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About Fukuoka

I’m strollin, boots clickin, thinkin—where’s the talent at? Then bam—this bird struts up, all sass, skirt shorter than a dwarf’s temper. “You lost, luv?” she goes, smirkin like she knows I’m a sucker for trouble. “Ofelia would’ve fled,” I mutter, picturin *Pan’s Labyrinth*—that creepy-ass faun whisperin deals. But me? I’m in, mate—glorious purpose an’ all. She’s quotin prices like it’s a bloody auction—50 quid for this, 80 for that. I’m like, “Lass, I’m a god, not a bank!” Made me ragey, but also—damn, she’s bold, gotta respect the hustle.

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As we’re walking, I see this little kid with a kite. He’s running around, and I’m just thinking, “Man, I miss being a kid.” No worries, just kites and ice cream. But then, the kite gets stuck in a tree. The kid’s crying, and I’m like, “Oh no, not the kite!”

Mito Makes Reiwa Versions of Edo Lord’s Recipes; Local, Modern Spin Given to Edo-Period Dishes