In Kokura after the war, the owner of a small eating house called Daruma-do set out to make fried noodles and could not get hold of any. What he had was dried udon, so he soaked that and fried it instead. That is the account everyone gives of how this started.

Dried noodles are still what goes in. Not boiled ones — the dry sort, rehydrated and then put onto the griddle, because they carry less water and the surface will actually brown instead of steaming. The dried fish flakes shaken over the top at the end are made from horse mackerel and mackerel rather than from bonito.

The town keeps an association that has written the definition down in seven clauses, of which at least five are to be observed. Put a fried egg on it and the dish acquires a second name, tenmado, meaning skylight. The white is the cloud and the yolk is the moon, seen from underneath through an opening in a roof.

So a dish that began because the shelf was empty has since accumulated rules, and the rules preserve the emptiness. Something begun as a substitute has accumulated conditions. It must be dry noodles. The flakes must be those two fish. A dish that exists because the right ingredient was unavailable is now made deliberately, with the wrong ingredient specified in writing.