When it comes to food, I have, in the words of my mother, a scary, almost encyclopedic knowledge of random facts as well as a photographic memory so sharp it seems like I can literally transport myself back in time to the place I had a particular meal. So, when some friends of mine asked me if I had seen the show Midnight Diner, they were surprised when I replied, “What’s that?”
For those of you who haven’t seen it, Midnight Diner is a Japanese show on Netflix about a small izakaya in Shinjuku that’s open from midnight to seven in the morning. The chef, known as “Master” has only one dish on his menu, pork tonjiru, but as long as he has the ingredients, he’ll make whatever you want. The diner has a host of regulars, but each episode is focused on one character, and how his or her story relates to a particular dish.
I binge watched a lot of the episodes initially just to see the food. But fast forward a couple years and Midnight Diner has become that warm place in the pandemic for my family. As a food person, yes, I really like the focus on a particular dish for each episode. But as this year has worn on, what I have loved more is the idea of a place where everyone belongs.
While the people who frequent this diner aren’t necessarily in the mainstream, Master welcomes
everyone, including the yakuza boss who loves to eat red hot dogs cut into octopuses, the girl with the abusive boyfriend who sleeps while waiting for her karaage chicken, the Ochazuke sisters who gossip and judge others over their bowls or rice, all while still hoping to find Mr. Right. It doesn’t matter what each character’s lot in life is or the choices that they’ve made, Master seems to feel a kind of compassion for everyone.
I was thinking as we were watching it this time, wouldn’t it be nice to know a place like Midnight Diner? Where everyone was welcome? Where there was warmth and acceptance waiting for you? At first, I thought to myself, maybe it’s a sign that I need to open a diner! But I think it’s actually this desire to create this space in myself. I think we all need a Midnight Diner, a place where we feel like we belong, where we’re accepted for exactly who we are in this moment. I know after this year, I do.
But maybe the trick is to treat ourselves with the same compassion and warmth that Master offers to all his customers. Then, we don’t have to wait for a Midnight Diner to open. Instead, it’ll always be right there inside of us. In the meantime, I hope my new blog can bring some of that warmth and feelings of home to anyone who reads it.