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When Oki walked into KATSU/SHANITZU for the first time, he was originally struck at the cleanliness of the restaurant’s decor. Usually when he walked into a local katsu shop, the overwhelming thick aroma of hot oil and fried meats permeated the atmosphere, and most of the upholstery almost felt as though it absorbed the grease over time. But this particular restaurant was clean and spotless to a degree which Oki wanted to call shiny. He could also breathe the air in without feeling like he needed a mask to filter out grease particles.
Oki approached the podium where he was greeted by a man just slightly taller than him with short brown hair, a black short-sleeved button-down shirt, and a smile that instantly put him at ease.
“Welcome!” the brown-haired host said. “Just one person in your party today?”
Oki gulped. “Ah, no. I’m actually here for an interview?” It wasn’t his first time getting a job, but applying and interviewing at a new place was always an anxious experience for him. “I’m supposed to meet with a guy named Abe?”
“Oh, alright then! Let’s seat you over…” the host said, beckoning Oki to follow him to a long community-style dining table with several stools pushed in. “...Here, and I’ll fetch Abe-san. Can I get you something to drink while you wait?”
Oki shook his head. “No thank you, but I appreciate it.”
“Are you sure? All our juices and syrups are squeezed and made in-house.”
“I’m fine, really,” Oki said with a gentle smile. He was nervous, and with his luck he’d probably end up knocking over a glass and causing a scene during his interview anyway.
The host nodded. “Alright. Well, my name is Yuuto and I’m the front of house manager, so if you need anything just let me know!” And with that, the man named Yuuto walked toward the kitchen, where he then disappeared behind a set of double doors.
Just my luck, Oki thought. Of course he had to turn down something one of the managers offered. So far, the interview didn’t seem off to a great start, and he hadn’t even met this Abe-san yet.
He looked around the establishment once again, taking in the sharp and neat interior design. He admired the polished birch wooden tables and chairs complimented by white metal supports, and how the various shades of blue on seat cushions and decorative plants throughout the restaurant added a cozy feel. Various partitions made of sleek pale granite tied the whole aesthetic together, and Oki couldn’t help but wonder how much revenue this restaurant pulled if it could afford such high-quality decor and upkeep.
After a few minutes, Oki stood as he was approached by a tall, broad man with dark messy hair and a frown that was intimidating yet somehow simultaneously charming. He was wearing jeans and a black T-shirt that hugged his muscular frame insultingly well, and a surprisingly cheap-looking pair of white sneakers.
“Abe Takaya,” the man said, extending his hand, which Oki shook. They both gave a courtesy bow before they each took a seat opposite the other. “Oki Kazutoshi, correct?”
It was hard not to jump at Abe’s voice, but Oki hoped he didn’t telegraph it. “Ah, yes. It’s very nice to meet you, and thank you for having me.”
Abe grunted in acknowledgement. “Let’s get down to business,” he said flatly.
Damn, no beating around the bush with this guy, Oki thought. They went through the standard interview questionnaire; Can you elaborate on the last position you held at your old job? Why are you a good fit to work here? What is your availability? Do you have any questions for me?
“After looking over your resume and meeting you, I already know if you can handle it here,” Abe assessed. Oki was fully prepared to be dismissed, possibly banished, from the building, but Abe’s next words surprised him. “What day are you able to start?”
Three days later was Oki’s first day at KATSU/SHANITZU. After the interview, Abe took Oki on a brief tour of the restaurant - mainly the kitchen - and he met the few staff members present. He already acquainted himself with Yuuto, but he also got to meet Chiyo, a server who was cute as a button; Fumiki, another server who somehow seemed dumb and smart at the same time; Yuu, a spunky server who seemed just dumb all the time, but was immediately his favorite person he’d met; Kousuke, the nonchalant cook who worked the teppanyaki and hibachi stations; Shoji, the intricately focused cook specializing in pastries and garde manger; and Ren, nervous-looking head chef who apparently had studied in Austria and Germany.
“Don’t mind the dish pit,” Abe said as they walked past the dishwasher’s area, which had been backed up with an insultingly large amount of various dirty hotel pans, cambros, mixing bowls, and utensils. “Our bubble dancer comes in much later than everyone and clears this shit out in no time. Absolute legend.”
Oki wasn’t entirely convinced that could be possible. Having been a cook for close to a decade, he’d had his fair share of time helping out dishwashers. It seemed strange, but there was actually a special technique to washing dishes at a high level. It was almost an art, and if a dishwasher knew his or her stuff, watching them was like poetry in motion.
Those types of dishies mostly existed in theory, though.
Oki walked in through the back entrance of KATSU/SHANITZU and found himself an available locker to put his belongings. After changing into his uniform - khaki pants, a black chef shirt, and non-slip shoes (Abe was fairly lenient on dress code, a much appreciated deviation from common industry practice) - he walked to the kitchen to clock in with his timecard, passing the abyssal-looking dish pit along the way. Per Abe’s peculiar requirements for all employees, he then pushed his way out of the kitchen and headed to the bar, where he’d need to check in with the bartender on duty to receive his daily hydration supplement. It only consisted of a tall glass of water with some sort of powder mixed in, but it was nice to feel as though his boss was looking out for the well-being of his staff.
He came up to the counter, where Yuu was unabashedly trying to charm the bald barkeep who looked largely unamused.
“...So, after we get off work do you wanna come over to my place and do perverted things to each other?” Yuu said with a grin. Oki froze as the man behind the counter glared back at the freckled waiter, but the pink forming in his cheeks was apparent.
“No. I don’t,” the bartender said, reaching for a glass and starting to polish it with a microfibre towel. “And you need to stop saying things like that in the workplace.” He glanced over Yuu’s shoulder and made eye contact with Oki. “Oh, you’re the new guy, right? Here for your start-of-shift drink?”
Oki just nodded, still trying to process the bizarre - and rather embarrassing - scene he walked in on. “Yes, please. I’m Oki-”
“This is Kazu!” Yuu interrupted, taking the beverage out of the bartender’s hand and passing it to him. “And this,” Yuu nodded toward the bald man, “is Azusa!”
“ Hanai, you little shit.” Hanai corrected. The words were harsh, but there was an obvious affectionate humor behind them. “Nice to meet you, Kazu. If you ever need anything from me, I’ll do what I can. But I gotta watch you chug that glass so I can mark you off.”
Oki nodded in thanks and drank the slightly opaque liquid. The flavor was…odd. He’d expected the boss to invest in some weird medicinal formula that tasted like dirt, but to his surprise, it almost tasted like a fruit popsicle. Draining the rest of his glass, he handed it back to Hanai with a ‘thanks’, who ticked a checkbox on a clipboard. As he left the bar back toward the kitchen he faintly heard Yuu resume his ineffective flirting.
Walking back to the kitchen line, he approached his station - fry, as it was called - and took inventory of what he would need going into his first day. The oil in the deep fryers was mostly cleaned and filtered, which was one less headache to worry about, and the stainless steel surfaces on his station were cleaned and sanitized. He then opened up the various refrigeration units, which according to Shoji, were called ‘low-boys’ in western countries. All the items were stocked up nicely, so Oki didn’t have to immediately worry about having to retrieve anything in a panic.
It was a Wednesday, so dinner service wouldn’t be as busy, giving Ren, Shoji, and Kousuke all opportunities to swing over to his station and help him learn the ropes. Obviously, Oki had plenty of kitchen and cooking experience, but learning a lot of builds for the menu items was overwhelming if he wasn’t given a chance to ease his way into the new environment. Regardless, his new co-cooks and chef were very helpful in showing him how to bread the different katsus and cutlets, how to separate the various types of panko for the different meats, and how to make the right consistency of tempura batter for the few appetizers they had.
Before he knew it, Oki had completed most of his first dinner service without a hitch. He enjoyed his time watching the pale, cold, breaded meats take on a beautiful golden color, and how he felt the skin on the back of his neck tingle whenever his knife would satisfyingly crunch through a finished menchi-katsu right before plating. Typically when he started a job at a new restaurant, Oki felt this lingering sense of dread throughout his employment; maybe it was poor management, maybe it was imaginative menu planning, or maybe he just had bad luck and worked in miserable places. Regardless of the reason, it always made him wish he chose another line of work altogether, but he enjoyed cooking too much.
But at KATSU/SHANITZU, something just felt different. He already felt supported, welcomed, and accommodated, and he hadn’t even worked more than eight hours yet. Kousuke and Shoji were nice enough to help him close down his station on the condition that he helped with the dishes. As he began restocking the ingredients on his station and clearing everything down, it occurred to him that throughout the dinner service, he not once felt cluttered by used pans and utensils on his station. Had someone been taking his dishes while he was too focused on cooking? He gathered up the few things he could take to the pit, wondering how it was possible this place could run so smoothly.
He rounded the corner into the dish pit, where the steam was thick and smelled of diluted detergent. To Oki’s shock, the whole area was nearly free of dirties and on the far end of the three-compartment sink sat tubs of dried pans, plates, utensils, and other kitchen and bar necessities. Oki set down what he had in the window, and got a good look at this master of his craft.
Spraying down a large sheet tray with a pressurized hose was a taller, skinnier man with dark hair and a slightly angular face. His apron was wet, but somehow clean, and he didn’t look one bit bothered by anything in the world at that moment. He also had wireless buds in his ears, which was slightly less common than having a Bluetooth speaker blasting death-metal, but still a familiar sight. Oddly enough, he was wearing a slim-fitted Sailor Moon T-shirt that humorously accentuated his lean build. It actually looked good on him, Oki thought.
The man must have sensed Oki’s presence, because he stopped spraying the sheet tray and looked up, making brief eye contact with him. He smiled and nodded his head in acknowledgement. Oki all of a sudden felt a bit self-conscious for reasons he didn’t quite understand, but he pushed that doubt aside and spoke.
“Hey, I’m Kazutoshi, I just started here. Nice to meet you!” he said with more confidence than he felt.
The man put the tray on a plastic square rack and shoved it into the dish machine. He then took out one earbud and raised his eyebrows. “I’m sorry, I was listening to a lecture. What was that?”
Oki chuckled awkwardly but repeated himself.
“Oh! Nice to meet you, too. I’m Shintarou.” He bowed politely. “You like it here so far?”
Oki nodded. “So far it’s better than the other kitchens I’ve been in. Cleaner, too.”
Shintarou smiled. “Yeah, right? I’ve been in a few places so nasty I just had to leave without saying anything.”
“Instant Transmission outta there, right?” Oki joked.
“You like Dragon Ball?”
“I like most anime and manga.”
“Me too!”
Oki snickered. “I can kind of tell,” he said, pointing to Shintarou’s shirt. “I’ve never watched an episode of Sailor Moon in my life, though.”
Shintarou gasped dramatically. “I’m gonna have to ask you to leave my vicinity at once!”
Oki laughed. “I don’t think that’s possible. I’m supposed to be back here helping you,” he pointed out.
Shintarou blinked. “Really? Great!” He beckoned for Oki to join him in the pit. “Would you mind catching for a bit? And I only have a few minutes left of this lecture, so I’m gonna go back to listening for the next few minutes.”
Nodding, Oki stood at the end of the dish machine opposite where Shintarou had pushed the sheet tray through, and thus began Oki’s time grabbing hot and steamy hotel pans, trays, plates, bowls, and everything else that could fit through an industrial sized dishwasher. Having two people work on the same task saved a lot of time and it made closing down a breeze, which both front of house and back of house appreciated. It felt good to be contributing so much on his first day.
When they finished, Shintarou put his earbuds in a wireless charging case. “Thanks for the help,” he said. “It can take a while when all the servers wait ‘til the very end to bring their dirty plates from the dining room, but I might get out of here on time tonight.” He got a small red bucket and filled it with soapy water and a scrub pad.
“What lecture were you listening to? Are you in school?” Oki asked curiously, also grabbing a towel to start wiping down the cleaner surfaces.
“Yeah,” Shintarou replied. “I’m actually in my first year of getting my doctorate in cardiovascular medicine.”
“Eh?!”
Shintarou laughed. “Yeah, right? I work here to help pay my way through school.”
Oki was still flummoxed. “Isn’t med school stupid expensive though?” He applied to work at KATSU/SHANITZU because the pay was marginally better than industry standard, but even so, working for wage at a restaurant couldn’t possibly be enough to support the normal cost of living in the Tokyo area as well as pay for medical school.
Shintarou stopped cleaning for a moment and looked down with a bashful smile, then fixed his gaze back on Oki. “I, um, actually get paid almost the same as Chef Ren.”
Oki’s jaw dropped. What kind of place was this??? “You’re kidding.”
Shintarou shook his head vigorously. “Nope. Dead serious, but please don’t tell anyone.”
“I mean, I won’t, but I’m just confused.”
Shintarou resumed his scrubbing. “Let’s just say that Abe-san is a much better person than people around here make him out to be,” he said. “Chef Ren also isn’t as scatterbrained as he lets on, either.”
“Go on,” Oki replied, intrigued.
“Well, I originally made less money here before I got accepted to medical school. When I told Abe-san and Chef I’d need to find other employment opportunities to support myself financially, Abe-san nearly lost his shit. I thought he was mad at me for wanting to take care of myself,” Shintarou explained.
Noticing he was the only one not cleaning at the moment, Oki also resumed wiping down the sinks and dish machine. “So what happened?”
“Turns out,” the dishwasher continued, “Abe-san was mad at himself for not being able to take care of his employees. Within a week, we all got a raise, and he told me he wanted me to focus on succeeding in medical school and that it wasn’t possible if I was homeless and starving.” He chuckled slightly. “That last bit was a little exaggerated on his part, but now I don’t think there’s anything any of us here wouldn’t do for the boss.”
This was shocking to Oki. “But how does he manage the finances then? Shouldn’t this place be out of business by now?”
“Fumiki and Kousuke allegedly claim that they got Chef Ren to show them the yearly and monthly budgets. Apparently, and I wouldn’t be surprised if this was true, Abe-san and Chef both took hefty salary cuts so we could have more.” Shintarou filled another bucket with water and dumped it on the stainless steel surfaces surrounding the dish machine. “Guess it doesn’t matter too much for them since they live together, and whatnot.”
“Eh?!?”
Shintarou laughed. “As the dishie, you hear all the gossip that goes around the restaurant. There aren’t any secrets back here, that’s for sure.”
“Like what?”
Shintarou scoffed amusedly. “How much time do you have?” He splashed another bucket of water. “I’d love to catch you up on the lore of this place. It’d give One Piece a run for its money.”
It was Oki’s turn to laugh. “I’d love to hear it. Do you want to hang out sometime and give me the whole rundown?” The words came out of his mouth before he could stop them, and for the second time that night, he felt weirdly self-conscious around this otaku sudsbuster. He never initiated social outings, but there was something about Shintarou that made him feel simultaneously at ease and a little bit anxious.
Shintarou looked just as surprised, but smiled warmly. “Sure! I have a few random classes on the weekends, but I’ll let you know when I’m free. Can I have your number?”
They exchanged contact info, which was a foreign experience for Oki; the last time he got anyone’s phone number - for social purposes, not work-related - was a little under a decade ago in high school when he still played baseball.
“Cool, now you can swing by my place and I can make you watch Sailor Moon,” Shintarou said with a mischievous grin.
“Pfft, as if,” Oki replied.
“Oh, it’ll happen, just you wait.”
“Just let me know when you’re free,” Oki said, finishing up wiping down the surfaces. “I’m not doing much this weekend anyways, outside of work.” He made his way out of the dishpit and went to clock out.
“It’s a date!” Shintarou called back.
Oki felt heat rising in his cheeks, but couldn’t help himself from grinning like an idiot.
It’s a date.