A Taste of Tradition at Furusato Soba in Takefu

We made our way to “Furusato,” just a hop and a skip from the poetic aura of Murasaki Shikibu Park.

Tor-kun was donning a mask—not out of personal concern, but as a precaution because his wife caught the dreaded Rona. Classic husband move. We, on the other hand, were blissfully indifferent and spiritually immune.

Flipping through the menu, our eyes locked on the sacred syllables: “Nameko Soba.” That was it. No debates, no regrets. We all ordered it like pilgrims arriving at their noodle-shaped shrine.

The flavor? Bold. Daring. Slightly on the salt-forward side, but oh—was it satisfying. Like a warm hug from a miso-scented cloud.

Cold days call for hot soba—and let me tell you, this bowl was a heater in noodle form. Perfection in slurpable strands.

The end. Or is it just the beginning of your own soba quest?

“The colder the man, the more keenly he feels the sun.” – Walt Whitman