[Closed] Hachioji Taishoken —

Why I Chose Miso for My Very Last Bowl

Reading time: about 4 minutes

Who this is for

• Anyone who has ever eaten at Hachioji Taishoken
  
• People who were quietly saved by a taste that never changed
  
• Those who recognize that “kind of scary, but somehow lovable” shop owner
  
• Anyone who has a favorite place that overlaps with their own life story
  

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Conclusion

A single bowl of ramen
was like adding just the right oil
to the worn-out engine of my heart.

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Hachioji Taishoken Has Finally Closed… 😢

December 19, 2025.
Hachioji Taishoken quietly closed its doors after 23 years.

Just a short walk from Keio-Hachioji Station,
it was a place that had simply always been there
since I was in my 30s.

On days when work wore me down,
or when my mood sank for no clear reason,
seeing that yellow sign made me think,
“Well… I’ll at least eat until I’m full.”

Choosing the Limited-Time Miso Ramen — On Purpose

On the final day, what I chose was
the limited-time miso ramen.

Standing in front of the ticket machine,
my finger stopped for just a moment.

The usual Chinese-style ramen.
The taste I’d had dozens of times.
I even stepped aside and let a younger guy go first,
just to think for a second.

“It’s the last time…”

That’s when I pressed miso.

As you get older,
you start wanting your choices to mean something.
The fear of failure,
and still wanting to take one small step forward.

Maybe that’s something you only understand at this age.
Or maybe not.
Who knows? (laughs)

The bowl that arrived… honestly, words weren’t necessary.

Through the steam,
it felt like I could see 23 years of history.

The moment I took the first sip,
I thought naturally,
“Yeah… this is a soup you finish to the last drop.”

Rich miso, a gentle sweetness.
Full-bodied, but never heavy.
The familiar thick noodles tasted of wheat with every bite.

…To be honest,
when I caught the smell of the guy next to me eating the regular ramen,
my heart wavered just a little. (laughs)

sigh
Thank you for the meal.

Result: soup fully finished.

From a health perspective,
this is probably the kind of thing I’d get scolded for.
Blood pressure, salt intake…
I chose not to see those things today.

From tomorrow, I’ll live like a herbivore for a week.
Vegetables only.
…Probably. (laughs)

The Tough-Looking Old Man Behind the Counter

The owner was, frankly, scary.

Bad manners? No mercy.
Young guys fiddling with their phones while eating?
A sharp “Eat properly.”

In today’s world,
his online reviews would definitely be a mess.

One look from those eyes
and your back straightens up,
like a student facing a surprise test.

Even the sharp “BASH!” sound of draining noodles
felt like being scolded.

“…Sorry. I’ll split my chopsticks properly.”
That’s what I’d say in my head.
“It’s not me, sir.” (laughs)

But now I realize—
we were probably saved
by that awkward honesty all along.

That day, the owner looked tired.
Still, he stood in the kitchen,
making each bowl carefully.

Scary, but never sloppy.
Clumsy, but sincere.

The words that came to mind were simple:
“He ran the whole race.”

A Bowl of Ramen That Walked Alongside My Life

I’ve been eating that ramen since I was 30.

Through job changes.
Through saying goodbye to my parents.
Through watching my children grow into adults.

In happy times and painful ones,
that yellow sign was always there.

Eat quietly.
Walk out thinking,
“Alright… I’ll do my best again tomorrow.”

That place gave me that feeling.

Not being able to eat there anymore—
honestly, it hurts.

I won’t see that slightly scary old man again either.

I wish there had been a successor…
I really do.

But some things can’t be helped.
Shops have lifespans.
People do too.

“Cherish what you have while it’s here.”
…I say that like I’m being wise,
but the truth is simple.

I just want to slurp those noodles one more time.

Not very graceful, is it? (laughs)

Hachioji Taishoken.
Thank you for 23 years.

If we ever meet again somewhere,
this time I’ll be the one to say,
“Thank you.”

Your ramen added just the right oil
to the worn-out engine of my heart,
again and again.

Thanks to that,
I think I can keep moving forward—somehow.

…So,
what should I eat tomorrow?

See you again.

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