.' No doubt because it had been refrigerated until very recently, the cream retained a certain firmness. As it melted under the heat of her tongue, the sweet butter expanded lusciously, rousing all the cells across her body capable of apprehending its rich goodness. The dense sponge saturated with the rich, weighty aroma of milk made her think that she would never again be satisfied by fluffy shortcake with its sweet and sour tang.

The grilled foie gras brought out next was accompanied by dried persimmons sautéed in butter. The saltiness of the butter drew out the persimmons' clinging, pervasive flavor. So tenaciously umami-rich was their taste, it was almost impossible to believe this was fruit that had once grown on a tree. It seemed more like a sweet flaky meat-- no less so than the foie gras, in fact, which was so exquisitely tender that it broke apart on the tongue, oozing thick blood-scented liquid. Though she hadn't planned it so, the dish made a perfect match with the smoky notes of the red wine.

I'm no expert when it comes to confectionery, but I understand that unsalted butter is used as standard in baking. By contrast, the West buttercream uses salted butter. That salinity really brings out the overall sweetness of the cake, adding depth to its richness. The sponge has a satisfying density to it, declaring itself roughly on the tongue, scented like eggs and flour. The Christmas cakes I've eaten up until now have all been shortcakes, and it's always seemed to me that the delicate, fluffy whipped cream and the sweet sourness of the strawberries obliterate the aroma and the texture of the sponge.

Fish roe and butter makes for a truly exquisite pairing! By adding butter to pollock roe, with its clusters of firm little orbs just like miniature egg yolks, you take away any unpleasant fishiness from the roe, instead producing a sauce with an inexplicable fullness of taste that forms a perfect coating for the carbohydrates, setting off their plumpness and texture like a dream. Perhaps best of all is the pretty pink hue of the roe, like a gorgeous spring evening (you may know by now that pink is my favorite color!). The butter and rosy-colored roe combination coats each and every spaghetti strand, bringing out that delicious semolina scent and generating a flavor that feels like a wave of kindness rising up uncontrollably from inside your chest.

The cheerful array of fruits and vegetables, all so much larger and more vividly colored than those you could find in a regular supermarket, made Rika feel as if she were visiting a market in a far-flung land. She was drawn by the look of the kebabs and various kinds of bread, but it was the rice that called to her the most powerfully. The lamb pilaf, stuffed vine-leaves, and roast peppers filled with pilau particularly caught her attention. The smooth, boiled dumplings with their savory yoghurt sauce fired up her appetite. At each bite of the bean salad, she could feel resolve rising up from the pit of her stomach. The teeth-tingling sweetness of the small hard pies lit up a honey-colored light in a part of her brain she didn't usually use, so that it felt ready to melt.

It's different from both chicken and duck. It's flavorful and tender. Lots of umami.' 'The skin is crispy like Peking duck, but the flesh is so moist and creamy.' 'I've never eaten anything like this before! The stuffing in the middle is out of this world. Did you make it all from scratch? I'd love the recipe. Will you give it to me later?' Rika was the last to pick up her fork and tuck in to the meat. The first thing she experienced was simple relief that the pink flesh was sufficiently cooked. It had a unique fragrance to it, which made her think of walking along a path with fallen leaves crunching underfoot, and its clear juice filled her mouth. The stuffing of mochi rice, mince and pine nuts, now swollen with all the turkey juice and butter it had soaked up, had a sticky texture and a concentrated richness of flavor totally different to before it had been stuffed, which made Rika feel that she wanted to carry on eating it forever.

She took a knifeful of the butter clinging to the silver paper, so soft it offered virtually no resistance, and dropped it into the holes in the potatoes' skins. It was absorbed mercilessly fast by the granules inside, which soon took on a yellow hue. Rika sprinkled on a few drops of soy sauce, then pressed her hands together. 'Itadakimasu,' she said, and tucked in to the potatoes with a fork. The hot potatoes engorged with butter crumbled apart in her mouth and the steam rose up to the back of her throat. Inside her mouth, the mixture transformed into a smooth-textured cream, heavy and rich, which spread out hotly across her tongue. The Sado was relatively light in its taste, but had the same warmth and body as the other dairy products she'd sampled in Niigata. The soy sauce drew out the sweetness and texture of the potatoes, and the hand with which Rika held her fork moved incessantly. The next thing she knew, the two potatoes had disappeared, along with almost all of the butter. She lay down, a delicious sated feeling in her stomach. She had managed to soothe herself, and of that she felt proud.

The mochi gradually began to take on color and swell out. When their skin seared with brown grill marks started to split open, revealing glimpses of their sparkling white insides, Rika took them out of the toaster. She perched a generous wedge of butter on top of each, and prepared the sugared soy sauce in a small dish. Watching as the molten butter flowed gently over both the burnished surface and the soft white interior, her stomach rumbled. Though she knew it was bad manners to eat standing up, she stuffed one of the mochi in her mouth right there at the counter. The heady aroma that rose up through her nose, the crispiness of the skin as it broke open beneath her teeth, the silkiness of the gooey insides that spread themselves flat across every bit of flesh in her mouth and refused to let go... The hot butter fused the sugar and soy sauce together, clinging to the sweet, soft, shapeless mass in her mouth, swimming around its outside as though to ascertain its contours. The grease of the butter melded with the grit of the sugar and the pungent soy sauce. By the time she'd finished chewing, the roots of her teeth were trembling pleasurably.

At the end of The Story of Little Babaji they make pancakes out of the tigers that have transformed into butter, and eat them. I think they mix the tiger-butter into the batter. Or put it on top. Maybe they even melt it in the frying pan.' But Rika's words got lost amid the sound of the pancake mix being poured into the pan. She heard the noise of the pancake being flipped and sticking again to the pan. After a while, Makoto came over with a plate in his hand. The perfectly round, golden brown pancake was steaming, the maple syrup shining, and the knob of butter on top beginning to melt. She brought her hands together, and said, 'Itadakimasu.' With a fork, Rika broke off a small piece of the pancake, revealing its bright yellow insides. The way that the batter with its structure of fine air bubbles and countless little pillars supported the surface layer, burnished to a deep brown, was proof that it had been well mixed. The butter slid around sluggishly. Rika put a tiny sliver into her mouth. She instructed her teeth to bite, and with some effort, succeeded in moving her mouth, chewing the soft, warm pancake into which the salted butter and syrup had been absorbed.

She looked up to see a knob of canary-yellow butter being carried towards her in a glass-lidded container. 'All this butter just for me, when there's a national shortage...' Hearing Rika mumbling these words, the maitre d' smiled and lifted the lid of the dish. 'This butter had been flown in especially from overseas. Pleas help yourself to as much as you'd like.' Confronted with an overwhelming selection of different kinds of bread on the trolley, Rika chose the simplest option she could see--- a piece of baguette. Once again, she thought that she should have come with Reiko. Reiko would have told her which to choose. Rika spread a thick layer of butter on the bread. The butter, of a firmness that would break apart slowly on the tongue, went sinking into the crumb of the baguette. That alone was enough to make Rika glad she'd come. The next course to be served was a chilled dish of avocado and snow crab stacked delicately like layer cake, topped with a generous helping of caviar. The acidity of the pomegranate seeds that exploded juicily in her mouth accentuated the creamy richness of the avocado and the sweetness of the crab flesh. Their unabashed scarlet hue brought the color palette of the whole plate to life. Chased by the champagne, the taste of the crab and the caviar expanded like light suffusing her mouth.

The only garnish for the noodles was sesame and spring onions. The two perfect squares of butter on top were already beginning to lose their shape in the clear broth, their outlines blurring messily. Beneath them floated the crinkled noodles with their strong yellow hue. Dissolved in the soup, the butter formed golden circles on its surface. Rika deliberately passed the noodles through those circles on their way to her mouth. The taste of lye water was a little strong, but they weren't badly cooked, and retained their bite. She sipped the soup. Against the faint chicken base of the stock she could detect the flavor of bonito. The broth was hot but it slipped down easily, lubricating her painfully dry throat. Alone, the cheap butter had an overly milky tang, but in combination with the noodles and the soup, its flavor grew golden and staked its territory, with a kind of violence. A certain depth of flavor began to assert itself, and as the droplets plummeted to the centre of her body, its arc of influence expanded. The back of her nose grew hot, and she reached for the tissue box on the counter. Feeling the moisture flowing, she blew her nose loudly. A film of butter was forming across her insides. The hot broth and the hot noodles were more assertive, more forceful than Makoto's warmth and smell. As she raised them to her mouth alternately, Rika's body regained more and more of its heat and softness. She was already warmer than she had been back in the hotel room.

She melted the butter in the pan. She warmed the egg yolks by immersing them in a bowl of hot water and mixing them with vinegar, then pouring in the shining golden butter little by little. She moved the whisk ceaselessly, making the contents of the bowl whirl round and round. Having observed Chizu's troubles up close, and learned how to avoid them, she succeeded in producing the fine egg-colored foam relatively quickly. Her whole hand, from the wrist down, was dancing on a waltz. The tigers in the book, whose desires had kept them spinning round and round until they transformed into butter, had ended up in the stomachs of Little Babaji's family. Even after their deaths, Kajii's victims continued to be exposed to and consumed by the curious gaze of the general public. Rika had stopped believing that any blame lay with the victims themselves. Being sucked into the vortex of Kajii's ominous power, like she herself had been, was something that could happen to anybody. Thinking this, she went on single-mindedly whisking the butter. Through her adventures with the quatre-quarts on Valentine's Day, she'd learned that waiting on the far side of all of this seemingly endless whisking was not stasis or evaporation, but emulsification. If she couldn't tear her eyes away from Kajii, if she couldn't stop herself from spinning round and round, then maybe all that was left to do was to grip on to Kajii with all her might, so as to ensure she wasn't shaken off. 'Done!' Rika said to herself and lifted up the whisk. The sauce of warm, bright yellow that came dripping off the whisk was smooth as cashmere.

Just as the two of them finished their plump white asparagus spears in white sauce, they were served a selection of grilled vegetables. To think that onions could become so sweet and rich simply by grilling them! Rika had never been a fan of shishito peppers, but the ones on the plate in front of her were fragrant, with a gentle taste. Before she knew it, she'd devoured many more vegetables than she had the other night in that Japanese bistro, just a few dozen meters from here. She was fairly sure that the red meat being cooked on a section of the hotplate not far from where they were sitting was for them. Eventually, clear juice began oozing from its surface. Even the smell of the melting fat was appealing and mild--- not aggressive or meaty. She watched transfixed as the red turned to pale pink, as the white fat grew translucent. The meat was cut up and served to them in pieces. Rika imagined it would be steaming hot, but when she brought one of the chunks to her lips, she found it to be just the right temperature. The comfort it brought was that of a warm, affectionate tongue entering her mouth. When she bit into the aromatic seared surface of the meat, the juice from the moist, rare sections came seeping out, making the lining of her cheeks tremble. A blood-colored filament flickered across her vision. 'Apparently the garlic-butter rice here is truly out of this world. They use plenty of butter, as well as the leftover meat juices.' Rika was looking at the rice cooking on the hotplate as she spoke. Cloaked in their mantle of amber butter, the grains shimmied and danced before her eyes. There was a sizzle as the chef poured on some soy sauce, and then the short, spirited tango was over. Bowls of the glistening bronze rice appeared before them. Swathed in meat juice and butter, each and every grain shone potently. The rich, heady aroma of the soy sauce stoked Rika's appetite. The garlic singed to a deep brown unleashed a perilous bitterness and astringency across her palate. Slippery with fat, the rice slid across the plane of her tongue and down her throat. The meat she'd eaten before had been fantastically flavorsome, but this rice that had absorbed its juices was truly formidable in its taste. With each movement of her jaw, she felt a new lease of power surging up her body. The sense of fullness brought on a comfortable lethargy, and Rika felt she could happily drop off right at that moment.

The butter should still be cold. Remove it from the fridge just before. Superior-quality butter should be eaten when it's still cold and hard, to truly luxuriate in its texture and aroma. It will begin to melt almost immediately with the heat of the rice, but I want you to eat it before it melts fully. Cool butter and warm rice. First of all, savor the difference in their temperatures. Then, the two will melt alongside one another, mingle together, and form a golden fountain, right there inside your mouth. Even without seeing it, you just know that it's golden--- that's the way it tastes. You'll sense the individual grains of rice coated in butter and aromatic fragrance as if the rice were being fried will ascend to your nose. A rich, milky sweetness will spread itself across your tongue...

You should reach out to other people, you should rely on others, Rika had preached to the people around her. Helping and depending on one another is nothing to be ashamed of. But now it was her own turn to be in trouble, she found herself incapable of doing what she'd been advocating. Just the thought of being seen in this state by someone like Reiko or Shinoi, who knew everything she'd done and been trying to do all this time, made her grow hot all over, so that her skin hurt. How strong Reiko and Shinoi must have been, she realised now, for taking the hand she'd extended to them. Maybe it was in fact them who had been supporting her this entire time.

Mothers around the world didn't put in the work of coming up with and then cooking the day's menu because those foods were what they themselves wanted to eat, but because they were thinking of their family. From a certain moment on, Kajii had started making the food she wanted to eat when she wanted to eat it. She no longer heeded the physical condition or the palates of the men she was with. That was why her food had the wild deliciousness of something attained through black magic. She could enjoy the act of cooking because it didn't pain her in any way.

She's put on so much weight!"' Kajii exclaimed theatrically, her eyes wide. 'I was wondering what on earth it was you'd gone and done, and that was it! You'd put on weight. She said she was hopelessly worried about you. You'd left the world of reason behind. That sickened me to hear. Is the woman daft, or what? Being that upset about what happens to somebody else's body! How can someone be so conscious of what shape another person takes, of the extent to which they've liberated their desires? It's not normal to feel such anxiety about that. If you're paying more attention to the form other people are assuming than what's taking place inside yourself, it means something is seriously wrong with you.

Je vais vous faire un aveu. On a beau me voir comme une croqueuse d'hommes, je ne suis pas de ces femmes vulgaires qui ne pensent qu'à la chose. Disons plutôt que je hais les femmes, tout simplement.

Rika understood what Tokyo meant to a woman like her, who'd abandoned her hometown, and who had no fixed employment or friends. As someone born and brought up in the city, Rika was unable - for better or worse - to escape the sense of customs, family and history attached to it. For Kajii, though, Tokyo would always be a place to see and be seen, a great stage that was perfectly suited to special occasions, a foreign land where she could toss away her shame and tear around just as she wished.

If I stopped moving, then I wouldn’t be loved. And if I was the one moving, then I had no proof that I was loved. What did it mean to be loved, in any case? Was it to be needed? Why, then, when I was helping people in this way, did I feel this hollow and miserable?

Her loved ones’ issues were their own domains, as individuals, and not places that she could go stomping into. Quite possibly, the only thing she could do was to create a place of escape where the people close to her could come when they needed to.

Don’t you think that’s a disease of the contemporary age? It feels like these days our value is determined by how much effort we make on a daily basis. That matters even more than our results. After a while, the concept of effort starts to become mixed up with things feeling difficult, and then you reach the point where the person seen as the most admirable is the one suffering the most. I think that’s the reason people are so vicious towards Manako Kajii. She refuses to live that life, refuses to suffer.

Whenever she saw Reiko sad, she was taken by the sense that she had to do something to help, right this instant. It’s everything about this world that’s wrong, she wanted to shout at the top of her voice, you’re the one who’s in the right.

Bagna càuda with a plentiful variety of steamed winter vegetables and a rich anchovy sauce, thinly cut slices of warmed salt pork, a tofu and leek gratin, rice cooked in an earthenware pot with vegetables and chopped oysters, and miso soup--- the dishes had a vitality to them which came from using only the freshest ingredients, and though the seasoning was unobtrusive, all the flavors had pleasing depth. Weren't oysters supposed to be good for fertility? Rika thought as she brought to her lips a mouthful of rice enriched with soy sauce, whose smell put her in mind of the sea, shooting a glance over at her friend. She realized that she had more of an appetite than she could remember having in a long time, and that if this was largely owing to how delicious the food was, it was also in part to do with the way Ryōsuke ate, as if in a state of ecstasy.

Dessert was home-made candied chestnuts, chiffon cake baked with amazake and rice flour, and cups of gingery chai. Biting into the cake, Rika discovered that it was perfectly fluffy, with a pleasing springiness and bite to it.

The first thing Rika felt was a strange breeze emanating from the back of her throat. The cold butter first met the roof of her mouth with a chilly sensation, contrasting with the steaming rice in both texture and temperature. The cool butter clashed against her teeth, and she felt its soft texture right down into their roots. Soon enough, just as Kaiji had said, the melted butter began to surge through the individual grains of rice. It was a taste that could only be described as golden. A shining golden wave, with an astounding depth of flavor and a faint yet full and rounded aroma, wrapped itself around the rice and washed Rika's body far away. It was, indeed, a lot like falling. Rika stared down intently at the bowl of rice with butter and soy sauce and let out a long sigh, feeling her breath rich and milky.

The dusky-pink pollock roe she removed from its polystyrene packaging gleamed wetly and, for an instant, the image of Kaiji's puckered lips passed through her mind. Leaving its outer skin on, she broke up the roe with a fork and mixed it unfussily into the spaghetti. She sliced off a knob of the Calpis with a knife and perched it on top, then watched as the pale-yellow solid gently began to change color, spreading out to the sides and turning golden, mingling with the fish eggs. The full, milky aroma of the butter married with the salty marine tang of the roe as the scent of the dish went rising up to her face, and she breathed it deeply into her lungs. She garnished the pasta with a scattering of shiso leaves she'd torn up with her fingers, then moved the bowl of pasta over to her cardboard box. There was a rosy-cheeked frankness about the pink of the roe, and in combination with the oozing butter, it looked positively carefree. Rika tool up her fork and wound up the spaghetti, before lifting it to her mouth. Cloaked in a coating of minuscule fish eggs and butter, the spaghetti strands sprang around Rika's tongue as if in excitement. The dish was adequately salted, but there was a relaxed, mellow quality to its taste. What a wonderful combination pollock roe and butter made!

I don't want friends.' As she shook her head of glossy hair, a smile floated across Kajii's face. 'I don't need friends. I'm only interested in having worshippers.

The copper-colored dough had risen up over the top of the tin to create a mountain range whose central rift offered a peek of its golden insides. With a towel-wrapped hand, Shinoi pulled out the baking sheet. The sweetly flavored heat fanned at Rika's fringe. 'It's amazing that it's risen so well with just four ingredients. It's all thanks to your whipping.' So this was the kind of wall that Kajii had been talking about, Rika thought. They didn't have to be made of hard bricks and cold concrete. They could be made of sweet, soft dough--- and still offer protection.

They were brought over a mix of different kinds of rosy-seabass sashimi. The surface of its skin had been lightly scorched. On her first bite, Rika widened her eyes at the deep sweetness of the meaty flesh. Next to appear was her bowl of rice, its shining white grains forming a mound over the rim of the bowl. Rika picked up her chopsticks and tucked in. On the other side of the table, Reiko was biting into her onigiri wrapped in dense black nori. Both of their expressions took on an ecstatic cast. Each individual grain of rice was so intensely sweet. She could sense not only the flavor of the grains on her tongue, but their shape as well. When she chewed them, the inside of her mouth loosened, and when she made to greedily absorb them and taste them, she could feel the insides of her body whirring round as if all its cogs were moving. A soft heat rose up from her solar plexus. Cutting the taste with the pumpkin pickles, pale pink millet roe, and the umeboshi brought out with the rice, she worked her way through in small mouthfuls.

Kajii's memories of Niigata were cut off at the age of eighteen, when she moved to Tokyo. Going by the research Rika had done online, some of the places Kajii had suggested had since closed down. She had nonetheless made detailed plans to eat whatever local delicacies she could from the list: the praline cake eaten at festivities and gatherings; the raisin and buttercream swirl pastries; the Le Lectier yōkan; butter from Sado island; the Kenshin junmai ginjō sake that had been Kajii's father's favorite; the buttery waffles at the chain of restaurants owned by Kajii's local yoghurt factory; the place in the old town serving a rice bowl topped with a large cutlet; the set meal served on a tray in the restaurant that specialized in rice cooked in a traditional stove...

She took the butter from its box and opened up its foil wrapper. It was hard and cold. She didn't want to create more washing-up than necessary and she still hadn't located a chopping board, so she sliced it on top of the paper and placed it on the scale. There was a tiny fragment left over on the knife, which she raised to her mouth. The lack of salt meant it coasted across her tongue like a placid midwinter wave, leaving her with an impression of silkiness and concentrated fat.

Tucking into the bite-sized pie decorated with the orange carrot flower, her eyes widened at how delicious the braised new onions and carrots were, the cumin perfectly drawing out their sweetness. The main dish of lamb, cut from the bone as soon as it was placed on the table, was so glorious to behold that it made her heart race. Protected by its wall of sweet breadcrumbs, orange peel and fresh coriander, the meat had the robust smell of a grassy plain. The strawberry mousse served as dessert, brought out after the hard rich orange cheese that reminded her of dried mullet roe, was fluffy and soft, sweet yet tart. For the first time this year, Rika felt that the season when all the flowers would come into bloom was at arm's reach.

Your digestive system's just upset after all that heavy food. It's nothing to worry about. I made you some soup that's great for indigestion. Fingers crossed you'll like it.' Saying this, Reiko took out a thermos flask from her tote bag and poured a cupful of the cloudy white liquid into its lid. Rika made out the tingle of ginger on her taste buds, and her throat immediately grew hot. The soup of scallions, daikon and goji berries slipped down smoothly into her stomach. With almost no salt and only the sweetness of its ingredients, its taste was subtle, yet full and rounded nonetheless, and impossible to imagine tiring of. Her stomach made a noise like a small creature mewling, and the two women locked eyes and laughed.

She floated unsteadily over to the dairy section, and found her eyes immediately directed to the small packet with its crisp navy logo exerting enough power to eclipse all the other products around it. To think that a regular supermarket such as this one would stock Échiré butter! Checking the price, she saw it was less than a thousand yen. Not just that, either, but there was a whole assortment of different kinds of butter filling the display: cultured, aged, salted, unsalted... Until just a few months ago, it was difficult to find. Things changed at such speed. For a while, Rika stood still, bathing in the white light of the dairy section.

Soon after, Rika heard the sizzle of butter melting in a hot frying pan. It smelt to her like life itself. Maybe because it was animal fat, there was rough, raw depth and fragrance to its smell, which you didn't get with vegetable oil or margarine.

I’m going to take care of myself physically, and make sure I enjoy my life. That was what I got divorced for. It wasn’t to make things harder for myself, but to make them more enjoyable.

I learned from my late father that women should show generosity towards everyone. But there are two things that I simply cannot tolerate: feminism and margarine.

Why is it that with nobody to watch over them, men can’t stop themselves from falling into disrepair

A friend of mine who edits cookbooks for a living said that they've started having complaints about recipes that leave things to the individual's discretion. She things it's because people are increasingly worried about making mistakes, and losing faith in their own judgement - they dont know what a "good amount" looks like for them. When in fact, cooking is all about trial and error.

The reason the case had garnered so much attention was that this woman, who had led several men around by the nose and maintained such a queenly presence in the courtroom, was neither young nor beautiful. From what Rika could see from the photographs, she weighed over 70 kilos.

And yet Rika had realised a while back that, even if she were to lose a few kilos, she still wouldn’t pass. However beautiful she became, however well she did at work, even if she got married and had children, society didn’t let women off that easily.

何キロ痩せても、たぶん合格点は出ないのだろう、と里佳は、とうに気付いている。どんなに美しくなっても、仕事で地位を手に入れても、仮にこれから結婚をし子供を産み育てても、この社会は女性にそうたやすく、合格点を与えたりはしない。こうしている今も基準は上がり続け、評価はどんどん尖鋭化する。この不毛なジャッジメントから自由になるためには、どんなに怖くて不安でも、誰かから笑われるのではないかと何度も後ろを振り返ってしまっても、自分で自分を認めるしかないのだ。