Let's overturn the conventions of the "dining table."

Curry rice rarely makes an appearance at our dinner table. The reason is simple: it doesn't go well with alcohol. My wife occasionally makes a face like she wants some, but that's the privilege of being the cook. I pretend not to notice and line up my favorite side dishes instead.
Even I end up ordering curry when I go to the school cafeteria. The curry at Meiji Gakuin, where I attended this spring semester, was the type where the savory flavors of the ingredients had melted into the sauce. With just the right amount of spice, it was perfect for wolfing down quickly before class.

In the 'Special Lecture on Management: Innovation and Creativity' class, I discussed with students how to create that "Oh, that's a clever approach!" moment. In a world where truth is ambiguous, how should we tackle problems with no single "right answer"? That was the topic. And for the final exam, I posed the following question:

Food company M continues to challenge itself under the vision of "Bringing more laughter to the dinner table!" Now, if you were an employee of this company, what new products or services would you develop?

The target audience's true feelings versus the food company's technology. The world the company aims for—"Bring more laughter to the dinner table!"—and the reality. We search for answers by navigating back and forth between these two axes. How did the students tackle this question with no single right answer?

Mr. Imamura proposed "Menu Gamble." To solve the problem that "dinners aren't lively because they've become merely an act of survival," this plan involves placing a wager with each order to create variation in the dishes served. Shredded cabbage or a salad of trevis and prata? Cat food or caviar pasta? If you get different things for the same price, laughter would certainly follow.
I gave this solution high marks because I sensed a willingness to think broadly without fearing taboos. Gambling is fundamentally prohibited in Japan. Ultimately, compliance with the law is essential, and I'm not entirely sure if this idea qualifies as an "exception for temporary entertainment." However, when brainstorming ideas, overthinking such regulations inevitably narrows the scope of thought.

The "Chat Bento" is Mr. Fukushima's idea. Buying a yakiniku bento versus a seaweed rice bento should evoke different moods. AI analyzes big data like gender, age, purchased menu items, and time of day. It's a service that provides the optimal "small talk" for each buyer.
Meanwhile, Mr. Nakagawa conceived a service where users could chat with people worldwide using an auto-translation feature, asking "What are you eating?" based on an icon of their current meal.
What both clearly shared, despite being food companies, was the desire to sell not just "food" as a product, but the concept of "enjoyable dining experiences."

Kase-san's insight came from noticing, "You know those people who post on recipe sites, the ones with a strong desire for validation?" He then thought, "What if we let those people take turns being the chef for the day and compete?" When he joined the company and actually proposed this idea, he faced various challenges: "We get that people want to create, but who actually wants to eat it?" or "How does this connect to our vision?" However, because the core idea was grounded in the clear observation, "You know, there are people like this," the plan didn't seem likely to veer off course.

Mr. Soda tried a unique approach but couldn't quite land it, resulting in a somewhat incomprehensible plan. But success doesn't come to those afraid of failure. All the students struggled hard to come up with ideas different from others.

The semester-long average attendance rate of 85.4% is quite impressive. While over half of the attendees spoke up each time, there's still room for improvement there (laugh). Regardless, everyone participated enthusiastically, making it a truly enjoyable class. But the moment summer break starts, I bet they'll forget it all cleanly.