They were in luck, arriving at the restaurant just ahead of the crowd. A quiet table in a corner with good sightlines on all the entrances and exits was available, recently vacated by another pair of shinobi who had come in for an earlier dinner. The waitress seated them there without even considering other tables. There was a look some of her customers had, even in plain clothes, that told her they would tip her better, order more alcohol, and generally be happier diners, if they were sitting at that table. The paranoid-as-fuck jounin table, she and her co-workers called it after hours. Sometimes living and working in a military town was just weird.

Genma took the seat to Raidou's left, kitty-corner to his friend, and picked up the menu, looking at the photographs of the food as much as the descriptions. "Oooh how about Mangrove Country-Style Spicy Prawn Curry?" he asked, choosing the first one he'd come to with a five chili pepper rating.

Raidou would undoubtedly say no, that was alright. But if Genma buttered him up with a few of the really inedibly hot menu items at first, when Genma finally suggested something with a sedate three or four chilies, it would get a relieved, "Yes, let's have that one" from Raidou. Just like sparring, eating curry together came with a few rituals.