As a little boy, I always had a passion for exploring. While the Internet expanded my horizons for knowledge, culture and information, exploring on foot provided a more immursive way to expand my physical environment. I remember every weekend in the early 90s I would go exploring with what society would call my 'friends'; Davey & Brian. First we'd explore our street, then we'd go to the local park and explore the bushes behind it, our courage building everytime we laced up our dirty sneakers and ventured out into the neighbourhood and cover more land. Eventually we mustered up the bravery to explore into one of the lesser traveled areas of the suburb; a little gully known as Friday Stream. Rumour had it that a boy was drowned in the stream back during the Nixon Administration on Friday the 13th, but our jolly trio brushed off the thought as we waddled through the long grass into Friday Stream. A small twinkle caught Brians eye as the stream came into view, it was coming from behind a tree root, so we decided to take a look. It was a tag, attached to something buried by the tree. The three of us spent the next 2 hours trying to dig up a small cardboard box about the size of a toolbox. After smashing the rusting lock open, we opened the box and our lives changed forever.
The point I'm trying to make is that if you commit yourself to exploring, you might find yourselves your own little gems. In this case, that gem was Mentatz. While I was exploring along Lorne Street one day, I decided to try out this restaurant. I had always seen it, out of the corner of my eye, it was like a recurring dream; you never think much of it during the day, but when you rest your head at night, it's again familiar like the sweet scent of spring. The menu had a myriad of Japanese food, from donburi, to ramen, served in all sorts of different styles. I ordered the miso pork katsu donburi, and pulled a tired smile at the waiter as I handed him the menu.
I looked around at the restaurant as I waited, the restaurant was almost full, there were about 5 busy runners serving and waiting tables. There was an old man in a suit eating his ramen up by the kitchen counter, he could have been a teacher, or the experienced senior CEO of his company, but there was something off with the way he moved, as if every time he lifted his arms, it hurt him. There was a young couple, in conversation about grades and who was the best lecturer in their Medsci class. Around a table nearer to the street, a group of 3 businessmen with their jackets off, were just finishing their meals as they continued a convoluted conversation about the office, their words caught in a loop revolving around accounts management, their commute times and their mortgages.
When my food came out, the flavor was just something else. The pork was fried to crispy perfection, the breadcrumbs golden, fragrant and crunchy. This was the first time I had pork katsu since I was a young man eating it back at the local foodcourt after high school. The salad was fresh, neat and brightened up the dish like a new chandelier hanging from an old ceiling. The rice was steaming, glistened by the miso sauce, and I could almost smell the slight build up of moisture on each individual grain. This was a must have dish, a gem hidden among the various other choices on the menu.
This brought back memories of when Davey and I would eat Japanese food after high school some days; the youthful days almost like a dream as we found ourselves lost into adulthood. But I would never forget the day that we explored Friday Creek together with Brian. The three of us promised to keep what we found in the box a secret, a secret that has been kept up to this day. Davey and I bonded over this secret, our friendship lasting all the way up to when he suddenly left his wife and child behind and disappeared to Europe.
Brian on the other hand, didn't do so well. Ever since he'd been exposed to the contents of the box he changed, all throughout high school he was always the quiet kid that kept to himself. When we graduated, he never really kept in touch with us, or even added us on Facebook. I don't know exactly what he's doing with his life right now, I just hope that he found peace with himself after Friday Creek.
As for the contents of the box, we had divided it equally among the three of us, and it's safe to say that I would not have been here today had it not been for that discovery. When I tell this story to others, some people believe the box contained large amounts of cash, or small firearms, or even drugs. All I can say is that I've kept in hidden a hole in the wall in my childhood home after returning from the creek that day, where it will probably remain forever, as my room there has been empty for over 20 years.
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