21+ only. Drink responsibly. If you or someone you know needs support for substance use, contact SAMHSA’s National Helpline at 1-800-662-HELP (4357).

Last week, I went to Torikaya, a Japanese restaurant, and had a moment that was bigger than dinner: it was only the second restaurant I’ve visited and eaten at since the Pandemic.

That number deserves a pause. Not because it needs to become a dramatic announcement, but because it says something plainly: I have built a routine that keeps me steady, and I still have to get out and around people. A good routine is supposed to support a life, not quietly take its place.

There is a difference between a rut and a routine. A rut happens to you. A routine is something you build on purpose, one day at a time. Mine has value. It gives shape to ordinary days. But it is not a fence around my life, and I do not have to choose between appreciating what keeps me grounded and stepping outside of it.

So, last week, I went out. I sat down at Torikaya. I let the evening be an evening out, rather than turning it into a referendum on how often I go out. And I enjoyed the meal.

Act One: Out in the World

The first course of the story came with a Japanese gin cocktail and lime. The photograph catches the drink on the wooden table beside Torikaya’s navy menu. No elaborate review required: it was part of the evening, a small signal that I had chosen to be there and enjoy the moment.

Then came soft shell crab over greens. I like a meal that gives you something different to notice from one plate to the next. That is part of the pleasure of going out: you do not have to produce every detail yourself. You can sit back, take in what arrives, and give your attention to the experience in front of you.

Next was the crunchy corn roll. Crunch has a way of making its point without a speech. It is a good reminder that pleasure does not always need to be complicated. Sometimes you take a bite, enjoy the texture, and let that be enough.

And then: grilled pork belly on a skewer, with that bright green grated topping. This is the image that takes the room, and the pork belly earned the close-up. There is a lot to appreciate in one small frame: the browned edges, the sheen, the green against the dark plate. It looks like it knows exactly why it’s here.

Torikaya was a lovely part of my evening, and I’m glad I went. This is not a contest where the restaurant has to lose for my kitchen to win. I can appreciate what I ate there and still have a strong opinion about the food I make at home. Both things can be true. In fact, I prefer it when they are.

That is one of the small gifts of getting out: it lets you enjoy an experience on its own terms. You can be present for the meal in front of you instead of measuring it against what you would have cooked, what you might have ordered, or whether you have been out “enough.” The point was not to prove anything. The point was to go.

Shared meals have also been associated with wellbeing and social connection in research summarized by the World Happiness Report. I don’t need a study to tell me that an evening out can feel meaningful, but I appreciate the reminder that a meal can be more than what is on the plate. It can be a way of participating in the world around you.

Act Two: Home in the Bowl

Here is the quiet flex: my homemade ramen is still the winner.

I make it with braised short ribs, mushrooms, baby bok choy, and green onions. That bowl is not a criticism of Torikaya. It is a declaration of standards. I know what I like, I know what I put into my own ramen, and I am allowed to say that the version I make at home still tops it.

I have some ramen credentials, too. On my podcast, I do a segment called Big Back Ramen Reviews, where I critique instant ramen brands. So when I say I take ramen seriously, I am not just making a casual claim over a bowl. I have opinions, and I am prepared to stand by them.

The two kinds of joy are different. At Torikaya, I got to go out, enjoy a meal, and be around people. At home, I have the comfort of making something the way I want it: short ribs, mushrooms, bok choy, green onions, and a bowl that meets my own very specific expectations. The restaurant does not need to be defeated for my home cooking to be excellent. The meal out does not become less joyful because I still prefer my ramen.

That is the balance I want from a routine. It serves me. It gives me something steady to return to, but it does not get to decide that staying in is the only acceptable plan. The perimeter is stronger when I leave it on purpose and know I can come back to it.

Peace and joy are not always grand gestures. Some days they look like keeping the commitments that help you feel grounded. Some evenings they look like a Japanese gin cocktail and grilled pork belly. And sometimes the happiest ending is knowing your own kitchen is still the standard.

Thank you for sharing this evening with me. I’m grateful for a routine that holds me steady, for the chance to get out and enjoy a meal, and for the bowl waiting in my imagination when I get home. Joy is a discipline I choose every morning, and it can take more than one delicious form.

21+ only. Drink responsibly. If you or someone you know needs support for substance use, contact SAMHSA’s National Helpline at 1-800-662-HELP (4357).