Marutaka | Fumitoshi Kato, Dean, Graduate School of Media and Governance
2022.09.13
It was sudden. On the evening of September 7, my colleague, Takashio-san, sent me a screenshot. I looked at it and saw the page of a familiar restaurant with the word "Closed" written in red. It seemed students were talking about it, but it had not been directly confirmed. I was just about to head home, so I decided to stop by. Since I was nearby, I had to see it for myself.
Wednesday is not their regular day off. I was hoping it was a false report, but the sign was not lit. A "Closed Today" sign was hanging, and I could see a notice on the sash door to the side. I wondered what it said. A rope was stretched across, so I gave up on getting closer. The parking lot was empty, with only the light from the vending machine standing out. Around 7 p.m., I sent a message back saying, "It seems to be true," and attached a photo of the scene.
Despite its log house exterior, it was a seafood restaurant. The slight sense of incongruity comes from the fact that its predecessor was a restaurant cafe called "Login." "Login" opened in the fall of the third year after SFC's founding (1992), according to records. Even now, the opening of a convenience store in the area causes a big stir, so it must have been quite a major "event" back then.
Although it was right next to campus, it seems it was not easy for it to become a "student-town cafe." Eventually, "Login" transformed into "Marutaka." The zashiki (tatami room) area was likely added on to match the log house. When it came to dining near campus, there was nowhere else to go. But it was not just that it was close and convenient. Thanks to the strength of being run by a seafood company, we were satisfied with both the taste and the portion sizes. It was a place loved not only by students and faculty but also by local regulars. On weekends, it was so busy that a security guard would direct traffic in the parking lot. Perhaps it was a hidden gem for people visiting "Shonan."
I also frequented "Marutaka." I think I went most often after my "kenkyukai" (seminar). After wrapping things up, a few students and I would decide to go for a meal. Other seminars would end around the same time, so when we opened the door, we would see familiar faces at the tables. In the zashiki room at the back, there was usually a group of colleagues or students eating. We would exchange a few words or wave. I was also curious about the gossip I could overhear from the next table. Although I must have gone there many times, when I searched my phone, I only found a dozen or so photos taken at "Marutaka." In the end, the last time I went was three winters ago, and now I can no longer go.
I uploaded the photo of the scene to social media. I do not have that many followers and just post daily musings on a whim. I was not particularly expecting any "likes" or retweets. And yet, I received more reactions than I had anticipated.
There were students I did not know (or could not remember), alumni I had not heard from in ages, and even colleagues who I do not think had ever commented before. In this unexpected way, I learned that everyone was still doing well. Alongside the lonely photo of "Marutaka," there were comments lamenting its closure and "crying loudly" emojis. This might have been the most engagement any of my posts have ever received.
For the past two years, the "classrooms" created time and again on our screens vanished each time we pressed the "End" button. Just as opportunities to gather in person were gradually increasing, and I thought we would be spending even more time on campus from the fall semester, this "event" happened. Exactly 30 years since "Login."
Seeing all the reactions, I was reminded once again how inextricably our memories are tied to the memory of a place. Needless to say, when we hear "Marutaka," it is not just the taste that comes to mind. Surely, someone's face appears in our thoughts. It might be the day a presentation did not go well. There were also times filled with uninhibited laughter. There were days when classroom discussions continued on. So many scenes of gathering around a table at "Marutaka" come flooding back.
It is the same way many alumni speak fondly of Gulliver Pond (Kamoike). The fireworks we looked up at during the Tanabata Festival, the late-night convenience store runs while staying on campus, the silhouette of Mt. Fuji against the sunset—it is all real. All of these are experiences you cannot have unless you go to campus. Each and every one of them is ingrained in our bodies.
The mornings and evenings have become much more comfortable. In a few more weeks, a new semester will begin.