Ramen

A moment later, K's nightfood was served.

And... K was not satisfied - not only satisfied; he felt he was in heaven. The noodle, the broth, the spring onion, the bamboo shoot, the thin slice of pork, the egg - the heat, the grease, the texture, the saltiness, the fragrance - every ingredient in the bowl and every stimuli that ends up in his parietal cortex was - just right. There was no criteria for a perfect ramen in K's mind before he pushed open that little wooden door. The chef showed him the way and made a live demonstration of perfection.

The only thing that K would have to complain was, for the rest of his life, he would never enjoy any other ramen.

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K could not remember how long he stayed in heaven before he finished with the noodle and returned to reality. Probably no more than 15 minutes - but, against the theory of Einstein, it appeared an eternity. When he looked around, the other customers had gone. The chef was quietly wrapping things up - trying not to disturb his last guest of the day.

K sipped some cold water to clear his taste bud and said, "I must take my hat off, sir. Your ramen is amazing!"

"Oh, that's my honor." The chef blushed a little and bowed.

"Em... but, please do not be offended - may I ask a question? Why couldn't I find your name in the Tire-Man's Guide?"