Travelogue: Spirited Away

[Peter Green]

March 21 – A Geometrical Aside

Dinner had left the both of us in a good mood, the proper way to finish our time in Kyoto.

Almost.

Scud was keen to return home to the computer, but I wasn’t fully settled yet.

There was a sign we’d been passing near our place. Bar Sherry. It was a small sandwich board, not the sort of thing that really stands out, a wallflower of a sign.

But these are the sort of quiet, passive things that, with time, draw attention, patiently biding, waiting for the moment when you will say “why not?” and look inside.

I was at a “why not?” stage.

I walked up the short flight of stairs, and opened the door.

There was the room, and in the room was the bar.

The bar was of pine, a lighter honey colour. It was three sides of a square, taking up most of the room. Stools faced up upon the bar, with perhaps a clear meter behind the stools to the wall.

The fourth side of the square was the wall. There was a collection of bottles there, but no mirror, just a large rectangle of solid colour (blue, I believe, as I close my eyes).

The lighting was bright enough to write by, but all indirect. No beam of light cast directly upon anything, but was bounced from some surface.

The room that was a bar had one bartender, a younger, 30ish fellow in a black suit, and one couple to the right side of the bar. The three were chatting away in a lively manner, with everyone smiling. The bartender said something as he cleaned a glass, and the customers laughed.

A jazz instrumental was playing. I don’t know enough of jazz to quote the artist. Haruki Murakami could, and as I looked at the room, I was thinking of him.

The bartender looked at me with a friendly, expectant air, and brought me a towel to clean my hands. I smiled back, and looked at their bottles.

Cognacs, sake, shochu, gins, Dutch gins, a good selection of bourbon whiskey, a bottle of Russian Standard vodka, and two bottles of Suntory.

Growing up, we’d always heard about the quality of Japanese whisky, and Suntory was always the standard bearer for the industry. As their historical distillery – Yamazaki – is nearby, between Kyoto and Osaka, this appeared the appropriate time to take a wee dram.

As I said, there were two bottles. One was a 12 year old, the other – Hibiki – was a 17. I asked politely to try the 17.

The bartender’s face fell slightly - a look of presentient sorrow - and he leaned forward. Conspiratorially, I came forward to meet him halfway across the expanse of wood. Quietly, he watned to advise me that it was, perhaps, a little expensive. I nodded my agreement, but indicated that this was not a concern.

His smile returned, and I asked to have the shot straight up,with a glass of water on the side. Perhaps the good Bob Harris wouldn’t take his Suntory in this manner, but nobody is going to mistake me for Bill Murray (he has more hair, for starters).

The Hibiki 17 year old is a blend of Suntory malts. It was cool enough to pick out some individual elements – a bit of pepper, some floweriness – but in general it’s best described as mellow. Not a drink to provoke arguments, perhaps reminding me of a Dalwhinnie more than anything else.

I lingeredover this, and caught up on my notes a little, then relaxed and contemplated the bar itself. It did feel like something from a Haruki Murakami short story. One of those settings without windows, where you may have stepped outside of the bounds of reality for a few lucid moments. The strict confines. The geometrical orderliness, offset by the small hotplate I see behind the counter, and the bundle of receipts in another corner. Form and detail, the proportions being just enough different from my everyday expectations of a bar.

The bartender ensures that my water glass is always three quarters full.

Another couple, two men, enter, give me a curious glance, and then settle down upon my left, trading some pleasantries with the other couple, who have ordered more drinks and continue to chat pleasantly on their side.

I’d be content to write in here, if I had more time. This is a place to collect your thoughts, and perhaps bring some order to things.

I finished my whisky and ask for the cheque. The bartender moved quickly and efficiently, disappearing into a curtained alcove that had only vaguely registered with me. He returned with the paperwork, collected the money from me, and then disappeared again, returning in a moment with my change.

I rose, and the four other patrons nodded pleasantly to me. I nodded in return, smiled, and left.

A room with a bar.

How tidy.

[Peter Green]

A comment following upon the last post.

I'd thought of writing more on Suntory, it's history and place in modern society, but in looking into the material available, I found a very good blog, Nonjatta , which I'll be spending more of my free time reading through. In addition to well researched articles on Japanese whisky, they've also dug up YouTube links to old Suntory commercials and advertising that is, well, enlightening for me.

For example: " Torys was launched in 1949 with the short and too the point slogan: "It's good, it's cheap.""

Now that's something I can picture Bob Harris saying.

[Hiroyuki]

Thanks for the link! Suntry Old (aka Daruma) and Yamazaki! I get nostalgic! I haven't had them for nearly a decade! I now drink one of the cheapest shochu, happoushu, and daisan beer. Sigh.

[Prawncrackers]

Love Murakami Peter, keep up the good work. I will be there soon enough.

ps great post today

[prasantrin]

Peter asked me to mention that he's having technical difficulties--many sql errors and the like. Hopefully he'll be posting again today!

(I stifled my impulse to post that he was just slacking off...I'm such a good girl! )

[Peter Green]

March 22 – Go East, Young Man

Morning. Our last in Kyoto. We rose late, policed the apartment, discovered a packet of Pocky that had escaped the Boy’s attention, devoured that, packed our hand carry (our big bags had been sent ahead through the good graces of 7-11 and the Black Cats), said good bye to our Canadian neighbors next door, locked up, unlocked, sent the boy back inside to double check I hadn’t forgotten anything, then relocked, put the key in the key box, and left the building.

It was a pleasant morning, what was left of it, being close to 10 a.m. We walked across the river, and made for Kyoto Station. I suppose we could have done more sightseeing, but the time seemed right to leave. An early departure would place us in Tokyo that much the sooner.

Buying the tickets was, again, a straightforward affair. A brief interrogation at the counter, and then Scud and I were free to admire the clerk’s handwork, his fingers flying across the touch screen, establishing our reservations with a speed that would almost indicate that he played way too many video games as a youth.

It was quite something to watch, reminding me of the cyborg’s hands in Ghost In The Shell, which would disengage and extend to dash over the keyboards like mechanical spiders. But then, why would cyborgs interface through a keyboard when they could simply patch in and converse in machine language?

The boy and I spend a lot of time arguing these points.

Blue skies and bullet trains. It was a fine day to be heading East for Tokyo. I tried to engage the boy in the countryside outside our window, but, true to form, he plugged into his iPod and dozed off within minutes.

Myself, I used the time and my remaining battery life to catch up on my writing (I did try!)

Mt. Fuji appeared on our left, and I woke the boy up for the view. It was crystal clear, it’s slopes rising up to a crown of snow. He just grunted, and went back to sleep. And then, in a fortunate bit of timing, some death metal came onto the ‘Pod at about four times the previous volume.

It was quite entertaining watching him thrash about for the few seconds it took for him to find the volume control.

My mirth didn’t appear to be contagious.

Alighting at Tokyo Station, we took the underground to Ginza, and from there to our new home for the week.

Roppongi. The six trees.

Legend has it that the area took it’s name from six daimyo that lived in this area during the Edo period, all of whom had the character for “tree” in their names. That’s the legend.

What Roppongi is now is pretty much party central for the foreign population. In the past several US military installations were sited near here, with the concommitant camp followers you would expect (and all of the negative impact that goes with that).

However, it, along with Azuba, just down the hill, is also a fairly solid concentration of restaurants.

But more on Roppongi later. However, for a good read on the post war years that shaped the area, I’d recommend Robert Whiting’s Tokyo Underworld, which concentrates on Nick Zappetti, the “King of Roppongi”, and the yakuza interweavings that went on. For a fictional version, Christopher Moore (best known for his Thai work) has also written Tokyo Joe, which loosely (very loosely) uses Roppongi as a backdrop.

We crawled out from the subsurface to the light of mid afternoon, and a march.

I feel you should – with some discernment – give consideration to what you find placed in front of you. I placed the bags in the care of the Boy, broke out the video camera, and shot some of the event; a pro-Tibet protest

And someone had the nerve to ask me for my press credentials!

It struck me then how isolated we’d been. I really had no idea of what was happening in the world.

I kind of like it that way, for awhile.

Once the riot police had closed up shop behind the march (which did go on for some time), we continued down the hill in the direction of Asakasa and our new home.

I’d decided that Tokyo was best enjoyed with some level of comfort. We were staying at Oakwood Apartments, a serviced apartment, which meant that we’d have the benefit of a front desk for help with reservations if we should need it.

It also meant a certain degree more space, something Scud and I were looking forward to.

To say I was happy with the digs would be an understatement. True, the boy had to go back on the floor with a futon, but that was his problem, not mine. (“How come you get the bed?” “How come you don’t pay for anything?”)

Our position was fine, with a view from the balcony looking out over past the graveyard just to our right. Tokyo Tower loomed over our skyline. If Godzilla was to attack, we’d have a great view.

We also had a serviceable little kitchen area to work with. I was getting itchy about not cooking, and this could be the breaking point that would see me buying groceries.

And I had those knives still wrapped up in the scarlet furoshiki……Scud was getting a little nervous about my habit of sleeping with the two boxes by my pillow.

And there was the tub. I love these tubs. I should have taken a shot of the control panel.

And the facilities were as high tech as one would expect. Again, these came with a daunting collection of flashing lights and buttons.

Shiny…….

I played with the buttons up to the point where Scud finallly yelled at me to stop touching the control panels. One cheerful voice after another was calling for his attention.

“Leave the buttons alone!”

Next: A Late Lunch of Noodles

[dockhl]

True, the boy had to go back on the floor with a futon, but that was his problem, not mine. (“How come you get the bed?” “How come you don’t pay for anything?”)

How many times, over the years, traveling with my daughter.....

Nice to know that some things are no different worldwide. Loving your blog.....

BTW, how old is Scud?

[Peter Green]

Nice to know that some things are no different worldwide. Loving your blog.....

BTW, how old is Scud?

←

Ah, the Boy is at the ripe old age of 16 and a half. Too old for cleaning out chimneys, too young for the corporate ladder.

And, contrary to his dreams, neither Sony nor Konami are beating a path to his door to hire him as a game tester.

Patience, patience......

[Jon Savage]

Just wanted to say that I've been enjoying this saga a great deal and look forward to the remaining installments.

[Peter Green]

March 22 – The Magic of Udon

Before the noodles, however, there was some work to be done. We were running short of cash, and it was a weekend. I needed to burn some of my Euro travellers’ checques.

As I’d mentioned, it’s nice to have help. The young fold at the desk made some calls, and found an exchange bank open until 5 p.m. in the Tokyo Midtown complex.

Tokyo Midtown and the nearby Roppongi Hills development, have made a good attempt at upscaling the image of Roppongi. Lots of money; clean, clean designs; the Suntory Museum (of art, unfortunately. I would’ve made time for booze); a major theatre complex; and people not associated with the hostess bar industry (at least some of them).

Scud’s eyes went big. This is what he’d expected from Japan. Okay, the Boy’s led a sheltered life, cloistered on the camp for much of it, but, still, we’ve spent enough time living in Bangkok that he should be used to major mall action.

But this was pretty.

Wood floors, for starters. And money spent on displays that looked good. Space, plenty of it, and light. This wasn’t some concrete shell thrown up with low-bid workers in Dubai or Bahrain. This looked slick.

We did the money thing, and then poked around the restaurants and shops for a bit. There was a good selection of food everywhere, but, I must say, the bias I’d seen towards sweets and desserts went beyond just Rona’s company. It seemed like every second or third shop was a chocolaterie or a patisserie.

Nothing wong with that, though! (I’m waiting for Rona to throw something).

One image that really sticks in my mind, though, is Toshi Yoroizuka’s Salon de Dessert, on the ground floor, facing into the open plaza. It had a queue to get in every time I went by. Conde Nast’s Adam Platt had a piecee on the place

and it’s worth the read, as it goes further to discuss the “food craze” that’s taken over in the last 15 years. He quotes Setsuko Yuuki as stating that Iron Chef was the turning point for foodies in Japan. Now, take that with a grain of rice, as she was involved in the programme. I don’t think the Japanese have stinted on dining for a very long time. But I do recall, back in the late 80’s, the discussion of the Ramen Generation, a slice of Japanese society that had been raised on instant noodles and snack food. At that time the older folks were complaining about kids not even knowing how to make rice anymore (there were cooking shows that concentrated on basics such as rice, and cooking an egg).

And, I also know that the imported Hell’s Kitchen was ruling the tv roost in Korea when we were there last year, with everyone watching the show. (On the East Coast, at lunch, we heard one of the ajimas give a perfect “yes, chef” response when questioned on something. The cook didn’t swear as much as Ramsay, though).

Back to Yoroizuka’s Salon de Dessert - I’ve read that his pistachio tarte is a thing of wonder, but, given my disinclination to wait in lines, I may just continue to wonder.

I was also struck by the A971 Café, fronting the complex, that had a sign up stating that patrons needed to stay within the bounds of the red ribbon. Suddenly I was having flashbacks to Battle Royale’s unique counselling methods for disruptive teens (a great Beat Takeshi film, and a must see for the lady that explains the rules).

Across the street from Midtown was a yakitori place that had come recommended. I figured we could give this a try. Unfortunately, a lot of the places in Roppongi don’t seem to do lunch, but only cme alive in the evening. We found this out after we were stuck in an elevator that was turned off.

So, we headed down across the crossing.

(Scud showed a certain appreciation for the decor of the neighborhood, but he was chomping at the bit to get to Akibahara)

I had a back up plan for food.

Tsurutontan, the udon people.

Our family is very fond of udon. Serena, in particular, can go through three or four bowls’ full in one sitting at the small Japanese place down the street from our sister’s place on Vancouver.

People always seem happier to oblige her than the rest of us……

Anyways, all of us are well disposed to this oldest and most basic of noodles. Flour, salt, and water. What could be simpler? The Korean variant of this – kalguksu – adds egg to the mix, but I’ll chicken out of making odd yolks on the matter.

(sorry, I couldn’t help myself)

Actually, there’s a question. Are Japanese udon also “knife cut”? (I’m ignorant, I freely admit it.)

This shop seems out of place on the main drag in Roppongi. For one, it’s a large store front. For another, it’s clean, slick, and good looking (more on the main drag of Roppongi later).

This was an easy sell for Scud and I.

Inside we were shown to booth seating, and then our waiter ran off to find their English menus. These were clearly printed, and explained the Mission of Tsurutontan – to bring people to a better appreciation of udon.

Amen to that, say the Greens.

I believe the chain (and this is one of several udon outposts in this brave new world) came from Osaka (big cheer for Osaka, everyone), which means that you might expect them to push Kansai preferences.

But their selection is wide, and meant to encompass and embrace a myriad of possibilities – even if you’re a fox (with sweet tofu) or a tanuki (topped with deep fried tempura batter)

There selections range from simple bowls of udon (but what bowls! The noodels come out in large wooden buckets in some cases, in huge bowls with wooden lids in others) and in nabes of udon, huge steaming hot pots with selections of other ingredients to go in. I watched intently as my neighbor received a large bucket with chilled udon noodles inside, which she dipped into an acccompanying sauce.

They also have sake, of course, but push a selection of jizake, which they describe as “local brand sake”. This, I take it, is a reference to small batch brews, but how this fits in with the Japanese limitations on licensing of breweries isn’t a question I can answer right now.

My choice was a Fukui prefecture sake – Kokuryu “genuine brewing” – served in a solid, rugged bit of pottery, with a tortured lip that did a good job of spilling out the aroma. A pleasant sake, with a tang once I spilled some into my mouth.

Scud’s attention was taken by the clam and fried tofu udon. This came with a hot and sour broth incorporating apple vinegar. Scud didn’t pay any attention to the hot and sour part, though, and focused on the shellfish issue.

This failure in details, unfortunately, resulted in an udon that wasn’t quite to his tastes, the vinegar flavour almost taking away from the simple goodness of soft, thick udon.

Almost.

I was torn by my choices. In particular I liked the idea of a kelp udon (rishiri, it said), but then my carnivorous eyes lit upon something……

Shabuniku curry udon, with Tokusen wagyu beef.

After the Houston wagyu thing, I had to do this. Wagyu and curry!

Oh, these noodles were so soft and slurpable. Which, of course, just leads to getting curry sauce all over the place.

Heck, these people are never going to see me again, right? Who cares if I have curry sauce in my beard?

Our dish also came with one of my favourite Cairo treats – inarizushi. Sweet and filling. In Egypt, back in the 80’s, you could get basically nothing. Heck, we even did trips to Istanbul to buy flour and sugar. There was Okamoto’s over in Mohandessin, and Tokyo Kitchen in Zamalek (which I fondly remember for its pile of manga by the door), but these places knew their limitations, and stuck to hot pots and stews and tonkatsu. The rice available was, well, challenged, and so they didn’t mess about with rice dishes.

So, Yoonhi being the intelligent young thing she is (or was…ouch!) would bring back cans of inari to make inarizushi, the sweetness of the inari covering over the harsh reality of Egyptian rice. Sometimes she’d even get ahold of good rice (although that was a rare occurrence).

I’m digressing again, aren’t I?

Anyways, these were a welcome treat. I was tempted not to share with my Philistine son, but it did occur to me that they probably came with his meal.

I was very comfortable with this place. Perhaps it would be worth coming back, as convenient to our nest as it was?

Maybe I should clean up some of this curry sauce in my beard first?

Note: edited to fix the Conde Nast link.

Edited April 13, 2008 by Peter Green (log)

[Rehovot]

Wow, that's seriously a teenager-sized bowl of udon. It looks bigger than my head.

[Hiroyuki]

Thanks for another great report. I didn't know anything about that udon restaurant, Turutontan, so I had to google. Surprisingly, the restaurant chain was produced by Mari Natsuki, a singer. She did the voice of Yubaba in that movie, "Sprited Away"!

Is this just a coincidence or did you do this on purpose?

[Peter Green]

Surprisingly, the restaurant chain was produced by Mari Natsuki, a singer.  She did the voice of Yubaba in that movie, "Sprited Away"!

Is this just a coincidence or did you do this on purpose?

←

Cool!

Life is a collection of discrete events bobbing about in a sea of coincidence.

[Peter Green]

March 22 – Roppongi Nights

With a late start to things, the Boy and I found ourselves at loose ends. We’d lunched late, or supped early. We were tired of trains for the day, and still overcome with the comfort of free space to move around in.

We considered the matter. Here we were in the heart of the modern world. A city of culture, mystery, and the arcane (we’d been watching Witch Hunter Robin).

What were we to do?

We went to shoot some pool.

The hall was just across the street from Tsurutontan, upstairs and accessed by an elevator. Easy enough. Inside it was quite chic. Like everything else we’d seen, this place was clean, well stocked with good quality cues and fairly new balls, and tables with nary a tear or scratched.

We were rather disappointed.

We kind of preferred the place in Guilin from last year.

We also preferred the cost in Guilin, which, as far as we could figure out, was pretty much free. You just paid for beer at a few cents a can.

Here you were paying 1000 yen a half hour for pool or darts, and they did ask you to “please buy one drink per person”. Luckily, I didn’t notice the one drink per person rule until we were leaving, and they were too polite to say anything.

Yeah, I’m just cheap.

Scud and I returned to the Precce in Midtown, and did a little grocery shopping, hoping this would raise our appetite for more eating. Likewise, the kitchen had seemed just too bare for the likes of us. A refridgerator, in particular, is far too sad when it’s empty.

Some cheese and a 6 pack make a world of difference.

We’d also found some mochi. Two different kinds…… I better check. Are these mochi? They tasted soft and ricey and sweet, but I’ve been wrong before. There’s part of the kanji for mochi there, atop “nagara no idawari”. (Does someone care to sneak in here for quick bit of help?)

For arguments sake, we’ll say they’re mochi. This presented a problem. I was interested in heading out again, but leaving this behind with the boy meant that I would probably not be seeing them when I got back.

So we ate them.

We also devastated the package of dried stuff we’d bought. I bought it thinking it was shredded squid, but I don’t think that was it……

And then it just seemed appropriate to eat the cheese with some of the stoned wheat thins that I’d had Scud cart from Canada (can’t beat a stoned wheat thin as a companion for cheese).

Okay, so by this point in time we’d worked our way to a point where we needed to go buy more groceries.

Unfortunately, we’d taken the edge off of our appetites.

And it was dark.

We did a tour of the district, admiring some of the sites. Most impressive, especially for Scud, was Tokyo Tower, icon of many a Godzilla movie. Lit up at night, it did make for a wonderful backdrop. Fill in the middle distance with neon lights and crowded buildings, and this city boy is perking right up.

The foreground was another matter.

The street corners appear to be home to a large percentage of the population of the Bight of Benin. And every one of them wants to be my best friend, very concerned about my well being and what I may be looking for tonight. Because they “had just the place for me”.

Without exception, they were all African. There were Asians, but they were only hitting on the other Asians. Likewise, the Africans didn’t bother the Japanese males (females were another matter). A division of labour, similar to the Portugese and the Spanish dividing the world’s hostess bars amongst them.

Scud lucked out. He either looked too Asian or too young for the guys bothering me, or he looked to Western for the Japanese. In either case, he just walked behind me and smirked as I would try to shake off whatever had attached to me.

Someday I’ll get even.

But let’s not dwell on the negative.

On the lighter side, Roppongi was looking like a good place for a beer. Heck, in a Homer Simpson moment we even had the Dancing Corona make an appearance.

There were a number of Belgian specialists just around the crossing. There was the Abbot’s choice near Almond (the patisserie). Then there was the enticing Cavern, advertising “world beer”.

And further back up Roppongi there was Belg Aube.

Decisions, decisions.

Really, I was hoping that this walkabout would wake our appetite up for more food. Scud was sort of interested in trying the yakitori place across from Midtown, as it should be open by this time, but there was a scrum of touts firmly in place working for the strip bars that were clustered in the same building, so that sort of put him off.

There was this interesting place, advertising “Trick or Treat Horror Dining”. I know, I’ll go to my grave wishing I’d gone in here.

We considered more udon, but now there was a long line stretching out of the doors of Tsurutontan. We wouldn’t be eating there right now (but it’s good to know it’s popular).

So, I settled on Hobgoblin. Down the street, away from the worst of the action and sporting a friendly faux-Anglo façade. It’s a name I recognize. I stopped in for a beer, and Scud hauled the new groceries back home.

It’s good to be the boss.

Not a bad pub. Large, lots of wood, and darts that don’t cost you $20 an hour to play on. This is their second pub, the original being back down the hill in Akasaka, dating back to 2000. They’ve got another in Shibuya, and opened a place in Kobe recently.

I shouldn’t be too hasty about the faux-Anglo thing. They are associated with the Wychwood Brewery in England, who’re one of the small breweries that arose in the 1980’s from the carnage of the large brewery buy-outs. For a time there it seemed that the big boys were buying out anyone with a sense of taste, crushing individuality in the beer business. But, as always happens, there’s always some bright young lads ready to step in with a good pint. Wychwood has an impressive array of awards for their beers, with Hobgoblin Ale being a stand-out, and the impressively titled Dog’s Bollocks.

How could you not love Dog’s Bollocks?

I ordered their house Hobgoblin Ale (there goes that 1000 yen note after all). This came with a a dark woody colour and a crisp head that collapsed failry soon. The ale was well hopped, and a nice change for me. I thrive on variety.

I used the time to catch up on my notes, and tried to plan what was still left of our time.

Planning has not been our strong suite this trip.

One thing that was hurting me was that I hadn’t been able to find a Michelin Guide yet. There’s an English language bookstore just over towards Roppongi Hills, and I’d hit it up as soon as I saw it (Aoyama Books, I think?), but they were sold out of the Guide.

This was an impediment.

There’s a lot of controversy over Michellin covering Tokyo, but I’ll discuss that later as we go along. For now, I’d intended to rely upon it for mapping out my future eats. I did have a copy of the list on board my computer, so that would have to do.

Somewhere along the way, the ale had disappeared from my pint glass. I wonder how that happens?

I called over a waitress and asked about the “guest ale”. This turned out to be an IPA by Green King. Now, given my stated belief in the need to go with a coincidence when one finds you, and the fact that I’m partially to IPA’s……well, there’s goes another 1000 yen note.

I always wonder, when seeing a bar shirt that says “staff” is it a statement of employment, or a proclamation of disease?

What appeared was a very nice IPA with good hops, and a milk-maid creamy head. This I could linger over quite readily.

The bar became louder as time progressed, and I found my notes in order, at least for the moment. If I took the side streets to the cemetery I could probably avoid my new “friends” on the main drag.

Some cheese and crackers would be good right now……….If the Boy’s left me any…….

[takadi]

Wow, it looks like you can sleep on that head

[Hiroyuki]

We’d also found some mochi.  Two different kinds…… I better check.  Are these mochi?  They tasted soft and ricey and sweet, but I’ve been wrong before.  There’s part of the kanji for mochi there, atop “nagara no idawari”. (Does someone care to sneak in here for quick bit of help?)

For arguments sake, we’ll say they’re mochi.  This presented a problem.  I was interested in heading out again, but leaving this behind with the boy meant that I would probably not be seeing them when I got back. 

So we ate them.

We also devastated the package of dried stuff we’d bought.  I bought it thinking it was shredded squid, but I don’t think that was it……

←

OK, I'll sneak in this time.

They are daifuku, sweets basically made with mochi + sugar with anko (bean paste) filling.

The top package contains shio (salt) daifuku, and the bottom one yomogi (mugwort) daifuku.

昔ながらのこだわり = Mukashi nagara no kodawari, roughly "sticking to the old tradition"

The filling is "tsubu an" (sweetened azuki bean paste with husks not removed) for both types. "Koshi an" is an with husks removed.

Second photo: It's dried squid! It's usually called surume in Japanese, but this particular one has "yaki atarime" printed on its package. Atarime is another name for surume. The word has been coined because suru in surume has some bad meanings like fail. Atari roughly means win.

[Peter Green]

March 23 – Geeks’R’Us (and proud of it)

Sunday. We were now on our second day of Tokyo.

It was time.

We needed to be at Akibahara.

For the anime, manga, gaming crowd, this could be considered ground zero. If it comes in primary colours (or black and white) you’ll find it here.

Our first stop was Gamers, an Akiba institution. It’s famous enough that it crops up in anime and manga as a location on a regular basis. The only problem was that we were still a little early, and so only the ground floor section was open.

So we wandered up the street, dropping in and out of shops to see what was on offer.

This was exhausting.

It’s not that I don’t have a healthy appetite for this sort of thing, but almost all of these stores are vertical. That means you’re in for at least three, but more likely five or seven floors of up and down.

Typically, the ground floor would have the high priced new stuff. Games, DVDs (oftern imported), and some hardware. You had to climb upstairs to get to the manga and anime, both of which would often be split over a few floors based on subject matter.

If you got it wrong, you climbed the last floor to find yourself in a pink world of girls’ romance stories.

Other floors may contain only novelizations of manga, rather than the comics themselves.

And other floors would, at first glance, be anime DVD’s, but on closer inspection only be soundtracks for anime.

The DVD floors could occupy us for a considerable amount of time. Scud educated me on a number of things. One was the whole tokusatsu thing that we’d touched upon earlier in post 235. Tokusatsu deal with the whole field of special effects movies, the greater portion of which can be summed up as “people in suits”. Masked Rider and Power Rangers are two examples that I’ve spend hours watching with Scud on my lap (that was a while ago), and this genre goes way back into the 50’s, as Hiroyuki was saying, with characters like Gekko Kamen (Moonlight Mask).

There are arguments made that the form draws its inspiration from older genres, such as kabuki and bunraku. Bunraku – the puppet theatre of Japan (which I missed in Kansai) – is probably a fairer argument. Consider the great puppet shows of the 60’s – Gerry Anderson’s Thunderbirds, Captain Scarlet. If these aren’t the modern (well…half a century old is kind of modern) successors to bunraku, what is.

Plus, the Mysterions were cool.

Sadly, this lead to Team America….the less said the better……

(I’m getting that look from the family that indicates there’s a nursing home in my near future).

Anyways, the case is there for consideration. Much of the love Japan has for manga, anime, and people in colourful suits comes from a culture that’s been very open to being entertained.

Of course, the most famous Tokusatsu for me, my generation, and all Blue Oyster Cult fans has to be Godzilla. Wrestler’s in rubber suits. That’s what makes for a great fan base. Hollywood’s Godzilla was a sad thing, and it took Godzilla 2000 to exonerate the series.

Consider this bit of dialogue as passengers on the bullet train observe flames on the horizon:

“What’s that!”

“Oh, it’s just Godzilla.”

That reminds me, I still have to find the fourth Gamora movie. This is actually more of a fan production, based around the giant flying turtle. It actually tries to come to grips with the question that bothers everyone, “Why is Japan always being attacked by giant monsters?” (I won’t give it away. But see them, they’re quite good).

And, speaking of fans, there were floor after floor of dojin stuff.

I shudder.

It didn’t use to be a term to bring out such general revulsion. Really, it just refers to a group of people with a shared interest, and can be taken as just self-published (vanity press) sort of material.

But when you talk dojin to otaku, you’re talking manga fandom, and what happens when the people buying and reading this stuff get free of copyright restrictions with their favourite characters.

Some of it is kind of disturbing.

I won’t go into details. This is, after all, a food forum, and some of us are eating.

Which brings up the question…..what do you eat in Otakuland?

Well, I was expecting ramen shops to be in the ascendancy, but what really stood out were the onigiri places. Like sandwich shops in the West, if you want a filling, they’ve got a filling.

Scud wandered in and out of another dozen or so places, checking titles and upcoming releases, and hunting for books for some of his more literate friends back at school. After awhile I gave up on the Stairmaster routine, and contented myself with window shopping for things for Yoonhi.

This looked promising.

As you’d expect, besides the manga and anime, there was no shortage of maid cafes (honestly, I see nothing wrong with those). We thought we’d spotted a cosplay (costume play) café, but I was smart and had Scud hike up to the 5th floor to check it out. It turned out to be just a shop selling costumes.

I can find those on ground level.

I was reading, later that evening, in Metropolis, one of the local magazines (March 21 issue) said that the Otaku were already moving on, out of Akibahara for Nakano. There’s been dual concern amongst the otaku – first, that the new, large developments are crowding out their shops and playgrounds, and second that Akiba is turning into a tourist spot, with mobs of tourists coming to gawk at them.

Are Scud and I a “mob”?

Maybe it’s the readership of the mag, but there seems to be a certain resentment in the letters section. One letter goes so far as to say “otaku are just the salarymen of tomorrow”.

Come to think of it, Salarymen Of Tomorrow would be a great name for a band.

Next: Searching For Elvis

[Hiroyuki]

Akihabara vs. Akibahara

Historically, the latter was correct, because there was a shrine there called Akiba Jinja (秋葉神社), but in 1890, a railway station was built there, and it was named Akihabara. Since then, Akihabara has become the official name, but there are still people who call the district Akibahara. To make things more complicated, the abbreviation for Akihabara is Akiba.

I used to frequent Akihabara when I was much younger (11 to 16 years of age). I was one of those interested in "electronics". I used to go there to buy transistors, resistors, capacitors, coils, and so on (IC chips were still rare in those days). Akiba has changed so much since then, and unfortunately, has lost much of its allure for me.

[Peter Green]

Akihabara vs. Akibahara

Historically, the latter was correct, because there was a shrine there called Akiba Jinja (秋葉神社), but in 1890, a railway station was built there, and it was named Akihabara.  Since then, Akihabara has become the official name, but there are still people who call the district Akibahara.  To make things more complicated, the abbreviation for Akihabara is Akiba.

I used to frequent Akihabara when I was much younger (11 to 16 years of age).  I was one of those interested in "electronics".  I used to go there to buy transistors, resistors, capacitors, coils, and so on (IC chips were still rare in those days).  Akiba has changed so much since then, and unfortunately, has lost much of its allure for me.

←

Thanks, Hiroyuki! Yup, I've seen it used both ways. Recently in that Metropolis piece, and also in some old stories, but it may be very much the "old" part.

Ah, the days when someone mentioned a "transformer" and you thought of power grids, not giant fighting robots.........

[Peter Green]

March 23 – The Bridge of Cosplay

Scud was still thirsting for more, but the Sunday was rolling on, and I wanted to do Harajuku Bridge. After Scud had dropped 3,000 yen on a 9 Tail Fox Demon t-shirt (it’s a Naruto thing), I figured it was time to move on.

I had a destination, and I had a restaurrant picked out. I convinced Scud that both were worth our time. He decided he should trust in his father’s sage advice.

Not a wise decision.

First, crowds.

This place, on a Sunday afternoon, is busy.

Second, I’d come here for the cosplay. Years back I remember seeing great photos of crowds of wildly dressed teens, and legions of Elvis impersonators.

What we had, instead, was a small display of folks in costume, and a legion of gawkers (of which we were two).

Third, lunch was a disaster.

I’d had a couple of options planned out for lunch dining in the area. Both of these required a bit of a stroll, but nothing too strenuous.

Unfortunately, Scud’s patience was running a bit thin, and, like his mother, it gets really stretched out when hunger is involved.

Our first target, contrary to what it said in the Wining Dining book I’d purloined from our place said, turned out not to be open on Sunday lunch.

The second place was closed, too.

Do you know how hard it is to find a place to eat when you need one?

Finally, we ended up in the side streets off Meiji Dori, those small alleyways of boutiques and neat music shops (and darn few restaurants), and came acrossYoogee’s. I suggested looking a little further on for something more interesing, but the look of death I got from the Boy put me in a different mind.

Lunch was, well, uninspiring. But it kept Scud happy.

I had a particularly black and Gothic looking curry, which cheered me up a little bit, while Scud had spaghetti, in large part as revenge, I suspect, to thwart my getting any decent pictures.

Wining Dining isn't a particularly inspiring book to work from, but it was at hand. It's typical of paid advertising books, and so I take things with a grain of salt (heck, I take my salt with a grain of salt), but it could still be useful......just not this day (Yoogee's is not in the book).

I actually didn’t mind the place for the feel and atmosphere. We had a good spot in the patio, which gave us a vantage point to observe the street traffic. And the décor reminded me that “Hawaii” is an icon in Japan, much as Vancouver is in Korea.

The curry itself was innocuous. It was a bit on the thin side, and, while I’d hoped for a certain amount of evil spice from that black roux, I was disappointed. It was mild, and just generally “tangy” more than spicy.

Of course, once we’d eaten we found restaurants everywhere, including one burger and hot dog joint built out of an Airstream trailer.

I figured from here we might as well cut up through the Yoyogi Park, and see the Meiji Shrine.

Secretly, I was hoping for a gang of berserk Rockabillies (did anyone else read Harlan Ellison’s classic of the same name) and perhaps the chance to catch a Mishima character hiding in the bushes, but I knew better than to mention such things to Scud. He was in a better mood, but not by much.

There was a bit more of a crowd out on the bridge, but it was still pretty tame.

After some idle voyeurism we headed through the torii into Yoyogi Park, towards the Meiji Shrine.

I was surprised at the casks.

Not the sake casks (which are beautiful), but the wine.

What I was seeing was the “Provenance of the Bourgogne Wine for Consecration at Meiji Jingu”.

The Meiji Emperor had written

By gaining the good and rejecting what is wrong,

It is our desire that we’ll compare favourably

With other lands abroad.

The Meiji Emperor did, effectively “walk the walk” and carried through his desire for modernization by setting an example through his personal life (or as “personal” as his life could be). One aspect of this was in having western meals, and in having wine with these meals.

Quite sensible.

(If you're interested, here's a link that came up on this particular wine maker)

The wine is fairly modern. A relatively recent addition to the shrine’s paraphernalia. The casks are new, with the fresh smell of oak about them. This monument to the best of French culture is the brainchild of Dr. Yasuhiko Sata, an honorary citizen of Bourgogne, representative of The House of Burgundy in Tokyo, and chairman of Tokibo, one of the largest suppliers of medical equipment in Japan. A quick search, and you find his name amongst a number of charities, including those for land mine victims in South East Asia. Having spent a number of nights on the streets of Phnom Penh in the 90’s, I have a certain appreciation for that. Amongst many things, he owns an hotel in France (with a golf course). I’ll have to look up his hotel, the Chateau de Chailly Hotel-Golf, if I ever get to France (I am foiled in every attempt).

Anyways, details on this particular item are sparse. At least sparse in what we can find on the information superhighway. If there is more in this regards, please, let’s hear about it. I should think that there’s a good story in all this. (Maybe I can ask Thierry in Bangkok later on?)

While China is swiftly catching up, Japan is still the market for good wines in Asia, and the great families of Bordeaux and the rest of France are continually courting Japan (meanwhile, Thailand flounders under some of the most punitive import duties imaginable, and Singapore isn’t far behind). I know, you’d think I’d be taking advantage of my location to enjoy the good things in life. But, realistically, I can almost always hunt down good wine, but I can’t always find good sake, and I’ve grown exceedingly fond of sake on this trip. One must have priorities.

So, after several minutes of checking out the wine makers, Scud dragged me off to get on with the cultural thing.

I enjoyed the park, even if we didn’t find any Rockabillies. Being a Vancouverite, I like being amongst trees, and the park is well populated with some admirable trunks. And the shrine itself fits in well.

Weddings are the order of the day, and there were beautiful kimono and suits parading past in column. The shinto priests were passing through the crowds of tourists and worshippers, about their business. And the tourists, foreign and local alike, were milling about the gates, everyone behaving with proper respect.

Everything in its place, and a place for everything.

From here we headed North, into yet another world.

[Peter Green]

March 23 – In the Lair of the Iron Chef

Our journey home took us back to Roppongi by way of Shinjuku.

If you know the town, or have a map handy, that gives you a pretty good idea of how efficient we can be.

Still, it gave us the opportunity to admire the panic crossings and the jam-packed atmosphere of the uber-modern side of Japan. Scud was too grouchy at this point to do much in the way of pictures so it seemed a reasonable time to head back to Roppongi and our place.

That gave me time to consider our dining options. Scud said he wanted sushi. We still didn’t have a red book, but I checked the computer’s list, and then cross checked against the now-battered Wining Dining guide (I was going to have to make a concerted effort to find Kinokuniya, we’d missed it this day).

What came up was Restaurant Morimoto XEX.

XEX? There were loads of places with XEX attached to the name in this advertising pamphlet disguised (poorly) as a guide book.

XEX is the brand name for the high end elements of Y’s Table’s portfolio of restaurants. Y’s Table, or rather Y’s Table Corporation, is an investment group that manages both the XEX range, and franchises fast food and casual restaurants as well. With money from Mitsui and Daiichi Mutual, there’re some deep pockets here.

So, we can trace the money. What else?

Well, there’s Masaharu Morimoto, the chef himself. While he wasn’t in residence this evening, the place does bear his imprimateur.

Okay, you’re going to have to forgive me, but I don’t watch tv. For child rearing reasons – primarily – we’d decided early on that getting a dish was just going to guarantee the kids a steady diet of pablum through the age of….oh…say 42.

(Yes, Scud does hate us for this).

So, stuff that most people consider common knowledge of everyday life can pass us by.

Iron Chef, for instance. I’ve seen a couple of the old Japanese episodes in Bangkok, but that was a long, long time ago. I had the general gist of what happens on the show, but as to the names and faces….forget it.

I also haven’t been to New York or Philly, so I hadn’t had any contact with his places there, or with Nobu New York (only the London side, I’m afraid). Likewise, the invitation the Sony Corporation must have sent me to dine as a VIP in their corporate restaurant must have gone astray.

So, while chef Moritomo has had a stellar career, both on television and in the kitchens of some very good restaurants, our paths have never crossed.

In other words, I’m just plain ignorant. But you should be used to that at this point.

Looking him up after the fact, he’s a native of Hiroshima, where he had studied and opened his first restaurant. Actually, looking at wiki and his website, he’d started off wanting to be a professional baseball player, but a damaged shoulder put paid to those dreams. Luckily, he also liked cooking, so that’s what put him on the path that led him overseas to New York in the 80’s. And the rest we’ve already gone over.

The restaurant was tucked away on the back side of Roppongi, over near the tunnel. I’d thought it would be easy to get to, but this was overconfidence on my point. With the hills of Roppongi, too many streets turn into dead ends.

But, through blind luck, I did find it. Like many places here, there’s just the one name sign outside to let me know I’m where I should be. Luckily there was romaji on this sign. Luckily the sign was lit. Luckily I had Scud with me to spot it.

Inside, as expected, everyone was as gracious as you’d expect.

Now, I may have messed up slightly, but not to the point that I was overly concerned. I’d booked us for the sushi bar, as this was what Scud really wanted. But this restaurant – only opened in 2006 - actually took its Michelin star for its yakitori, which is done downstairs in a basement room.

But, ignorance is bliss.

We abandoned our jackets, sat ourselves at the bar, and gave ourselves up to our chef for the evening – Torohiro Nakayama.

I began with a cocktail of sorts. Shochu (potato) with grapefruit juice. Scud had a taste, and voiced his approval. But he was going to make do with tea.

Our first course was a fish caviar cake – crunchy tobiko feel, but just a little rubbery – fresh tofu “skin” with a sweat soy and a dab of wasabi – a nice clean taste; and a shrimp and fish mousse, again with a dab of wasabi – soft and rich.

The edge taken from our hunger, there’s time to contemplate the room. A nice open space stretches back behind the bar, with running water providing a pond around two toppled obelisks. Grills are placed here, in the water, for cooking.

The work areas are all clean, straight slabs of wood.

Our second course is a toro tartare – the tuna worked down to a paste – topped with a line of oscetra caviar, and braced by an octet (if I count right) of garnishes – wasabi, sour cream, seaweed, avocado, shisho, “saltiness”, nori, and rice pop – each for a particular flavour or texture. There’s a sauce of dashi and soy, and a small mountain peach (Yamamomo), bashful behind the yellow blossom.

I’ve made it clear in previous posts that I heartily approve of dishes eaten with shovels. With the little spatula we’d take off a piece of the tuna, an egg or two of the caviar, and then play with the toppings.

I’m also a big fan of fresh ground wasabi, something I’ve grown used to in Bangkok. The powder tends to concentrate the flavour too much, and can be overpowering at times, which I don’t find to be the case with the root grated and worked down on the spot.

This was fun, and Scud approved.

Once we’d finished that, our serving tray became our primary focus for the forthcoming sushi and sashimi.

With food, sake is by far the better accompaniment. I asked what they had that would be interesting, and a Taina unfiltered sake was recommended. Fairly full in the mouth, and a little towards the sweet side.

With this a filet of of fish (but not the McD type). This was kawahagi (filefish), a flat fish. It came with shards of spring onion, and a sauce worked up from its own liver. The flesh has a firmness and certain austerity to it, helped out by the richness of the liver.

Here’s a link I found on preparing the kawahagi.

Next was a sashimi of mirugai that was so crunchy and fresh that we forgot to take a picture of it.

Then a piece of black cod that had been cooking on the grill over the water. The sweet soy had caramelized lightly, giving a tanned sheen as the cut waited there on the burdock leaf. The meat flaked away, and then broke down sweetly once it was in the mouth. A bit of the pickled vegetable (what is that, I wonder?) to clean the mouth for the next bite.

I’d been enjoying things so far. Having a glass of sake sent around for me didn’t dampen this mood in the slightest.

This was interesting, and something I’d read of. The sake was Masuizumi, from Toyama Prefecture. They’re well regarded for their ginjoshu, the tasting notes refering to a “narrow” flavour, “free from too many distracting elements that would only clutter it”. That may be, but in this case they’ve oaked the sake in French casks from Domaine Ramone, whose name seems to come up mainly in conjunction with Montrachet in Burgundy (which isn’t bad company, at all).

The sake is a 2002, having been aged, which isn’t the norm. It’s still very clean, there’s just that overtone of wood about it, softening the flavour.

I take a pretty piece of horse mackeral (aji) with this, the back scored open and dressed with fresh greens (and we Greens can get pretty fresh). The fish is meaty, with a stong flavour.

I’m enjoying this sake, presented, I should mention, in stemware, which does a nice job of concentrating the nose for me (okay, it gives me the opportunity to bury my over-sized shnozzer in something large enough to handle it).

Steamed bamboo next. The liquid is excellent, and I wish there was more. The bamboo itself is unlike what I’d had in Kyoto. There’s not the crisp element, but rather this fllas apart in my mouth. I play with that, and introduce some of the kelp, which has a great texture as well.

Then comes tsubuka (I believe that’s what it was). This tasted like conch, although conch would be horagai?

I watched Nakayama san mix up the liver fresh for a new serving of the fish for someone.

His assistant, to my left, is making an outside-inside maki, the rice contained in the rolling with a piece of cloth that it’s rolled in. The cloth removed, the rice drops ploppingly from the the nori like maggots from a hunk of rotting meat….okay, that may not read that appetizing, but it looked really good! On my neighbors plate it slowly came open, releasing steam in a nice bit of theatrics.

And then there’s a piece of sushi. Ebi. Sweet and soft. Translucent, it plays the light off of the colours of it’s skin, and underneath. This is how I like ebi.

The pickles on our plate are a long, crunchy brown root I don’t recognize, and the ubqiquitous ginger. I’m told the root is Yamagogo. Scud and I aren’t quite certain if we should go ahead and eat them, or if they’re to go with something else, but we figure, “what they heck”. We’re foreigners.

We ate them.

There followed a lightly tempura’d thing. This I was told was meshikai katsudaage. Soft, with a taste of a fish mousse.

And a nice piece of tuna. But the rice is the real highlight. I should have mentioned that with the ebi. Each grain stands out, and the taste, with the vinegar and the sake in there, is very, very good. I spend a certain amount of time just chasing the grains of rice around in my mouth.

I watched his hands as he prepared this. They were hard to see, they were moving that fast. Like the fellow who did our train tickets for us in Kyoto.

I know this as squilla, or mantis shrimp. The Japanese would be shako. A nice contrast to the ebi earlier, and again, an excuse for me to enjoy the rice.

I find myself, inexplicably, out of sake. This time I go for something a bit sweeter – Hiroki from Hakushima in Hiroshima, I believe, but I may well be wrong (I usually am). This is noticeably sweeter than my other sakes, and stands well with the next dish.

The next dish being char, split down the back to reveal the the oily meat underneath. Again, a strong flavoured fish, and one that goes well with the sake they’ve proferred.

My miso (again, I was having too much fun to shoot) was thin compared to what I’m used to. But it was packed with fresh greens.

Next was a kanpyomaki, a roll. Kanpyo is a dried gourd that shaved and then brined and cooked in dashi with sake, soy, and sugar. This had been citrused up with orange zest. Scud and I lingered over this as I finished my sake.

We passed upstairs for our dessert, to the lounge. This is a room for champagne lovers, done up in Dom Perignon bottles, with comfortable couches and lighting that is way too low to allow for any photography….at least not without disturbing the other guests up here. The lounge is broken into quadrants, with Scud and I holding down the corner farthest from the fireplace.

For dessert I went with a tofu cheesecake, and Scud the crème brullee. It seems they’ve been shorting the students on crème brullee at his school. I’ll have to have a word with them about that. He says there’s been no caviar or foie gras, either.

The cheesecake is good enough, but not spectacular. The crème brullee was nicely done, touched up at the end with a grating of citrus skin (mikan, I think).

I decide to put the lounge to the test, and try a martini. Bombay Sapphire, with a sliver of lemon skin is how I order it, but what comes is a wide shaving of lemon peel perched on the side of my drink, with a steel spiked olive in there at the bottom of the gin.

Oh well. This isn’t a martini nation.

It doesn’t taste too bad, though.

In all, a nice meal, one that made up for the poor lunch we’d had, and the late start to our proper dining in Tokyo. We collect our things, thank the staff, and head back home, brazing our way through the pimps of Roppongi.

[Peter Green]

March 23 – Post script

As expected, when I’m in a cheerful mood like the one I left Morimoto’s with, I didn’t make it straight home.

I tried to talk Scud into joining me, but his heart was set on the laptop, so we parted ways just across the street from our turn-in to the Oakwood. Scud would go home and I would check out The Hub.

The Hub advertised an “English style” pub. They also advertised cheap (well, 350 yen) beer. However, once I entered and ordered a pint of their own brew – Hub Ale – I found that the 350 yen didn’t apply. It was 800 yen for a pint of ale.

Still, I was on a mission to check out the beers of Japan, so I couldn’t really balk.

The ale was disappointing, the more so as the colour and head looked very good. But it just came torough too weak in the finish.

The crowd (although it wasn’t what I’d call crowded) was pretty much all Japanese, made up of a long table that appeared to be all one company out for an after-work celebration. Mostly men, but there were a couple of ladies in the crowd, too.

The one beer was enough to settle me, and with that I headed home, taking just long enough to read this marvelously anonymous plea for civility.

Next: March 24 (you thought I’d never get there, didn’t you?)

[Hiroyuki]

Some comments and questions from me:

1. Fish caviar cake: Isn't it komochi kombu (kombu with herring roe). It's a great souvenir for Japanese from Canada.

Images of komochi kombu

2. Pickled vegetable in the cod dish: It looks like simmered daikon leaves and stems to me. Other possibilities: Takana, nozawana

Images of takana

Images of nozawana

3. Yamagogo: Yamagobo (lit. mountain burdock root)?

4. Shako: I've never seen or eaten such bright orange ones. Were they really shako. I thought they were mushi ebi (steamed shrimp).

5. Hiroki (sake): I did some googling and found it's from Hiroki Shuzo in Fukushima (福島) prefecture.

6. Takenoko (bamboo shoots)! It's that time of year again. I bought one yesterday, and posted photos of it in the shun no mono (spring) thread.

Another great dinner, but as for me, I would like to concentrate on sushi alone.

Edited April 18, 2008 by Hiroyuki (log)

[Peter Green]

1.  Fish caviar cake:  Isn't it komochi kombu (kombu with herring roe).  It's a great souvenir for Japanese from Canada.

Images of komochi kombu

←

Hiroyuki,

That's definitely it! It's odd, coming from Vancouver, but I've never had that. For some reason it doesn't get onto the menus there (is it all bought up for Japan?)

2.  Pickled vegetable in the cod dish:  It looks like simmered daikon leaves and stems to me.  Other possibilities:  Takana, nozawana

Images of takana

Images of nozawana

←

This one's tougher. There was some similarity with the takana, but what they served at Morimoto was chopped down and marinated such that it was hard to draw a visual correlation.

3.  Yamagogo:  Yamagobo (lit. mountain burdock root)?

←

Yup, that's the one. It's just the trick of getting the word from the chef's mouth to my ear and out the pen. Is there a significant difference between mountain gobo and just plain gobo? Now that I've got the right spelling, it's interesting to read that Japan is one of the last places where this is popular (and in Korea. Yoonhi looked at this and said 'burdock" right away, and then looked at me with that "how many years have I fed you this?" look).

4.  Shako:  I've never seen or eaten such bright orange ones.  Were they really shako.  I thought they were mushi ebi (steamed shrimp).

←

The chef said shako, so I'll go with it. That long body seems familiar to me as squilla from eating in other places.

5.  Hiroki (sake):  I did some googling and found it's from Hiroki Shuzo in Fukushima (福島) prefecture.

←

Thanks a million for this one, Hiroyuki! When I'd tried to google I'd gotten sidetracked on the Hakushima note that I'd written down. I followed your path and found this note on

Hiroki Shuzo tokubetsu daiginshu. The article (from late 2006) covers a review of sake products not yet (at that time) available in the States. Hiroki had taken a Gold medal in the nationals. It's designated as a "special" (tokubetsu) as the sake is itself a blend of two different rice polishes - a 50% daiginjo grade and a 55% premium ginjo grade.

6.  Takenoko (bamboo shoots)!  It's that time of year again.  I bought one yesterday, and posted photos of it in the shun no mono (spring) thread.

←

Aren't they pretty? I used some last week in some Thai cooking. But that doesn't belong in this thread.

Thanks again!

Peter

[sanrensho]

Hiroyuki,

That's definitely it!  It's odd, coming from Vancouver, but I've never had that.  For some reason it doesn't get onto the menus there (is it all bought up for Japan?)

At least locally, we call this kazunoko kombu here in Vancouver. That is how we've always called it in the Japanese community.

You might try asking for it next time you're in Vancouver, or requesting it a few days in advance, since it does take some preparation. I'm sure you can also buy it from Fujiya or Angel Seafood. My mother usually prepares kazunoko kombu for Oshogatsu (New Year's).