A Dialogue Across Generations

“Until six months ago, you couldn’t buy rice in Japan.”

Misaki was explaining this to the British schoolboy sitting across from her, in a small café in Camden Market. Jamie Wilson was seventeen, about the same age as Misaki, but in his eyes there lived a weariness far more grown-up than hers.

“Unbelievable,” said Jamie, slowly stirring his amber-coloured tea. “And here we throw away huge amounts of food every single day.”

Misaki took out her smartphone and showed him the photos she had taken in Aogawa. The empty rice shelves, the long queues waiting for rations, and last of all a photo of the small portion of white rice her grandmother Chiyo had cooked.

“This is the ‘Last Measure of Rice’,” Misaki said, pointing at the screen. “For our family it was a very important experience.”

Jamie gazed at the photos, then took out his own phone. “Have a look at this.”

What he showed her were photos taken for his school’s environmental club. Mountains of leftovers thrown out from the school canteen every day, still-fresh food dumped in the bins of the local supermarket, heaps of ingredients piled up at the back doors of restaurants.

“I’ve been documenting this problem for two years now,” Jamie said, a quiet anger in his voice. “But nobody takes it seriously.”

Misaki was struck by how detailed his photos were. He had recorded the date, the time, even estimates of the amount discarded. This was no mere schoolboy’s hobby; it was a serious investigation.

“This is amazing. It must have been hard work, gathering all this data.”

“It was,” Jamie said with a wry smile. “Especially getting my parents to understand. They kept saying, ‘Why are you wasting your time on something like that?’”

Misaki sensed a certain loneliness in his expression. “Aren’t your parents interested in environmental issues?”

Jamie took a sip of his tea before answering. “Since the divorce they’ve each got their hands full with their own lives. My work means nothing to them.”

A silence fell. Misaki understood Jamie’s sense of isolation. She had a family who understood her; Jamie was fighting alone.

“But your family seems different,” Jamie said, changing the subject. “What you said about your grandfather really interested me. A philosophy of food — what do you mean by that?”

Misaki began to tell him about her grandfather Seiichi. The family councils in Aogawa, Seiichi tormented by the gap between theory and reality, and the conclusion the family had finally reached together.

“My grandfather has studied the ethics of food for a long time. But when food actually ran short, he learned that theory alone can’t solve anything.”

“That’s fascinating,” Jamie said, leaning forward. “I’m the opposite — I started from the real problem and I’m learning the theory afterwards. The economic systems and consumer psychology behind food loss.”

Misaki was surprised. He analysed the problem more deeply than she would have thought possible for someone her own age.

“How do you know so much about it?”

Jamie answered, a little embarrassed. “I read every book on the subject I could find in the school library. I looked up papers online too. Nobody was going to teach me, so I had to study it myself.”

Misaki was moved by his efforts. And she made a suggestion.

“Would you like to meet my grandfather? I’m sure he’d be interested in your research, and I think there’s a lot you could learn from him too.”

Jamie’s eyes lit up. “Really? But I can’t speak any Japanese…”

“I’ll interpret, so it’s fine,” Misaki smiled. “Besides, my grandfather can speak a little English.”

The two left the café and set off for the Shinomiyas’ lodgings. The afternoon sun lit the London streets, casting long shadows over the cobblestones.

“By the way,” Jamie asked as they walked, “what do you make of all this — having so much food, far too much? Compared with what you went through in Japan.”

Misaki chose her words carefully. “It’s complicated. I’m glad there’s so much food, but at the same time I feel guilty. When I remember how we treasured every single grain of rice in Aogawa…”

“Guilt…” Jamie nodded. “I feel the same. But personal feelings alone won’t solve the problem. We need change at the level of the system.”

When they arrived at the Shinomiyas’, Seiichi was sorting through his materials in the study. Kentaro was out preparing for the international conference, and Chiyo was at the food bank with Margaret.

“Grandpa,” Misaki said, knocking. “I’ve brought a guest.”

Seiichi adjusted his glasses and welcomed Jamie in. “Welcome. Please, sit down.”

When Misaki had introduced them, Seiichi looked at Jamie with interest.

“Misaki has told me about your research. You’re investigating the problem of food loss, I hear.”

When Misaki interpreted, Jamie, though nervous, began to show his data on his phone. Seiichi examined each photo and figure carefully, putting a question to him now and then.

“This is excellent research,” Seiichi said, impressed. “It’s grounded in proper academic method. Do you want to become a researcher one day?”

Jamie answered, a little uncertain. “I don’t know. But I want to solve this problem. That much I’m sure of.”

Seiichi nodded. “It matters that your motive is clear. For many years I studied the theory of food, but I struggled to find where it met practice. You’ve come the other way — from practice, in search of theory. A most interesting approach.”

Jamie seemed encouraged by Seiichi’s words. “Professor, how did you bridge the gap between theory and practice?”

Seiichi began to speak of his experience in Aogawa. The family’s debate over that last measure of rice, the complexity of a reality that theory alone could not resolve, and the new understanding he had gained through practice.

“Food is not merely matter,” Seiichi explained. “It is culture, it is relationship, it is an expression of values. The problem of food loss, too, must be understood not simply as a question of efficiency but as a question of a society’s values.”

Jamie was taking notes eagerly. “I see… I’ve been focused on the numbers, but the real solution is a change in people’s awareness and values.”

As Misaki watched the two of them talk, she made an interesting discovery. Their generations differed, their nationalities differed, but the earnestness with which they faced the question of food was the same.

“Misaki,” Seiichi said, turning to his granddaughter. “Your generation, yours and Jamie’s, is tackling these problems with a different approach from ours. That is a hopeful thing.”

Misaki made a suggestion. “Jamie, why don’t we create a project together, aimed at our generation? We could use social media to get the information out to young people all over the world.”

Jamie’s eyes lit up. “That’s a brilliant idea! If we combine my data with your international perspective…”

Seiichi, watching their enthusiasm, said, “A theorist like me, a practitioner like Chiyo, and the innovative ideas of your young generation. Cooperation across the generations may yet bring forth a new solution.”

Just then Chiyo and Margaret came home. Chiyo had been continuing her experiments in cooking Britain’s discarded food by Japanese methods, and Margaret reported the results with some excitement.

“With Chiyo’s way of cooking, ingredients on the verge of being thrown out have come back to life splendidly!” Margaret explained in English.

When Misaki interpreted for Jamie, he was astonished. “That’s an important finding for my research. It proves that much of the food being discarded can in fact still be used.”

Though they had no language in common, Chiyo understood Jamie’s interest from his earnest expression. She fetched a small container from the kitchen and shared out a little of the dish she had made that day.

“Taste, please,” Chiyo said in her halting English.

Jamie took a cautious mouthful, then his face filled with surprise. “This is… incredible. I’d never believe this was made from vegetables that were due to be thrown out yesterday.”

As she interpreted, Misaki thought to herself: food truly is a shared experience that transcends language and culture.

“Jamie,” Misaki said, “why don’t you come to the food bank with us tomorrow? If you watch my grandmother’s cooking class and compare it with your own research data, you might discover something new.”

Jamie agreed at once. “I’d love to come.”

In the evening, before Jamie left, Seiichi handed him a book. It was the English edition of his own work.

“This is the starting point of my research,” Seiichi explained. “It should help you understand the theoretical approach. But combined with your practical data, it ought to give rise to a new perspective.”

Jamie received the book as though it were precious. “Thank you. I’ll put my own research data together and show it to you next time.”

Misaki saw him to the door. “Thank you for coming today. It was really inspiring.”

“The pleasure’s mine,” Jamie smiled. “When I was investigating on my own I felt lonely, but now it feels as though I have allies.”

Misaki nodded. “Yes. The problem’s too big to solve alone, but if we all join forces it feels like we could do something.”

After Jamie had gone, the Shinomiya family talked over the day’s events around the dinner table.

“That young man has a promising future,” Seiichi said admiringly. “He could become just the sort of person who bridges theory and practice.”

Chiyo said, as she served out the food, “Even without a shared language, you can tell when someone thinks seriously about things.”

Misaki was excited. “I can’t wait for the food bank tomorrow. I want to see how Jamie reacts.”

Kentaro did not get home until late that night, but when he heard from the family about the day’s events he showed great interest.

“It’s valuable to have met a young researcher like Jamie. The experts I’ve met at the conference would surely be interested in his data too.”

That night Misaki exchanged messages with Jamie. When she sent, “If young people all over the world connect, I’m sure we can bring about a big change,” back came the reply: “If we combine your spirit of ‘mottainai’ with my research data, a whole new movement might be born.”

Outside the window, the London night was deepening. Their experience of the “Last Measure of Rice” in Aogawa was now becoming the seed of a new kind of international cooperation.