Cool old-school restaurant vibe. I got the Sara udon which was delicious and came as a huge serving with a pile of vegetables, seafood and meat. Owner was really nice and friendly. Highly suggest.

スタミナ定食 at a neighborhood Chinese restaurant A Chinese restaurant that has been behind 西友 in 三茶 for years. It has been renovated and is now very clean, but its noren curtain still exudes the feel of a long-established place. After agonizing over the choices, I deliberately went for the スタミナ定食. It’s described as a mildly spicy meat and vegetable stir-fry, but the meat only turns up if you search for it, and it’s mostly bean sprouts. Still, the portion is substantial, so I was full. The accompanying Chinese soup was also like old-fashioned ramen broth. Next time, I’m torn between noodles and something mapo-style. Thank you for the meal!

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▶︎『太華』 The location is a 3-minute walk from the north exit of 三軒茶屋. The restaurant is one street off 茶沢通り. The exterior has the quintessential neighborhood Chinese restaurant feel, marked by a red noren curtain. Inside, there is one table near the entrance, with counter seating making up the rest. The interior was simple but clean and fairly bright◎ Incidentally, although the air conditioning was working, cooking heat built up inside, and it felt quite hot even in early October, so that’s something to keep in mind. The menu is fairly extensive, from noodles to rice dishes and individual plates, but each price seemed a little high for a neighborhood Chinese restaurant. Payment is cash only. Incidentally, the owner was the only staff member, running everything himself. What I had today⬇️ ⬛︎半チャーハン 700円 This time I ordered the half size. The ingredients were simple: onion, diced roast pork, and egg. The rice grains were nicely separated, and the seasoning wasn’t too strong, just right and delicious. ⬛︎焼き餃子650円 Simple pan-fried gyoza. Perhaps the filling wasn’t seasoned much beforehand, as the flavor was a little light. There wasn’t much filling either. The seasoning wasn’t quite to my personal taste. With a medium bottle of beer (650円), these came to exactly 2,000円. The fried rice was delicious this time, but next time I’d like to try a different combination◎ Thank you for the meal.

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I moved into the neighborhood fairly recently. My first meal out! The 皿うどん was delicious〜😋 Apparently they fry the noodles right there too. They were crispy💖(I’m the type to flip them over after taking a photo to enjoy the crunch) Thank you for the meal✨️

【In Search of Life’s Final Meal】Regretting scorching 酢豚 at a Chinese restaurant with ineffective air conditioning. Whenever a flash of sunlight broke through the thick clouds veiling the sky and poured onto the street, the heat rose to a near-mad intensity. The humid air crept down my neck like steam, drawing sweat even across my back. Though I had no business there, I repeatedly passed through supermarket automatic doors, immersed myself in the cool air of convenience stores, and clung to the air conditioning of shops; it was the only way I could endure this abnormal heat. On Sunday afternoon, the streets of 三軒茶屋 disgorged vast numbers of people, their steps somehow sluggish. From the mouths of those passing came the same words, “It’s hot,” spilling out like an incantation, until the entire town seemed to resonate as a single groan. Yet at the same time, people stood silently in lines outside popular restaurants. Their endurance of the fierce heat seemed to have reached the realm of faith, vividly revealing a national temperament that regards patient suffering as a virtue. I too might have joined a line, knowing it was reckless, had I been driven by a surge of appetite. But that day’s blazing sun kept me apart from such blind desire. After noon, hunger mercilessly tormented my stomach. Yet under the conditions of a Sunday lunchtime, no enticing restaurant exerted enough pull to halt my steps. I walked on in resignation, until suddenly the lettering on an aged noren curtain caught my eye. It read “中華そば,” with “Traditional flavor from days gone by” written modestly beside it in vertical script. I could not see inside, but with the sole desire to escape the heat and crowds, I pushed open the door. But what awaited me was the same scorching heat as outside. The counter stretching into the back was full, and the heat enveloped my entire body without mercy. An elderly woman who appeared to be the proprietress called out, “The table at the front is fine.” Though I hesitated for a moment, I followed her direction and sat down. Looking around, I saw 2 air conditioners mounted on the wall and a large air circulator roaring. But they were merely for show, utterly powerless to ease this hellish heat. As I picked up the glass of water on the table, I found myself blurting out “酢豚定食,” as though offering something in exchange. Why I chose 酢豚 in this extreme heat was an act of folly I could not understand myself. A regular customer’s voice reached me from the seats at the back. “Isn’t it hot unless it’s set to cooling?” The owner’s reply was drowned out by the sound of cooking as he tossed his wok. Whether it was broken or deliberately left off, I had no way of knowing. Soon, with the proprietress’s “Sorry to keep you waiting,” the components of the set meal were placed before me one by one. A bowl of white rice, a small plate of pickles, clear soup, and 酢豚 heaped on a large plate. The glossy ingredients wrapped in gleaming sauce were visually appetizing, but that sheen seemed instead to amplify the heat and torment me further. As I spooned it into my mouth, the balance of sweet and sour was indeed exquisite. The acidity was not excessive, the sweetness did not fall short; as a dish, it was highly accomplished. But the dripping sweat obstructed my concentration on its taste, robbing me of the room to appreciate its subtleties. People often say, “Hot weather calls for hot food,” but here the brutal heat outside and the scorching heat inside competed, turning the meal into something like an ascetic monk’s ordeal. With every mouthful, I was seized again and again by regret. Then I heard the drunken voices of men from the adjoining counter seats. Judging by their slurred speech, they had probably been drinking since daytime. Their conversation concerned the struggle with computers they were encountering for the first time in their 50s. How to attach a file to an email, how they had wrestled with Word and Excel—complaints of that sort. When one finally concluded, “Writing by hand is faster and more reliable, right?” I could not suppress a wry smile. The notion of the right person in the right place is like being unable to entrust the kitchen to me, an inept cook, or unable to let someone without a license take the wheel of a car. Yet the sight of them preparing documents believing handwriting to be superior left no word but ridiculous. Still wiping away sweat, I continued eating the 酢豚. Finishing it was itself a kind of trial, accompanied by an exhaustion resembling a sense of achievement. When I finally emptied the plate, I immediately paid and hurried out of the restaurant. The blazing heat outside remained fierce, and crowds filled the station frontage. Yet after experiencing the scorching heat inside, even this abnormal heat felt cool. Relieved by the contrast, I strode along the narrow sidewalk. The remnants of 酢豚 settled heavily in my stomach, and the sweat running down my back stuck my shirt to my skin. Even so, simply being released from that scorching prison seemed to me a momentary salvation.……

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