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| Omurice |
I cannot eat eat omurice anymore.
It’s because of a strange experience I had.
I used to work part-time at an omurice specialty restaurant on the 7th floor of a department store.
My regular shifts were Tuesday and Thursday evenings, and all day Saturday. Occasionally, I worked Sundays and holidays too.
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| Omurice Speciality Restaurant (Pomme no Ki) |
We also served doria, sandwiches, and a good selection of desserts, but most of our menu centered around omurice. Customers could choose from sauces like tomato, cream, meat, or curry.
It was here that we had the elderly male customer who would always come around 6 p.m. every Thursday.
He had neat white hair, was well-groomed, and had a pleasant demeanor.
He always sat in the same corner seat near the potted plants.
There was just one odd thing — he’d always order two full-sized omurice dishes, each a different type.
We offered half-size options and even a set that let you try two varieties, so I once recommended that.
But every time, he insisted on ordering two regular-sized omurice and, by the time he left, both plates were always completely clean.
“A tiny old man like him really eats two full portions?” Even the kitchen staff were talking about him.
We figured he must live alone and maybe packed up one to take home for the next day.
Someone even suggested, “Maybe we should start offering takeout.”
Then came another Thursday. The old man came in shortly after 6 p.m., as always.
I was the one who took his order that day.
If I remember right, he ordered cream sauce with seafood, and tomato sauce with bacon and eggplant. A full portion of each, just like always.
Curious whether he’d take one home, I kept sneaking glances at him.
He ate carefully, alternating bites between the two.
Both dishes were about half-eaten when I thought, “Maybe he’s really going to finish both today…”
But just then, I saw something I couldn’t believe.
The well-mannered old man suddenly grabbed the omurice on the left with his bare hand and stuffed it into his tote bag.
“What?!” I couldn’t help blurting out.
The plant partially blocked the view, but I definitely saw it.
His hand was dripping with cream sauce but he casually wiped it with a paper napkin, then drank his water as if nothing had happened.
The store got busy and I had to focus on my work, but I couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d seen.
As I went around refilling water glasses, I made my way to his table again.
Both plates were now empty.
“Did he put the other one in his bag too?” I thought, leaning in slightly to peek into his tote bag — and then our eyes met.
I was shocked to see the transformation happen before my eyes.
Gone was the gentle old man I had known.
He was looking at me with eyes that were disturbingly cold and hostile.
The moment lasted only a second or two, but I was frozen, unable to move.
When I finally came to my senses, I panicked and hurried back to the kitchen, skipping the rest of the tables.
I couldn’t bring myself to look at him again.
Eventually, I noticed he had paid and left.
I was too shaken to explain to anyone what I’d seen, so I stayed quiet and just finished my shift.
Our restaurant closed at 10 p.m., like most eateries around.
But since we didn’t serve alcohol, things would slow down around 8:30.
By 9:00, only one closing staff remained.
On Thursdays, I was the closing staff.
After cleaning up, I went into the small staff room to change.
I opened my tall locker with the usual key — and immediately, a foul smell hit me.
I looked down… and staggered back.
Sitting on the wire rack for shoe storage was a squashed omurice.
I bent down and stared at it.
The runny egg and shrimp had dripped into my shoes.
The locker had been locked — this made no sense.
But I didn’t feel angry or like crying — I just felt uneasy and shaken.
I cleaned it up with tissues and left immediately.
Then came the next Thursday.
I was nervous all the way until 6 p.m., but the old man didn’t show up.
The kitchen and other staff wondered if he was unwell. I was just relieved.
After closing, I went to change again and cautiously opened my locker…
That same putrid smell hit me again.
Omurice was once more sitting on the shoe rack above my shoes.
I stood there, staring in disbelief.
Finally, I went to get one of the chefs, the only one left, who was having a smoke.
“Excuse me… could you come here for a sec?”
“What’s up?”
“Can you just take a look at something?”
I led him to the locker, opened the door — and screamed in surprise.
“It’s gone!”
The omurice had vanished without a trace.
No sign it had ever been there. No mess. Not even the smell remained.
“What is it?” the chef asked.
Flustered, I blurted out, “I thought I saw a bug… but I must’ve imagined it. Sorry.”
“Huh? Well, I’ll leave some roach traps just in case…”
He gave me a puzzled look before heading back.
On the way home, I desperately tried to convince myself that what had just happened was real.
I did see that omurice. It was there. The squashed, soggy, ruined omurice.
I could clearly smell the egg that had gone bad.
Last time, even after cleaning them, my shoes had still stunk the next day.
But now? My shoes were clean. No smell at all.
The more I thought about it, the less it made sense.
Still confused and unsettled, I called my closest coworker — even though it was almost midnight — and told her everything.
She listened, nodding along the whole time.
But when I finally finished, she said flatly:
“…I don’t understand what you’re saying at all.”
The tone of voice told me she wasn’t being sympathetic. She sounded more like she was thinking, “Are you out of your mind?”
After that, I switched my Thursday shift to Fridays.
Nothing strange happened again.
But that coworker ended up sharing my story with the others — in a way that made me sound crazy.
At the same time, the old man stopped coming to the restaurant altogether.
Everyone who had liked him started treating me coldly, and I began to feel uncomfortable at work.
Eventually, I quit.
Even now, I am not sure what I really saw.
Just like the girl said, nothing makes sense.
But the feel of that cold, soggy mess and the smell —
that alone is burned into my memory, and it just won’t go away.
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⭐️LINKS
Restaurants:
Recipe:
YouTube:
Japan’s Perfect Omurice! (Kichi Kichi Full Show) — Japan’s craziest Omurice chef π¨π³
Recommended Story:
Comments
I hope you’re all happy and healthy, and thank you as always for coming to my blog! You’re all appreciatedππ
I love love LOVE eggs. I love any egg dishes. I have never had omurice, but I can guarantee after reading this story I can still eat omurice happily π
It's a nice read, Saya. Thank you.
That old man must've valued his privacy very much. Hope he finds a new eatery where he can feel comfortable
nunu
...Also, it makes me hungry. Maybe I should visit one such establishment if I have the chance to visit Japan.
Though, I feel kinda guilty as someone who often order two portions to eat for myself. In my defense, I don't gain weight easily, so I need to eat a lot since I do want to bulk up.
Thank you so much for the story!