A tiny ramen counter under the railway tracks
Amayadori (雨宿り) means sheltering from the rain. Most cooking games are a frantic race against the clock. This one is calm.
You run a tiny ramen counter under the railway tracks in a big city during the rainy season. Spoon the tare, ladle the broth, drop the noodles, lift them out and shake them dry. Forget a topping? Your guest will gently remind you.
Eight regulars come in out of the rain, each with their usual order and a story of their own. Learn what they like and keep their tea filled. Night by night, they open up.
It’s a quiet night: lo-fi music on the radio, rain on the window, trains overhead. Mochi, the shop cat, naps all night and wakes at closing for her chashu.
Cook every bowl by hand, at your own pace

No timers, no rush
Nobody waits impatiently and nothing burns to a fail screen. Take as long as you like.

No fail states
A mistake costs a little tip, never progress. Forget a topping and your guest just asks for it.

Every step by hand
Tare, broth, noodles (drop, lift, shake), negi, chashu (slice and torch), eggs, wontons, then lay out the bowl.

Eight regulars
Each with a story of their own, told a night at a time at the counter and in illustrated scenes outside the shop.

Lo-fi look and sound
Warm, painterly lo-fi art, original lo-fi music on the shop radio, rain and trains.

Pick it up, put it down
About 15 minutes a night. It saves as you play and works fully offline. Music, sound effects and rain have separate volume controls.

Pay once
US $4.99. No ads, no in-app purchases, no account and no data collected.
Guests above, your counter below
Hold your iPhone Duo half open, like a little laptop.
The upright screen is the shop, with the guests, their faces and their tickets. The flat screen is your counter, where you cook. Story scenes open out across both screens like an illustrated comic.
Fold it shut to close up shop
At the end of the night, close your iPhone Duo and the shop closes with it.
The outer screen tallies the night: who came in, what they ordered, how each bowl went down and what you took. Close it mid-night instead and the outer screen looks in on the shop from across the rainy street.
From the counter
Who comes in out of the rain
Pick a regular to sit with them a while.
A second-year illustration student from the art college across the river. She draws while she waits and while she eats, and always asks before she draws you. Your first regular.
Knows everyone in the neighbourhood before you do, from the names on his delivery labels. A long way from home, and working every shift going.
Lilac cardigan, round glasses, always knitting. She sleeps very little, notices who’s tired or cold before they do, and says rain is good for knitting.
His bus stand faces the shop. He comes in on his last layover of the night, always last, and never in a hurry.
New to the city, working shifts on a ward up the hill. Soft-spoken, sorry far too often, and in need of ten minutes when nobody needs anything from her.
Works the late counter at the second-hand record and tape shop two doors down, and makes lo-fi beats in the back room.
Runs the leaky old observatory on the hill, and comes down for a bowl on nights the clouds won’t part.
Works late in sales in the office tower by the station. Cheerful, a little sheepish, and he misses the last train a little too often.
Sleeps on the shelf by the radio all night and wakes at closing for her sliver of chashu.

Duck in out of the rain
Out now on the App Store. Designed for iPhone Duo. US $4.99, pay once. No ads, no in-app purchases.
Download on the App Store








