Rap rap rap... I can hear my mother cutting a Japanese radish. Sizzle sizzle sizzle... I can hear my mother cooking eggs. "It's ready! Ryoko!" I can hear my mother calling me. These were signs of the beginning of the day. I could not start the day without them. Looking back on it, a Japanese breakfast enabled me to spend my day full of vigor, though I now realize I took it for granted. The breakfast which I lived on was traditional, and many Japanese people, especially middle aged people and up, loved it, although many people, especially the young generation, have changed their breakfast from Japanese style to American because American style is much easier to prepare. I usually ate seven items, which were rice, miso soup, fish, eggs, seaweed, salad and green tea. I usually mixed rice with my eggs, fried sunny-side up, or with my miso soup, though this eating style was rude. I really miss the softness and pleasure on my tongue when I ate the mixture of rice and eggs. I felt as if it were melting on my tongue; At the same time, I enjoyed the savory smell of the soy sauce poured over it, and the sweet sea-smell of seaweed, which I ate by wrapping it around the rice and eggs. I also miss the horse mackerel, cut open and dried. It has plenty of fat and is essential for a traditional Japanese breakfast. And with all of this luscious food, I drank hot, bitter, green tea, whose color is fresh and verdant. While I was eating my Japanese breakfast, I was a resident in heaven. In its place, now I live on an American breakfast. It is like a lump of fat. Nowadays, I feel that fatness is striding around me like an unwelcome immigrant. Every time a greasy American breakfast sits heavy on my stomach, I long for my mother's light, Japanese breakfast. In America, I reconfirmed the importance to me of a good quality Japanese breakfast. I long for the rap, rap, rap, the sound that not only means my mother is fixing the Japanese breakfast that I love, but also that I come from a happy home.

 

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