Japanese cuisine is broadly categorized into two types: washoku (traditional Japanese food) and yoshoku (Western-influenced Japanese dishes). The latter, a fusion of Western techniques and Japanese sensibilities, has given rise to popular dishes like omurice, okonomiyaki, tonkatsu, and Japanese curry rice.
These dishes represent a blending of cultures, evolving into something uniquely Japanese. However, modified Chinese cuisine falls into a different category altogether—"Japanese-style Chinese food"—which is distinct from authentic Chinese cooking.
At first glance, Zane's omurice seemed simple.
A thin, golden egg wrap, shaped neatly like a spindle.
A thick, aromatic curry sauce, cascading over the surface.
And beneath it all, a perfect balance of rice, seasonings, and fillings.
Yet, with just a single bite, Sonoka could feel the depth of flavor and the unspoken warmth of Japanese home cooking.
She had wanted to visit Zane's tavern for some time.
But running Shunkatei—her family's one-star Japanese restaurant—kept her too busy.
She had poured everything into elevating it to a WGO two-star rating, hoping to solidify its prestige.
Just recently, she even invited Erina Nakiri to critique her signature Bouillabaisse, hoping her praise would boost Shunkatei's reputation.
Yet, despite Erina's approval, Executive Anne from WGO dismissed it as too plain, lacking innovation—and with that verdict, the dream of a two-star rating slipped away.
No matter how hard she worked, it wasn't enough.
In the Tavern
Despite its modest appearance, Zane's tavern had a unique allure.
His dishes weren't extravagant.
His ingredients weren't luxurious.
Yet each plate left an unforgettable impression on those who dined there.
Even someone as skilled as Sonoka couldn't resist its charm.
She placed down her chopsticks, her plate empty. The rich, comforting taste of omurice still lingered on her tongue, yet an unshakable sense of defeat filled her heart.
She exhaled and grabbed the shochu bottle, taking a long swig.
"Tell me, Zane…" she muttered. "For chefs like us—who dedicate our lives to cooking—this path is nothing but endless repetition. Day after day, we're stuck in the kitchen, perfecting our craft."
Her fingers tightened around the bottle.
"We work so hard, hoping to turn our restaurants into hallowed grounds for food lovers. We dream of diners from all over the world coming to taste what we create."
Her voice trembled.
"Then why—why is success in this industry so impossibly difficult?"
She laughed bitterly, eyes clouded with frustration.
"I've given everything to Shunkatei. And yet… after all my efforts, I still couldn't reach a two-star rating."
She took another deep drink, her expression distant.
Zane, wiping down his knife at the counter, silently watched her.
The Illusion of Standards
There was no denying WGO's authority in the culinary world.
It was, after all, a rigorous and respected institution—its star ratings carried real influence.
Yet, Zane couldn't help but find the system… flawed.
How could something as deeply personal as taste be measured by a universal standard?
Even within a single cuisine, opinions varied wildly.
In China, a simple dish like snail rice noodles could spark endless debate—some hailed it as divine, others found it unbearable.
If even a humble bowl of noodles could divide public opinion, then…
Could a handful of WGO executives truly define what makes food "great"?
Zane sighed, placing the knife down.
"Human joys and sorrows never align," he said, looking at Sonoka. "Taste is no different."
She blinked, momentarily thrown off by his words.
"So why," he continued, "are you so obsessed with the WGO's approval?"
Sonoka opened her mouth but hesitated.
"For chefs like us, isn't true success simply making every customer who walks through our doors happy?"
"…But achieving a star rating from WGO is the dream of so many chefs," she murmured.
Zane chuckled. "I'm not saying WGO is wrong. Their system exists for a reason—it provides a way to measure excellence."
His voice grew softer.
"But no matter how fair their standards seem, they're still just that—standards."
He met her gaze.
"Think about it. Imperial cuisine—exquisite, refined, served only to nobility. For the right audience, it's the peak of culinary artistry."
"But what about something simple, like tomato scrambled eggs?" He smiled. "It's a dish anyone can make, but for many, it's a taste of home. Something that brings comfort, joy, and warmth."
"Would serving tomato scrambled eggs at an imperial banquet make sense?"
Sonoka shook her head.
"Exactly. Even if Shunkatei earned three stars, would it truly change anything?"
She fell silent.
Zane leaned back. "Chasing WGO's recognition isn't wrong. But blindly conforming to their standards limits creativity. Cooking should be about passion—not just meeting someone else's criteria."
Sonoka stared at the empty plate before her.
Zane was right.
Had she been too focused on chasing recognition, instead of cooking for the pure joy of it?
She closed her eyes and let out a deep breath.
Maybe it was time to rethink what success really meant.