Ajimi 味見

The city beyond the castle

2011-10-11T19:17:00.000-07:00

My first visit to Matsumoto was not fun. I'd landed in Japan a few days earlier and decided to head to the mountains for a spell before beginning my new life as an English teacher. But by the time I reached Matsumoto, whatever bug I'd picked up on the trans-Pacific flight had taken hold of me and I found myself trapped in my cocoon-like hotel room, shivering with fever, gazing out at the alps that ring the city. After 48 hours the bug vanished and I got the chance to stroll around - wide, modern streets, traffic, ho-hum, I thought, just another big, dull town. Matsumoto Castle is well worth seeing as one of the best-preserved feudal castles in Japan, but beyond that my first trip to Matsumoto didn't reveal a lot else to attract out-of-town visitors.

Since then, the Ajimi team has been back to Matsumoto a couple times, abetted by the cheap train fares from Tokyo which make it a good destination for a brief getaway. We discovered onsen towns on the outskirts which it pays to have a least a passing familiarity with Japanese to navigate. Each time we return we find something new to appreciate about the place. First, from an architectural point of view, the city, like Kofu and others, has benefited from being a bit of a backwater compared to Tokyo. There hasn't been quite the lust to knock things down so one can still see traces of bygone styles -- Showa, Taisho, even Meiji- and Edo-era structures -- scattered around the landscape. The city is like a reliquary containing fragments of outmoded commercial architecture. There are lots of woeful-looking buildings containing down-at-heels snack bars and other businesses which have somehow managed to carry on. There are also lots of kura, those rugged, squat buildings where people traditionally stowed their valuables. They're tough to knock down so many people over the years have said the heck with it and adapted them for other uses. (In some communities in northeastern Japan, kura were among the few buildings left after the great Tohoku earthquake and tsunami, probably not the first catastrophe they'd managed to survive.) It all makes for a very interesting visual blend.

So a pleasant afternoon for us in Matsumoto involves walking around looking at odd old buildings. But during our recent visit we noticed that a few more modern structures had been added to the mix. And overall the scale of the city offers more opportunity to appreciate the buildings - they're not packed so tightly together and cloaked with the signage and other forms of visual pollution that characterize buildings in Tokyo. Granted, Matsumoto is still not exactly a hotbed of architectural innovation, but it does offer elements of delight that make for a good afternoon's urban exploration.

VS

When You're Hot You're Hot

2011-07-18T23:40:00.000-07:00

When learning any language, one starts with the greetings, moves on to the pleasantries and hopefully, on to conversation. Asking about or commenting on the weather is standard issue for any beginner. In Japanese, one’s taught “ii tenki, ne” (nice weather, isn’t it), or more formally, “yoi tenki, desune.” A classic icebreaker - talking about the weather. One will learn this in most beginning Japanese classes. But “ii tenki, ne” and “yoi tenki, desune” appear to be expressions that are never used. When talking of weather the ritual always goes – and most Japanese will beat you to the punch – “atsui ne” (hot, isn’t it) or conversely “samui ne” (cold isn’t’ it). In our years here, We’ve never heard a single person say the weather was nice. It’s always too hot or too cold. And if we’ve had the opportunity to say something like, “nice weather, isn't it?” we are usually corrected. It’s either hot or cold. It's never at that state of in betweenies. The weather's never "good."

On this sweltering summer day, we’ve been pondering why. Why can’t the Japanese acknowledge a nice day? A couple of thoughts come to mind. One is that in Japan, there are no nice days. A second is that like cherry blossoms, fireworks, beauty, the weather is something temporal and fleeting. The moment of niceness, of perfect temperature, humidity and good feeling passes. And it passes quickly in Tokyo. One moment might be nice. A few seconds later a downpour. So, when talk of the weather happens, usually that moment has passed and the speaker has moved into a new state of coldness or hotness. It's the only honest way to speak about it.

As to our first proposition – no nice days in Japan – there is some precedence. The Japanese take a strange and obsessive pride in the fact that there are 4 seasons (some sources suggest there may be up to 27) in Japan, all with equally bad weather. In Tokyo, where the Ajimi team lives, one can basically write off June through mid-October. The very long and hot summer here, beginning with tsuyu (the rainy season) in June and capped by the rainier typhoon season from September to October, is unremitting in discomfort. When not pouring rain it’s muggy and hot both day and night. So, during the summer months, what else is there to say but “yeah, it’s hot.” Winter, from December into March, can be pretty cold. Granted not so cold as a Chicago winter, but in a land without central heating, plenny ass-freezing. And then there’s the rain. The Seattleite of the ajimi team sometimes misses the dryness of the Pacific Northwest. As for April, May November and the rest of October, always a crap shoot. They can be OK sometimes, but one never knows. It's best to err on the side of complaint.

We’ve also noticed an absolutism that seems particular to the culture. Take a hot summer day mediated by nice breezes. We’ve mentioned it with friends and acquaintances. “It’s hot, but there’s a nice wind” will only be met with a blank stare. How can a day be hot and have something cool at the same time? Despite Japan’s subtlety – in cuisine, personal relations, aesthetics, pop culture – it’s a subtlety not born of dialectics or semantics. There can be no mediating factors. Weather is strictly ontological. What is is.

So when in Japan, be prepared. Most times it’s easy to say “atsui ne” or “samui ne.” The conditions will certainly warrant the appropriate response. However, on that day that feels pleasant and nice - just right - just hold your tongue. Someone will surely fill you in on what kind of day it really is.

-NV

Journey to Onomichi

2011-07-12T00:43:00.000-07:00

“Sometimes I don’t have a clue anymore

how to retrace, let alone explain the complexity

of even the simplest thing,

or the history of its influences…”

- Wim Wenders, Journey to Onomichi

Wim Wender’s photo book, Journey to Onomichi, begins with a panoramic shot of the sea near Naoshima – looking out from the town of Onomichi toward misty islands. Away from the city he’s ostensibly looking at. The early morning sky fades up from the horizon, a faint yellow ochre to the dull indigo of Japanese woodblock prints. The technology of the split fountain printer’s technique exists in the sky here.

Next come a pair of close-ups. A twisty leathery vine splits the frame. A mound of lichen encrusted Buddhas are dappled by yellow sunlight.

Then there is the establishing shot. The town itself. The shoreline twists away. The roofs of the house glint in the setting sun, peaking from behind a dead tree, its trunk and branches cutting across the frame. The still and tortured tree appears to be holding up dark clouds, if only for the moment of the shutter’s click, letting the sun shine down on the quiet village.

In 2005, Wim Wenders made a pilgrimage to Onomichi, a town on the southeastern edge of Honshu off the Inland Sea about 50 kilometers away from Hiroshima.

In 1953, Ozu Yasujiro set much of his masterpiece, Tokyo monogatari (Tokyo Story), in this village. The old couple at the heart of the story, Shukichi (Chishu Ryu) and Tomi Hirayama (Chieko Higashiyama), live here. In the film they visit their distant and distanced children in Tokyo and Osaka, only to finally return to their hometown where Tomi dies. The shattered yet upright Shukichi is left to mourn not only his wife’s death, but also the passing of family, tradition, even culture. The story is a simple, but the tragedy is profound. Shukichi is like the lone tree in Wender’s photograph, not only bearing witness, but also bearing the burden of these passings.

Tokyo monogatari* opens with a set of shots that will repeat themselves later in the film. The first is of a stone lantern. In the foreground, the perspective makes it look huge. It towers over the waterfront and distant hills. The next shot shows schoolchildren walking to school, away from the camera. A pair of large gabled warehouse buildings form the backdrop. They are white in morning sun. In the foreground, a couple of sake bottles, one of Ozu’s favorite motifs, and seller’s cart complete the composition. The third shot shows village rooftops climbing up a hill. From this stillness a train cuts though from right to left through the center of the frame. Then we cut to a reverse shot, looking down the hill toward the water. The train cuts through again. Some white laundry hanging in the foreground rustles and blows as the black locomotive passes. The fifth shot shows a Buddhist temple sitting on small bluff. The sixth takes us into the shitamachi where the old couple lives. Worn wood and stuccoed walls and a narrow street where a young woman in a crisp white blouse and conservative dark skirt, holding a briefcase walks away from the camera. The next shot finds us in Shukichi’s and Tomi’s house.

In Journey to Onomichi, Wenders next takes us on a walk through the city streets of Onomichi nearly 50 years later. Down to the old quay, little changed, still dull concrete. Then to a wall covered with leftover dabs of paint, stickers, tape, looking like an abstract map of chromosomes. The next shot looks downhill, a graveyard in the foreground, a swimming pool in mid-frame, the new city stretching beyond. A visit to a battleship – two shots, one with a woman in a red dress in the foreground, the other with a red bench – and the empty submarine factory give way to a series of photos of architecture. The juxtaposition of old and new. Crass advertisements, traditional blinds, the way Japanese have no compunction of constructing jury-rigged additions to solid clunky buildings. The way traditional buildings crowd the streetscape with bastard modernism. With Curved Street, Wenders finds light reminiscent of Hopper’s, similar to his photos of Butte storefronts. With The House on the Corner a lone building fills a triangular lot with layers, cubbyholes, odd windows and strange architectural detail. The next section takes through a couple of shots of photo-abstraction to interiors. These are definitely not the interiors of Tokyo monogatari. A coffeehouse sofa, caught in the amber light of a mean 60s/70s décor. Four photos of Audrey Hepburn being stared at by a gallery of stuffed animals. A row of multi-colored, but similar Teddy bears seem to be particularly enamored of the iconic star – as are many folks of a certain generation in Japan. Near the end is shot, a road at dusk, leading out or leading into Onomichi? It’s up to the viewer to decide. Two final pictures recap with moody skies, one of a dot of a helicopter going out to sea, the other a panorama of the town, a moody ceiling of dark clouds tempering the afternoon light into a dull bronze sheen, capturing Onomichi like a bas-relief. A final casting of the village into history.

Wenders, who so loves Tokyo monogatari, went to Onomichi to walk the streets, see if he could find the ambiance, the feel of Ozu’s old town and walk away with his own remembrances, photos, still lives, memento mori of a place that he would maybe never see again. Ozu’s Onomichi, from the few exterior shots in his film, is long gone. Like all Japanese cities, what the war didn’t destroy, the economic miracle took care of.

But what Ozu’s film is about is continuum and the rifts that make that continuum difficult or impossible to maintain.

In 1985, I went to pre-Guggenheim Bilbao to take photographs. Partly inspired by Wenders. He was scheduled to shoot a film there in the early 80s, an historical drama about the evacuation of Jews from one of the last open port towns during World War II, as I recall. I could be wrong about the story. It was so long ago and it never got made. I however made my pilgrimage to the place where he would have made the film, documenting city streets, places, graveyards, frontons. A film called Bilbao.

A continuum of something that never happened in my case. In Wenders case, a continuum of a fiction. In Ozu’s, the fiction itself.

When Tomi dies in Tokyo monogatari, the film suddenly breaks from its mooring. It’s as if the tragedy is too much to bear and the film, the audience must cut away. A sequence of shots follows as a mournful tune swells. A covered dock, empty, with a misty hill in the background; the stone lantern, again, but from a slightly different angle; ships, pulled up on shore; the warehouses, but this time with no children; and finally a shot of the train tracks and the laundry. Things change profoundly. A woman dies. Things change subtly. The angles of the shots are slightly different. And things don't change. There are ships, trains, warehouses, docks, the instruments of human commerce. They may have stopped for a moment, in respect to the dead, but they will continue on.

As artists, we not so much heal the rift in the continuum, but perhaps salve the wounds as best we could with our images, our movies and our words. Whether the big events of history, the stories of loss, or the things left undone and broken, with love and care we hope to make this world of concrete and dead trees a bit more human and understandable.

I’ve never been to Onomichi, but Ozu and Wenders took me there. Wenders literally walked its streets, but he never found Ozu’s Onomichi. He found his own. Just as my Bilbao is different than Wenders.

I wonder if Ozu ever dreamed of Bilbao? I’m quite sure, though, if he had made a film called Bilbao monogatari, I’m sure it would probably have taken place in some Japanese furusato, Bilbao far away, pointing back home.

*For a film called Tokyo Story much of it takes place outside of Tokyo. Ozu may be thinking more of the Tokyo-ization of Japan.

- NV

Spring: Meiji Jingu

2011-04-26T18:25:00.000-07:00

A month from now the irises will be in full bloom and the crowds will descend on the gardens of Meiji Jingu. But for now, it's an island of peace and mid-spring green (and the occasional poodle).

Loli Gagging

2011-04-18T00:07:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was a fine, shining Sunday so we headed down to Yoyogi Park. The sakura blossoms had all blown away in the recent high winds but there was plenty more going on to catch the eye. To our delight, it was Wan Wan Festival weekend! We stumbled across this food and fashion extravaganza for dogs and their owners a few years ago and were pleased to see it was as well-attended as ever. Overalls seem to be what the well-dressed bow wow is wearing this season, and whippets appear to be giving French bulldogs a run for their money as this year's "hot" dog. We missed the talent show - last time I think it was won by a standard poodle doing an interpretive dance to the tune of the Toreador song from "Carmen."

But there was yet more cuteness to come. Hundreds of Lolitas were hanging out in the forecourt of the National Yoyogi Stadium, many of them clutching stuffed animals as complements to their kawaii outfits. Seems they were gathered there for a SID concert, part of the "SID 2011 Deadstock World Tour." Rock on, SID.

卯年

2010-12-24T19:32:00.000-08:00

The Warp and Weft of Chichibu

2010-11-11T20:25:00.001-08:00

Once upon a time, starting with the fig leaf, the things we wore all came from the natural world. The human wardrobe was just a step or two away from the plants, animals and insects that gave their lives so that we might protect ourselves against the rest of nature. Carding, spinning, fulling and weaving the cotton, wool or silk took time and care and even the most basic garment was an expression of the maker's art. A fine bit of cloth was a cherished object to be worn until it was worn out, then perhaps patched, re-worked and passed on to another user.

The city of Chichibu, about 2 hours from central Tokyo, was for many centuries a center of Japanese silk production. The hilltops are now covered by plantations

of fast-growing

pine cultivated to feed the post-war housing boom, but they were once covered with mulberry trees that fed the silkworms. Families in the silk trade, once amounting to some 70% of the population, built large houses where they could warm the cocoons in winter. The city lent its name to a type of silk called Chichibu Meisen (秩父銘仙) in which designs are stenciled by hand onto the warp fibers before weaving. The result is a sort of ikat effect with the edges of the design bleeding into one another. The style remained popular well into the last century and still can be found in kimono fabric, cushion covers and small items such as purses and book covers.

Although there is not much left of the city's silk industry (war, fashion trends and the development of synthetics having dealt their death blows), you can still get an idea of what once was by visiting the Chichibu Meisenkan (秩父銘仙館). Established by the local meisen association in 1930, this center still engages in the entire process of silk production, from cocoon to finished product to gift shop. You can tour the workrooms (they were idle the day we visited) and take workshops on stenciling and weaving. They have a lovely small museum with examples of meisen dating back to the Edo era. The day we arrived in Chichibu the museum had scheduled its annual mushi boshi (虫干し, literally "dried insect") event during which the collection is hung in the courtyard to air. Unfortunately, the weather was too wet so the event was cancelled and we had to content ourselves with seeing just the items on view in the museum.

While searching the web for other local remnants of the sericulture tradition, I came across the website of Arakei Orimono (orimono is Japanese for textiles). They still produce meisen the old fashioned way. The site provides links to meisen-related events around Japan. I will endeavor to pay them a visit on a future trip to Chichibu.

(Note: Yoichi Shimatsu's web article "Japan’s Silk Reelers Blazed an Asian Path of Economic Development" was the source for much of the background material on the Chichibu silk trade.)

Why We Shoot

2010-10-04T16:03:00.000-07:00

Why do photographers take photographs? The question often has simple answers, yet we insist that there be something more behind them. An industry of criticism, historicism and photo-making often depends upon a false complexity constructed around the urge to take and make pictures.

So, why do photographers take photographs?

There are lots of reasons. A certain color. A play of light. An interesting object or face. A texture or play of textures. To remember.

To remember via a photograph is to create a piece of evidence. A record of time and place. A document (a piece of paper with an analog of the thing photographed) that simply states, I was here to see this. Of course there's a long history of tampering with this photographic evidence (famously with the doctored photographs of totalitarian regimes, more recently with nearly anything anyone can do in photoshop), but there is a long line of "honest" photography that encompasses the humanism of Cartier-Bresson and his acolytes and the documentary formalist strain of Atget, that looks to capturing the things of this world before they are lost to time and "progress." On can easily include, perhaps the most important photographers of the last 40 years, Hilla and Bernd Becher, whose life project of documenting industrial architecture in the Ruhr Valley opened the door to issues dealing with the typology of forms, the roots of industrial capitalism and questions about the reasons and functions of photo-documentation.

I imagine that when the Bechers woke up on a chilly gray morning in a place like Recklinghausen, looked and saw a decaying water tower or mine head, their original thoughts and motivation may have been far from their long term project and may have been more simply along the lines of "we like that thing" or "we like the flat and even light of this place and how it makes that thing look like a sculpture" or "we must take this picture of this thing in our world that we wake up and see every day."

I also image Atget scurrying around Paris, taking photos of funky old shops and businesses, merely because there was something that caught his eye, something he liked in the window, something that just felt right and the place was preserved on a glass plate. As these things and places started to fall to the wrecking ball, a new urgency and new reasons for his profound documentation developed.

Last Saturday the Ajimi team (short of one) had the opportunity to briefly meet Chinese photographer Zhang Yuming at Tokyo's Zen Gallery. He was in town with The Ancient Towers, an exhibition of a series of his photographs documenting old stone towers that are rapidly disappearing from the Chinese landscape. Between neglect and thievery, active destruction during the Cultural Revolution and the vicissitudes of rain, snow, sun and wind, these cultural markers are on the endangered architecture list. The towers he has beautifully and austerely documented are largely places of worship, roadside shrines, sacred place markers and village offering-places. The forms are beautiful, in their shabby and distressed appearance. Their phallic forms mark the landscape, whether hidden behind brush or high on some pillared hill. Evidence that men were here.

Yuming noted that his desire, his reason for taking these photos was to document these things before they disappear. Like Atget, like the Bechers, his motivation is remembrance. The aesthetic choices he makes for framing, lighting, point-of-view and presentation involve the many choices a photographer must make from before the click of the shutter to the mounting of the framed print on the wall. But when it comes down to what makes Yuming go out to far flung landscapes with camera in hand is to remember.

These towers, though, are things that Yuming may not know about, may not have seen before and once found only had a moment to spend with - these towers that house a collective tradition and memory of a culture, where numerous lives (lives with memories) have intersected over the centuries. How does one remember what one doesn't know? Maybe the photographer's function is to be the hippocampus, the center of long-term memory, for the collective entity that we define as humanity. Maybe the photographer is merely the synapse that triggers the memory. As Chris Marker once asked, "How did we remember before photography?" Things like stone towers hold the answer to this question. Collective memory focused on a single object of veneration. It's appropriate that Yuming's choice of subject, with simple motivations, opens the door to a world of new questions.

Zhang Yuming's exhibition, Ancient Towers runs from September 24 until October 17, 2010.

Zen Photo Gallery
150-0002 Shibuya Ibis Bldg. B1

2-17-3 Shibuya

Shibuya-ku

Tokyo

She Saw Showa

2010-09-29T19:56:00.000-07:00

Photography galleries in Tokyo tend to be well on the miss side of the hit or miss equation. Since most galleries function as show rental spaces, there's a decided lack of curatorship or championing of good art on the side of gallery owners. The artist sucker pays for putting his/her work, sits around the gallery for the week or two of the show and the wall-space owner walks away with the rental fee.

It's a pleasure to discover a place where one can find good photography, generous and passionate owners and ultimately good photo art. Gallery Cosmos is a case in point. Hidden on the 3rd floor of a nondescript (aren't most in Tokyo?) building in Shimomeguro, the gallery is the brainchild of Yoichi Niiyama, son of famed photographer, Kiyoshi Niiyama. Since 2003, he has run a tight ship that highlights some of the best in Japanese photography.

Last Tuesday night found the Ajimi team (or at least half of it) rubbing shoulders with photographers and fans in the crowded space for the opening of Tsuneko Sasamoto's (笹本恒子) photographs. The flyer for the show touted her as Japan's first woman photojournalist. One may quibble about whether she really was the first, but she may be the best. At 96 years old, she held court magnificently. Well-wishers and acolytes gave her her well-deserved kudos.

She started her career in 1940, moved to Chiba during the war years to work for a local paper. She returned to Tokyo in 1946 and started working for the Fujin Minshu Shimbunsha (Women's Democratic News). By the next year she was freelance, documenting the reconstruction, growth and changes of postwar Japan.

Shooting largely with a Rolleiflex, the classic double-lensed box camera, she captured politicians, organizers, artists, writers, musicians and normal folk in detailed, beautifully lit and lusciously printed photographs. The slightly low angle demanded by the camera lends a certain heroic quality to her subjects, contrasting with the domestic backdrops and environment she poses them against and within. The photos undercut the ostensible reason for photographing these people (they are famous, they are movers and shakers) and democratizes them (they are just like us). Photos of Prince Mikasa commuting on a bus and Princess Yuriko with her children bring the royal family down to a human level. A picture of Socialist Party Head Inejiro Asanuma in 1955 shows him yukata-clad against a non-descript but new housing project, laundry hanging in the background. A new American car peeks from the left side of the frame. With mixed messages about the future and the past, progress and tradition, we are left with the man in the center of it all.

Apart from just how damn good the photos are, with the strength of years, they are a magnificent testament to the times and history of the post war years. From early photos of the meanness and excess of the early occupation to the beginnings of the economic miracle and the rise of the new middle class, Sasamoto-san had her finger on the pulse and her eye on the prize, catching a world in transition with rare honesty and grace.

The show runs from Sept. 28 - Oct 5.

She Saw Showa

Postwar Perspectives by Tsuneko Sasamoto, 96, Japan's First Woman Photojournalist

Gallery Cosmos

Tanimoto Bldg. 3F
3-1-22 Shimomeguro
Meguro-ku
Tokyo 153-0064
03-3495-4218

Eaten off the Beaten Path

2010-07-25T22:46:00.001-07:00

In search of "off the beaten track" the Ajimi team occasionally stumbles, but more often than not stumbles onto places and experiences that give a glimpse of... what shall we call it?... soul, essence... maybe... meaning... in this often generic world. A quick weekend getaway to Katsuura, on the Boso Peninsula, brought a sampling of this "stumbling upon" and an experience beyond the traditional trappings of a vacation at the beach.

Katsuura is a medium-sized fishing village on the Pacific Ocean about an hour and a half from Tokyo - taking the express train. A tourist Mecca, it ain't. The waterfront is built for commerce, not for lounging. At the southern edge of town, there's a beautiful kitschy monstrosity of a hotel and waterpark, Mikazuki. We stayed next door to it at Rinkaisou, a tidy little ryokan with an ocean view and various collected bric-a-brac, including a couple of dessicated whale penises. The little breakwater-protected beach in front of the lodging was the only one in town. North of it were packing and distribution warehouses for the remaining fishing operations that launch from this little port. Katsuura is most famous for its daily morning market. According to the tourist info, its been going on for several centuries. It's a lively little market, leaving one to question how on earth it has survived with the dearth of tourists and facilities in the village. But the economics of farmers' markets will be left for a future posting.

When we arrived in town, in the early afternoon, it was hot and getting hotter. The friendly lady at the tourist office had marked a few dining options on our map. We had asked for the best fish places in town. She happily marked off a handful and away we went. Walking the few short blocks of the main shoutengai, the temperature seemed to increase exponentially, so that by the time we found the first couple of recommendations, it was imperative that we choose quickly. Ducking into anyplace cool was the first order or business. Perusing posted menus was out of the question.

We saw the sign for Sawa, one of the recommended places - the tourist brochure highlighted its local fish. Ducking under the noren and sliding the door open we were greeted by a blast of icy air. A good very good sign indeed. As were the tall jokkis of ice cold beer that we ordered as we were sitting down. And the nutty edamame that appeared as our otoshi.

Sawa's an unassuming place. It consists of a fair sized L-shaped counter, a tatami dining area with 3 tables and a back room. We ordered a couple of lunch sets, one with tempura, the other with grilled fish. When asked what was being grilled that day, our host pulled up a thick round midsection of fish and told us it was engira, a local variety of kamasu (梭子魚 - barracuda). He offered to grill up the head and cheek section, but I declined, sticking with what he first showed us.

Each of the sets came with a plentiful and very tasty array of sides. A sampling of sashimi included katsuo and buri, both fine, along with an exemplary tai and the best tako I've had in Japan. Far too often, particularly in Tokyo, octopus is like thin cuts of tasteless sea leather. It's more of a workout for one's jaw, rather than something worth eating. At Sawa, thick, juicy cuts of briny flesh that were tender, but with a certain cephalopodic fight, brought back my diminishing faith in ever finding good octopus in Japan.

The misoshiro looked innocuous enough with bits of wakame and negi floating in the bowl. But the broth knocked us out with chunks of white fish a deep piscine taste. A little plate of smoky cured katsuo next to a tube of spicy karashi konyaku was scrumptious. The usually bland konyaku was mustardy hot. It went perfectly with the sweet and smoky fish. A little garnish of carrot and piman added to the fusion of tastes. A nice cake of local tofu sported a dollop of enoki mushrooms marinated in mirin and shoyu with fresh sliced negi. It lent a cooling moderation to the set. Tangy pickled cucumbers with katsuo flakes were the mandatory zuke plate. Plus there were three big sweet red beans - for good luck.

The tempura was a fine version, highlighting the usual veggies - eggplant, kabocha, mushrooms - white fish and prawns and a batter-fried shiso leaf. And the engiri? A revelation. It was served perfectly cooked, moist with a charcoaly char. Though slightly bony, it was the sort of fish that started off mild in the mouth, becoming sweeter as it was chewed, leaving a umami-ish aftertaste.

Of course, we had to try some jizake to go with the ji-sakana and this led us to Koshigoi, a local favorite that shows up even in the konbinis in these parts. But the fact is, it's a fine sake. We knocked back a small bottle of their daiginjo, an unpretentious brew that's very sure of itself.

Sawa's website - http://www2.ocn.ne.jp/~sawa/index.html - is as unpretentious as the place itself. There's a tab where you can get fortunes by clicking on your favorite fish and another that has a recipe for namerou, local fish minced with onion and ginger. A traditional Boso Peninsula dish, namerou comes from nameru (なめる - to lick). Apparently because it's so good you gotta lick off the plate. We missed it this time, but we're sure to try it next time we stumble back to Sawa.

A Cinephile's Guide to Tokyo

2010-05-01T16:56:00.001-07:00

The Ajimi team has always found a certain comfort and sense of well being in the darkened spaces of movie theaters. With all eyes focused on the big screen, the collective experience of watching movies engenders our better natures as human beings - especially when there's a good movie involved! In celebration of going to the movies, Nick writes on his favorite haunts in Tokyo at Film in Focus.

The fierce urgency of lunch

2010-04-17T22:51:00.000-07:00

One of the downsides of being a foodie is that, when you travel, lunch can never simply be lunch. That is, it cannot just be an intake of nutrition adequate to the task of carrying one through a productive afternoon. No. Lunch must be an event. There is nothing more disappointing than working up a good appetite then wasting one of your limited lifetime restaurant units on a so-so meal. After all, I might only have 5,000 or so more chances to eat out before I die.

So finding the right place for lunch takes on a fierce urgency when the Ajimi Team is on vacation, particularly in Spain where one is generally within a 5-minute walk of something delicious. We will bypass a dozen perfectly okay places in our quest for the superb.

Such was the case in Donostia in mid-March. Our St. Joseph’s day meanderings led us across the river from La Parte Vieja -- Donostia's tapas central -- to Gros, the rapidly changing working-class district near the Kursaal. By 1 pm we were peckish in a way that augured ravenousness in about an hour. It was early still for a Spanish lunch but we raised our restaurant antennae.

There were bars aplenty, filled to overflowing with contented-looking holiday patrons. But we wanted a sit-down lunch, nothing too fancy, just a chance to relax for an hour or two with some good food, conversation and wine.

We have a rule at these times: either party can reject an option for any reason and we will move on without a backward glance. However, if the hunger pangs start coming 3 minutes apart, either party can also invoke the 10-minute rule. That means we have to choose a restaurant within 10 minutes or risk tantrums.

We were on about minute 9.5 that day when we pulled up in front of a Galician restaurant, La Casa Galicia. It looked like a tidy but otherwise not very remarkable bar at first glance. But the specials board offered an interesting degustation menu served in the rear dining room so in we went.

The dining room was completely booked. But our host laid a crisp white cloth on a table near the bar. Families of various sizes were dining, drinking and chatting all around us. An elderly couple at the next table picked at a plate of patatas bravas sharing a bottle of rosado.

Although the prix fixe menu looked great we opted for the ala carte menu: several nights of tapas-hopping had taken their toll. The menu advertised a hybrid Basque-Gallician cuisine, which was reflected in the presence of more sauces and meat than one would generally find in a straight-up restaurante gallego. The artichokes with foie were served with a lightly garlicked béchamel. Everything on the plate was nicely crunchy - artichokes, leeks, deep-fried potato chips, even the liver. The layers in the milhojas de bacalao included ragout of eggplant and veggies, cod, a crispy cracker that tasted like the sea, and a topping of lightly sautéed shrimp. The meat course was cordero asado, roasted lamb shank with red peppers and potatoes with sprigs of epazote and a sauce that might have contained a splash of balsamic vinegar in a meat reduction. Oh my. We accompanied these magical items with glasses of the house Albariño. We passed up dessert, but the perfectly mellow sensation of wellbeing that followed the meal was better than a million cheesecakes.

Back in Nihon, we discovered that La Casa Galicia is affiliated with an organization of the same name that promotes Galician culture in Gipuzkoa, the Basque province of which Donostia is the capital. They offer gastro-cultural events throughout the year, including barrikotes – tastings of fresh cider out of the barrel – in March.

Casa de Galicia

C/Zabaleta, 28

Donostia - San Sebastián
tel. 943. 274.391

Photos: NV

Pintxatu

2010-04-09T22:03:00.001-07:00

The Ajimi team was out in the Alde Zaharra of Donostia with a few Basque music industry insiders. Between glasses of crianza and mandatory pintxos we brought up the recent collaboration between Fermin Muguruza, political punk/ hardcore/ ska/ reggae international musical activist, and the trendy local eatery, A Fuego Negro. The project in question was Pintxatu, a smartly designed cookbook highlighting the latest in A Fuego Negro's Fernan Adria-inspired postmodern tapas and an attendant CD of post-rock reggae electronica curated by Muguruza. A few eyes rolled. Questions about Muguruza's sanity and/or commitment to DIY aesthetics and political ideals jokingly made the rounds. But a grudging respect ultimately prevailed for an artist whose creative hunger and boundless energy for collaboration and community found new expression - in a cookbook.

Pintxatu punningly takes its name from pintxos, the Basque version of tapas, and Murguruza's legendary punk band, Kortatu. I'm quite sure that the man who penned the enduring anti-anthem, Mierda de ciudad, never expected to be creating a soundtrack for your dining pleasure.

The conceit of the cookbook is 19 different dishes with 19 different songs to complement and highlight each culinary experience. The food, largely crafted and designed by star chef Edorta Lamo is alternately, sometimes simultaneously, amusing and appalling. Under the spell of molecular cuisine and kitchen science 101, such flights of fancy as Sangre Crujiente - frozen blood sausage balls tossed into the deep fryer - are submitted for your approval, and take you into a culinary twilight zone. This metaphorical mix of revenge and passion also includes squid ink and leek ash, among a host of ingredients. Or how about a seafood Koktela surrounded by a foam of bitters and vermouth, topped with a lemonade foam? These are just the tip of the iceberg in a book filled with impossible-to-make recipes and often questionable combinations. And for every cook who's embraced the pretense of the molecular food revolution, Ajimi suggests spending some time with food scientists at General Foods or Kraft to see how the big kids do it.

Nonetheless, even though it's a perfectly useless cookbook (do you really want to burden your kitchen and your life with a whippit containers, obscure you'll-only-use-once ingredients or a shelf full of various gelatins and gums?) it's brilliantly designed, quite amusing and will certainly become an historical window on the ideas of the times.

There's even a specious introduction espousing a a rather quaint European philosophy of negritude. Connecting the innovative Basque cuisine and music to the development of black music in America is a rather big leap. And it's picked up by some rather embarrassing recipes in the book. Case in point is Afro Txipi, a variation on the tried and true Txiperones en su tinta (squid in its own ink), but this one creating a sepia-infused edible 'fro to anthropomorphise a cooked squid into something signifying a black person. But it's food for thought. Something to muse over while eating a grilled cheese sandwich - which technologically speaking is a pretty wild experiment with wheat, yeast and milk and rennet.

So, who are we to pass judgement on contemporary food trends?

As for the musical accompaniment, it's a mix of derivative electronica (isn't it all!) with a lot of reggae and ska. When not being downright embarrassing or unlistenable, most of the tracks seem a bit like afterthoughts by artists who are generally more thoughtful. Highlights include Muguruza's own offering, Kamakaze's nutty rap Cuenta Remix and Selector Matanzas' Latin groove Arroz con Coco.

Despite Ajimi's rather critical take on Pintxatu, for some reason we still love the book - whether its fleeting topicality, the fact that a good friend was involved, the genuinely great visuals and design of the book object or the magic of Donostia and all it represents musically and foodily.

http://www.myspace.com/pintxatu

Love Letters in the Sand

2010-03-05T20:48:00.000-08:00

One half of the Ajimi team went out the other night to celebrate the 5th anniversary of Moon Stomp's bimonthly bluegrass jam session. Moon Stomp is a small bar/live house in Koenji that highlights roots music, bluegrass, gypsy jazz, jump and various amalgams of traditional styles. The anniversary night brought out the regulars - some of the best pickers and fiddlers on the Tokyo bluegrass scene.

Here's a link to an article we wrote on Tokyo bluegrass for the Japan Times - Going Where the Grass is Bluer

Moon Stomp's website - click here.

Saru Show

2010-02-15T17:06:00.000-08:00

Over the last few years the Ajimi team has managed to run into same saru (猿 - monkey) show at different temples around Tokyo. We recently came across this team at our own local temple, Miyohoji. The steadfast macaque in question went through the same sad routines - walking on stilts, climbing stairs, doing handstands and leaping across abysses. A perfect straight man in how his thin-lipped demeanor denoted a certain indifference to his being the ultimate brunt of the jokes. And the sheer humiliation of his "entertaining" activities brought a fleeting feeling of pathos to the crowd when not enjoying their questionable evolutionary superiority over their monkey-cousin.

Animal shows, at least in the 1st world, are on the decline. Shows like this are few and far between in big cities. The best one gets these days is the parade of dressed-up and fetishized lap dogs that are ostensibly being walked every day in Tokyo parks. That is if running after poochy with plastic bags and brandishing butt-wipes is what's become of "walking the dog." The obsessive anthropomorphizing of these poor canines, their bodies used as naked displays of their masters' insecurities makes the old fashioned monkey show look relatively benign. At least Saru-kun and his keeper are making a buck out of it. And he does look pretty smart in that happi coat!

10 Best Japanese Films 2009

2010-02-13T04:02:00.001-08:00

Over the last 3 years, Japan's become my beat. Of course, I try to keep up with international cinema as best as I can, but at about 1,800 yen (20 bucks) a pop for a night at the cinema, I've been quite judicious in my filmic consumption. However, I've become quite a regular at the industry screening rooms hidden in the bowels of generic buildings (exception - Eiga Bigakku in the Tokyo Film School does have quite a bit of character) clustered around the old film industry center in and around Ginza. Many of the films on my top ten list probably won't cross the pond. It's a shame, because they're good films. But keep an eye open for festival screenings, online streamings or any opportunity to catch a glimpse of Japanese film production for 2009.

The list below is not definitive. I missed a few that had good buzz. Bandage - a fictional paean to the 90s band boom in Tokyo - and Live Tape - a single shot film following an improvising street busker wandering through the streets of Kichijoji, a hipster area on the west side of Tokyo - are both on my must see list. I saw a few too many that had good buzz that turned out to be total time wasters.

Symbol

I have to place Matsumoto Hitoshi's Symbol at the top of the list. From his roots in the groundbreaking manzai team (two person standup - imagine Abbott and Costello in Japanese) called Downtown, Matsumoto hit the big screen a few years ago with the strange and hilarious Dianipponjin (Big Man Japan). His followup goes over the top with a deconstruction of comedy that's part Kubrick, part Tashlin, completely original.

Trailer (Japanese)

Kuki Ningyo / Air Doll

Kore-eda Hirokazu's Air Doll tended toward a bit of critical dismissal - too light, too commercial. With the stunning performance of Du-na Bae as a blow-up doll come to life, this reworking of Pinocchio (or is it Blade Runner?) is amazingly frank and touching with what may be Kore-eda's persistent theme - what makes us human.

Trailer (English Subtitles)

Ai no Mukidashi / Love Exposure

At 4 hours, Love Exposure seemed a bit short. When the lights came up I wanted still more. Sono Sion's over the top skewering of contemporary culture had a little something to offend nearly everyone - Catholicism, terrorism, up-skirt photography, high school mores and so much more came under the knife. Love Exposure is a delightfully excessive and tasteless film by the man who made Suicide Club.

Trailer (Japanese)

Wakaranai / Where Are You?

This year I saw Kobayashi's Masahiro's 2005 film Bashing. Wakaranai mines the same territory as the previous film, the lives of the marginalized and forgotten of Japan. Though not quite as perfect as Bashing, Wakaranai expands on similar themes. Along the lines of the Dardenne brothers, Kobayashi's creating an oeuvre of beautiful and terrifying films of lost hopes, fuckups and ultimately, dreams.

Website (Japanese)

Miyoko Asagaya Kibun / Miyoko

Adaptations of manga are a mainstay of contemporary Japanese cinema. Most manga/film crossovers are built solely with marketing in mind. Miyoko Asagaya Kibun is from a definitely different sensibility. Adapting Shiniro Abe's seminal 1970s mangas that documented the craziness of the times along with his own faltering grasp on mental stability, Miyoko Asagaya Kibun mixes manga, fiction, history and biography brilliantly. This directing debut by Yoshifumi Tsubota is the most auspicious of the year.

Website (Japanese)

Dotei Horoki

Director Komuna Yuichi is making his mark as the low budget storyteller of the special fringes of Japanese culture that are becoming the mainstream. He hit the scene a few years ago with Maid in Akiba, about the otaku/maid cafe culture centered around Akihabara in Tokyo. In Dotei Horoki (more or less meaning "virgin perv"), Komuna tackles the Japanese 30 year-old virgin problem with incisive humor and smart dialogue.

Trailer (Japanese)

Dear Doctor

While not quite as wicked as her debut film, Wild Berries, Nishikawa Miwa's Dear Doctor beautifully realizes a small community where lies big and small sustain its functioning. Following in the footsteps of Kore-Eda, Nishikawa, along with Kawase Naomi are creating a cinema style that exhibits profound ideas and sensibilities with a light touch.

Trailer (Japanese)

Raise the Castle

There's a somewhat annoying tendency in Japanese pop horror and comedy movies of having long dead samurai come back to life, in most cases ghoulishly zombified, to avenge some past wrong. It's a hoary plot device. In Raise the Castle it works. Kohatsu Yo's low budget debut manages to balance sweet comedy, a bit of a social/historical message and a love story. This film may be the be-all and end-all of this genre.

Website (Japanese)

Mental

Soda Kazuhiro is the Frederick Wiseman of Japanese documentary. His first film, Campaign, was a fascinating study of the political scene in Japan. In Mental, Soda visits a small town mental clinic, exposing the stigmas around talking about mental illness and health in Japan through touching, funny and downright harrowing stories from the patients themselves.

Website (English)

The Code

Hiyashi Kaizo will be known to Seattle audiences for his wonderful homage to silent cinema, Sleep So As to Dream, presented a few years ago at NWFF with live accompaniment by Aono Jikken Ensemble. Hiyashi's been working for years sending up the conventions of detective/spy movies. The Code is his latest and it never lets up with its nutty story, hilarious characters and situations. Plus, giving Suzuki stalwart Shishido Joe (Branded to Kill) a role makes The Code extra special.

Website (Japanese)

Originally published in Hot Splice

Tastes Like Ass

2009-10-28T16:55:00.000-07:00

Literally. It tastes like ass because it is ass.

Exploring the dining options - there are many - on the blocks fanning out from the Kurasumori Exit of Shimbashi Station, the Ajimi team came upon a little izakaya, Aoki (青樹). The owner, Aoki himself, a small, tightly built man harangued us with his bare rasp of a disappearing voice to set on down and have a heapin' helpin' of his hospitality.

Aoki's xeroxed menu highlighted a mess of bargain drinks, some of the usual yaki suspects and its main claim to fame, motsu. Motsu being innards - liver, tripe, gizzards and more - the unknown and forbidden animal parts that most Americans would throw away in a heartbeat. That is if they even had the option of throwing it away. It's often difficult to even find liver in the meat department of a US grocery store these days.

Feeling intrepid... well, perhaps we had had a few to drink before landing on the stools outside of Aoki... we decided to order something we've never tried before. There were many never-before seen words on the menu, so a random choice led to teppou (テッポー). When quizzed as to what it was, the waitress pointed vaguely "down there" and with a giggle confirmed that it was very tasty indeed.

A beer later, the plate of teppou arrived. A couple of skewers with squares of gray-white meat stuff, lightly bronzed by the grill. All in all, it didn't look bad. I offered a piece to the wiser member of the Ajimi team, who chose to demur.

The first bite - tough. The second - tougher still. Several chews into the unknown organ meat and it seemed to be getting tougher and more rubbery with each mastication. Plus, to confound matters, a not too pleasant outer layer of fibrous material seemed to be getting more straw-like as it seemed to cling harder and harder to the layer of rubber it adhered to. Imagine a bicycle tire, cut into pieces, bleached white and laid to the flame.

But I can say that it probably didn't taste quite as good as burnt bicycle tires. As teeth crushed tissue a sort of pork-funkiness squirted forth that soon began reacting on those little glands at back of the mouth above the throat that emit an acrid sourness in times of danger. You know, the ones that signal its time to vomit. Now I like my pork as funky as any swine lover does. And in the immortal words of George Clinton - "you gotta funk yo' butt." But this pork/funk/butt axis definitely tasted a bit evil.

I managed to choke the thing down and foolishly tried a second piece.

I signaled to Aoki-san and queried "OK, what animal part is this?" He grabbed me by the hand, brought me to a poster from the Japan Livestock Industry Association and gleefully pointed to a picture of unidentifiable roadkill labled chokuchou (チョクチョウ), yet another name for the unmentionable body part that lies south of the intestines but barely north of the anus. Still in some denial, yet fearing the worst, we looked it up in our electronic dictionary only to confirm the obvious.

At least now, whenever I say "it tastes like ass!" I will be speaking with some authority.

The website for Aoki is here - http://mo2aoki.hp.infoseek.co.jp/

Kamakura-area Restaurant Highlights

2009-10-17T19:35:00.000-07:00

The Ajimi Team took a few weeks this summer exploring dining options in Kamakura and the Shonan beach area of Kanto. The results of our research are now available for your consideration at bento.com.

Densha Otoko

2009-10-10T17:38:00.000-07:00

There are times, particularly when the weather is dull and rainy, as it was in the days leading up to last Thursday's typhoon, when Tokyo feels like an obstacle course. Its 12 million or so inhabitants are channeled into the same tunnels and concourses, the same steaming trains, and their sole purpose seems to be to keep you from getting where you want to go. But these past few post-typhoon days have been glorious, sunny and crisp, and Tokyo has once again opened up, ours to explore, our fellow residents becoming objects of wonder.

On Saturday we decided to head to Hibiya to visit both the Japan Sake Brewers' Association and the park where we thought there was a Kyushu food festival going on. The sake brewers are located in an architectural desert around Toranomon between the fortified enclaves of the national government and the glitz of Ginza. The district is one of the few in Tokyo where the street pattern resembles a grid and it represents the triumph of efficiency over charm. The only human presence in non-business hours is the odd septugenarian moonlighting security guard. It would be a terrible place in which to be attacked by a pack of zombies but you can totally imagine it happening. Unfortunately, the JSBA was closed for the weekend but through the window we could see row upon row of nihonshu bottles as well as dusty dioramas depicting the sake-brewing process. If there's anything the Ajimi Team loves more than booze it's dioramas so we vowed to return. And off we went to Hibiya Park.

It turned out that the Kyushu festival was happening elsewhere. Instead, we followed the sound of an old-fashioned steam whistle to the 16th annual Railroad Festival. All the lively quirkiness that Toranomon lacked could be found in the surrounding few hectares of the park.

If the Ajimi Team had its entrepreneurial wits about it, it would design a series of train-related sex toys, such is the ardour that a certain (largely male) segment of the Japanese population holds for railroads. Imagine anatomically correct inflatable shinkansen cars ("Hi, I'm Nozomi. Let's go for a ride."). Cosplay subway attendant uniforms. The vibrator possibilities are endless. (NB: There are already places in seedier sections of town where you can grope simulated school girls in simulated subway cars so train-related porn is not, um, virgin territory.)

None of those kinds of things were on display at the railroad festival but it seemed that very little else had been left unmarketed. There were booths for 20 or more local and national train lines. They were selling old tickets, calendars, route maps, t-shirts, water bottles, key chains, train models, mascot stuffed animals, ekiben - the generally semi-edible lunch boxes sold at many stations, schedules, towels, socks. One booth even had a couple of rusty valves on offer. The free attractions included a wee Thomas the Tank Engine ride powered by a real steam engine (the source of the train whistle) that hauled kids and grownups around an oval track. It was also a rich environment for people-watching. One large, round 20-something lad, his waistband hiked up to just under his armpits, was marching around murmuring the names of the stops along the Yamanote Line into his clenched fist, perhaps living out a lifelong train conductor fantasy. No one batted an eye.

There were things of interest for people like us, too, you know, normal people. The Ajimi Team are suckers for "Showa retro" images of old Tokyo so we hung around the stands screening images of long-dead subway riders and vanished tram lines. We also loved the exhibit of Japan's historic wooden train stations, the subject of a recent NHK documentary series. We do love trains, just not in THAT way.

VS

Baby Bags!

2009-09-28T15:55:00.000-07:00

In Japanese they're called kobukuro (コブクロ). "Little bags," or as I prefer "baby bags." They've been calling out to me for some time, but a certain squeamishness would take hold every time I had the opportunity to order them. Last night the Ajimi team was in need of a low budget celebration, so we went to our favorite moderne retro izakaya in Kichijoji, Tecchan.

Tecchan (pronounced tay-chan) is a place that can't and shouldn't be missed. North of Kichijoji station is a small honeycomb of small covered alleys called Harmonica Yokocho. Dozens of little watering holes, noodle shops, a handful of boutiques and more fill this last reminder of the black market shanty towns that sprang up around stations throughout Tokyo in the immediate post-war years.

In the heart of Harmonica Yokocho, you will find Tecchan, a medium sized yakitori-ya, with ever-billowing smoke and an ever-full bubbling cauldron of motsu (innard stew). A funky counter snakes around the theatrical serving and preparation area. Two charcoal grills seem to never be empty as busy workers fan the flames with singed red fans. The best tsukune on the west side can be found here, in addition to mune, momo, negima, lamb, buta bara, miscellaneous innards and various vegetables.

All of this and a great selection of nihonshus and shochus. This is the place where the Ajimi team's love affair with Kumesen, a favorite awamori, began.

But back the the "baby bags." For some time, I had watched enthusiastic revelers chowing down on what looked like caducei of some unidentifiable organ meat. It intrigued me. It was finally revealed that these strange little curlicue meats were none other than pig uteri. I didn't jump immediately at the chance to scarf them down. But for some reason - maybe it was the moon, maybe my looming mortality - I decided, by way of special celebration, that it was time to partake of this delicacy.

At 100 yen a stick, a true deal. And raw, to boot! Slightly gray and of trembling flesh - not me, the kobukuro - in a pool of ponzu and sprinkled liberally with chives, they beckoned. The first bite revealed a mild meatiness, with a slight tooth and good give. They were a fine accompaniment to the tall glass of amakuchi nihonshu that we were sampling. With the enthusiasm of a new discovery, I offered a taste to the more demure member of the Ajimi team. She politely passed.

Map to and pics of Tecchan are available at http://www.good24.jp/shop/f104.html

NV

Vida brevis. Esselunga!

2009-09-06T05:34:00.000-07:00

The Ajimi Team wanted to commemorate our last night of housesitting in Kamakura (thanks again Denise and Robbie!) with a really special meal. Over several weeks we had enjoyed tasty Japanese restaurant experiences, yummy beach food, lots of good crunchy korroke, plus some marvelous meals prepared at home from local provender. We were hardly starving but we wanted to round out the dining out portion of our stay with something continental: the European continent, that is. Weeks before a friend had enthusiastically recommended a new Italian place near Hase station on the Enoden Line, started with an "I" or something, couldn't exactly remember the name. On a walk in the neighborhood the distaff member of the team stumbled across Esselunga, which fit the description. Windows overlooked a sunny garden, which was filled with culinary herbs. Yes, indeed, this was the place that our friend had recommended, and on Sunday the team settled in for a two-hour dining experience that could have occured in Rome or Florence or maybe Palermo.

Esselunga opened in spring 2009 on a sidestreet a few blocks from Hasedera. The building appears to be of fairly recent vintage but is modeled on traditional Japanese architecture: viewing the spotless wooden floor from the genkan we asked if shoes were allowed. Of course, they were, and we were escorted to a table for two overlooking the herb garden. There was just one other couple dining at 6 pm on Sunday (the room seats around 20). We settled in with the help of a friendly, unstuffy and English-speaking waiter who guided us through the selection of white wines by the glass. We selected the vermentino by Poggio di Paterno, a marvelously citrusy and slightly frizzante wine.

There were about 8 choices in each of the antipasti, primi and secondi piatti categories, chalked on a board suspended over the dining room. Choosing took some time. For starters we decided on the carpaccio of the day's fish, inada, or young yellowtail. It was served in an almost fugu-like ruffled arrangement on a large plate with fresh dill and red peppercorns, sliced leeks, lemon and a light vinaigrette accompanied by homemade foccacia and sliced baguettes. The toughest decision was the pasta course. Three varieties of homemade pasta were on offer in addition to an array of other secondi. We ordered the polenta with ragu of lamb and beef and a kind of miter-shaped ravioli (all the pasta is made on the premises) stuffed with the same ragu and topped with a sage and butter sauce. A light sangiovese accompanied the pasta course.

The pasta portions were large and delicious enough that we could have stopped there but, hey, who are we kidding? We moved on to a meat course, roasted cubes of pork paired with dry roasted potatoes. The pork was heaven, slightly fatty, flecked with rosemary and perfectly cooked. We were told that it came from a farm in Yamagata prefecture. We discovered this during a tableside chat with the chef, a young Japanese man who had studied cooking in Milano and elsewhere in Italy. The waiter, for his part, had spent some time travelling in Spain. Their combined periginations help to explain the decidely mediterranean sensibility of this place: service is relaxed yet attentive, and the dishes are perfectly executed.

We skipped the dessert course, feeling constrained by the mental calculation that the bill we were racking up was fast approaching the 12,000 yen we had with us. But we plan to go back, next time armed with (1) more cash and (2) more people so that we can savor more of what Esselunga has to offer.

VS

Hockney Days in Wadabori Koen

2009-09-01T11:28:00.000-07:00

Somewhere in the top 5 of our personal favorite Tokyo summer phenomena (along with cicadas, butterflies, summer festivals and strawberry kaki kouri with evaporated milk) is splashing around in outdoor swimming pools. Our nearest and dearest is the public pool in Wadabori Koen, about a 10-minute bike ride from Ajimi HQ. Like most municipal pools, it opens on the first of July, about a month later than our biological thermostats tells us it should. By mid-June at the latest summer in Tokyo is literally going full steam and we find ourselves longing for a sunny pool to plunge into.

For the first few weeks each season the 50-meter pool is relatively empty for most of the day and one can spend blissful hours floating through a David Hockney world of sunlit bright blue and do actual laps without running into anyone. But as schools let out for the summer around mid-July and the heat becomes increasingly insufferable, the pool becomes a tangle of legs and floatation devices. It is then hard to advance more than a few meters without getting broadsided by a 1/2 scale inflatable killer whale. One gives up hope of doing any real swimming but surrenders to the joys of splashing around and goofing off like a 9-year-old. There's plenty of real wildlife to relate to there, as well, among the inflatable kind. Dragonflies dart along the water's surface on bright afternoons and bats emerge from the adjacent woods in the evenings. Then there are the buzzing near-corpses of doomed cicadas bobbing along in the water which we gently move to the drier pool edge as much to avoid swallowing the damn things as out of respect for their final agonies.

But my platonic ideal of a neighborhood pool is still the first one I encountered when I moved to Japan. I lived then in Urawa, Saitama prefecture, and Harayama was my local pool. The main pool was an oval course about 7 meters wide and 200 meters in circumference. In addition, there was a lap pool located within the oval and a kiddie pool with a slide. But the oval pool was the main attraction. On hot days it was packed with people walking, floating, occasionally swimming in the same direction, a great tide of humanity. In fact, the current created by this movement was so strong that it was impossible to walk against it in the opposite direction. I could spend hours in that pool, chatting with friends, watching young families float by on air mattresses, occasionally stepping out for a lunch consisting of a footlong hotdog and yakisoba. I started work around 1 pm in those days so most mornings I hit the pool and I got brown as a nut.

The Wadabori Koen pool closes this week for the season, a bit too early, of course. We could happily swim there well into October. We will hit the nearby indoor pool from time to time but it won't be the same. The mood at the indoor pool seems more geared toward the inner geriatric than the inner 9-year-old.

VS

Utopia

2009-08-10T01:27:00.000-07:00

The arrival in the mail the other day of Bradford Peck's classic of utopian literature,The World A Department Store, got the Ajimi team seriously thinking of utopia - and why there seems to be a dearth of progressive positivist thinking toward what the future holds in store. As a bit of an exercise we challenged ourselves to think of what a 21st century utopian novel might envision and came up a bit short. Even with the huge sea-change of positive energy that hit the world with the election of Barack Obama, the hard realities of realpolitik, the legacies of the monumentally misguided misadventures of most world leaders during the last several decades and the continued intransigence and irresponsibility of anyone associated with the Republican party still makes the future appear a lot less than rosy. Dystopia seems to be the common currency.

The the crushingly damp heat and daily grayness of a Tokyo summer doesn't exactly move a mind to lofty thoughts either. One of the most memorable and enduring dystopias to catch the public imagination in recent years (1982!) is the brilliantly designed mise-en-scene of Blade Runner, Ridley Scott's adaptation of Philip K. Dick's Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep. Even though the ostensible setting of the movie is Los

Angeles, everybody knows it's based on Tokyo.

The utopias of the late 19th century and of the 1960s tended to an idea of returning to the land, creating new agrarian communities - a long-held Christian metaphor of a return to the garden. Dystopia has often been associated with cities, the hard and evil urban wilderness - manifestations of the hubris of Babylon. Biblical metaphors notwithstanding, we at Ajimi believe in the possibilities of cities. Especially great cities like Tokyo.

And there have been others who have seen the potential for utopia in Tokyo.

In 1959 a group of young architects, under the rubric of the Metabolist Movement envisioned a new architecture and way of living with a vision for the future that addressed the problems of the real world - housing, movement, social and physical function. The movement itself was fractured by the mid-70s, though many of the architects involved continued on with visionary architecture. Like similar movements in England (Archigram) and Italy (Archizoom), the Metabolists embraced the possibilities of cities with a true utopian fervor.

The future never turns out the way it's supposed to. Particularly for a utopia. But monuments to these ideas, though they may become a bit worn around the edges and ultimately crumble and fade, never lose their luster.

Case in point is Kishio Kurokawa's Nagakin Capsule Tower. Completed in 1972, Kurokawa made manifest his ideas of modular construction, architecture as evolving form and solutions for mobile transitory late 20th century human kind. It's noteworthy that the tower stands quite close to the Tsukiji Fish Market, a sprawling complex that has organically created the metaphors and ideas that Kurokawa put into his building. The building at the southern edge of Ginza is now a bit forlorn and forsaken. The tenants, tired of cramped living spaces and poor maintenance are giving up on it. Though not scheduled yet, plans are afoot to tear the structure down. Kurokawa had offered to refurbish and update the units, but passed away before any of these things could happen. In a city of largely uninspired and uninspiring architecture, this brilliant failure stands out. Its Skinner box-like cubes still look stridently modern - a vision of what utopia could be. For some it may be resolutely dystopic - controlled living in brutalist boxes - but the intent was far nobler. The realities of the world tend to subvert intent. But still, it lifts the spirits to be in presence of such a vision. It may not be long for the world. When in Tokyo, be sure to give it a visit.

東京都中央区銀座8-16-10

Map

Click here for a recent article in the New York Times on the Nakagin Tower.

Do It for Hachiko

2009-07-13T02:24:00.000-07:00

If you don't yet know the story of Hachiko, the Akita who faithfully -- and futilely -- awaited the reappearance of his dead master at Tokyo's Shibuya station, it will be coming soon to a theater near you.

Hachiko would trot each morning to Shibuya station with his master, Hidesaburou Ueno, a University of Tokyo professor, and greet him there after work. One day, Ueno-san suffered a fatal heart attack while lecturing. No one told Hachiko the news. The faithful dog returned daily to the station awaiting his master who would never return. Cared for by doting commuters and neighborhood folk he waited for a long time - 10 years!

There's now a mainstream motion picture out, Hachiko: A Dog's Story, directed by Lasse Hallstrom and starring Richard Gere. The new film places the story in a New England town, but the enduring tale of faithfulness crosses all cultures. A word of caution - this same tale was used by right-wing propagandists to stoke the fires of virulent nationalism and helped lead a nation to war in the 1930s.

Wading through a wall of smoke from the ever-packed smoking area outside of Shibuya station, one comes to a pleasant little alcove where a bronze statue of Hachiko waits. It's appropriate that the monument for the dog who waited so patiently has become the most popular place in Tokyo to meet friends, lovers and acquaintances.

Hachiko was found dead on a Shibuya street in 1935. His stuffed and mounted body is now on display at the National Museum of Science in Ueno. Near Shibuya is Aoyama Cemetery where one can find a funerary monument to Hachiko near his master's gravesite. Unlike the newly spruced up and well cared for foreign section of the cemetery, where such people as William Clark Eastlake, "dental pioneer of the Orient" are interred, Hachiko's monument is rather decrepit. Not to put down the memory of Mr. Eastlake, but judging by the general state of Japanese dentistry, his legacy has not been all that impressive. One would think that the truly famous and continually inspiring canine would deserve better.

So, the Ajimi team put their heads together and came up with an idea. We would like to suggest that Mr. Hallstrom and Mr. Gere take a small portion of the profits they will make from the new movie and fund a clean-up and restoration of Hachiko's monument. Perhaps a small fund would maintain it into perpetuity? Please help us in this endeavor by contacting their respective agents and gently recommending that they pony up a bit - for Hachiko!

Lasse Hallstrom can be contacted through his agent at United Talent Agency, Tracey Jacobs - jacobst@unitedtalent.com

Richard Gere can be contacted through his agent at the William Morris Agency, Ed Limato - elimato@wma.com

Below is a sample letter. Feel free to cut and past it into an email for Mr. Hallstrom or Mr. Gere - or write your own.

Dear ____,

As a devotee of faithful dog Hachiko and the spirit of loyalty he represents, I am thrilled that you are bringing his story to an international audience.

However, unlike such luminaries as Abraham Lincoln, Ulysses S. Grant, Napoleon and other exemplars of civic virtue, poor Hachiko's monument has fallen into a shocking state of neglect.

Yes, there is a fine and well loved statue of Hachiko at Shibuya Station in Tokyo, but near the gravesite of his master in Aoyama Cemetery, the monument where his soul is enshrined has lain unattended for years.

I would urge you to put aside a small percentage of your profits from Hachiko: A Dog's Story to set up a fund dedicated to the restoration and continued maintenance of Hachiko's memorial.

Sincerely,

____

Making Noise

2009-07-05T01:50:00.000-07:00

Yesterday the Ajimi Team attended a going-away party for Tony and Yasuko who are headed off for a new life in the US. The party kicked off around 4 pm at the Hachioji branch of Rinky Dink Studio, a chain of 15 rehearsal and recording spaces throughout Tokyo that musicians can rent by the hour. The party room was about 20 feet square, more than adequate to accomodate performers on one side of the room, and an audience of about 30 on the other side. It came equipped with a drum set, ear-bleed speaker columns, microphones, a sofa, and vending machines for soft drinks and beer.

Places like Rinky Dink perform an important public service in Japan where it is frequently impossible for musicians to practice at home. Our apartment lease, for example, stipulates that no instruments be played in the building, not a uke, not a piccolo. As I write this, however, a neighbor demonstrates the benefits of homeownership: we can hear the strains of "Long, Long Ago" being played on a violin next door.

In search of a place to make creative noise, the Ajimi Team has frequently taken the band to a local karaoke box where, for a few bucks an hour, you can make all the ruckus you want. The cheaper places are hardly soundproof, and it is always fun to sit back, munching on a pizza and drinking a cold beer, listening to the random orchestrations that can be appreciated while sitting in a room between a blues band and an opera singer, with some Celine Dion being screeched out in painful falsetto across the hall.

The public sector provides practice spaces, too. Suginami-ku, the Tokyo ward we live in, has a few comfortable and acoustically lovely spaces (sans beer vending machines) complete with good Yamaha pianos, amplifiers and drum sets in the basement of the Saison community center in Koenji. Any ku resident can rent these spaces for two hours for a nominal fee but they are often booked weeks in advance. The more accessible public option is the park and the park land along the Zempukujigawa, in particular, ofters plenty of quiet groves where musicians can practice in relative privacy. We've dubbed one slope that rises from the river to Omiya Hachimangu "the horn section." In fair weather one can almost always hear a trumpter or trombonist or two battling the mosquitos to work on his chops.

Meanwhile, from the farewell party at Rinky Dink, here is a video of Ice Cream Man featuring Nogio Angel singing a lament about his alcoholic roommate.

We'll miss you Yasuko and Tony! Have a lovely life in Buratobaruru.

NV and VS

In Hot Water Again

2009-06-27T17:46:00.000-07:00

A beautiful day in the heart of tsuyu (梅雨), the rainy season - no rain, warm and breezy - greeted the Ajimi team this Saturday. A brief look-see at Sumiko Enbutsu and Mimi LeBourgeois' Water Walks in the Suburbs of Tokyo, a little homespun guide to off-the-beaten track walking tours throughout the greater Tokyo area, and we decided to take a quick train ride to Izumi Tamagawa station and explore a section of the mighty Tamagawa. The promise of finding some remnant old farmhouses piqued our inquiring minds.

First off, though, was lunch. In the shoutengai just south of the station we stopped in an unassuming soba shop, Maruya, where we found thoroughly delightful summery zarusoba to fortify ourselves for the afternoon. A short walk through the neighborhood and we hit the Tamagawa, where there was some serious teen action - grilling, flirting and showing off stuff - going on under the massive pylons of the Tamasuidou Bashi. The upriver walk took us past spits and embankments where people were fishing, wading or merely staring at the flowing water, wasting away a sunny afternoon. Makeshift blue-tarp homeless shelters hid in the sparse copses that dotted the wide riverbank, their residents sunning themselves.

Looping back into the neighborhood we followed the guidebook's directions to the farmhouses of the Ishii clan who dominate this area. It seems that since the 2000 publication of the Water Walks book, the Ishiis have done the classic Japanese thing - torn down the historic farms and replaced them with spanking new houses and apartments made of particularly repellent building materials not found in nature. Ah, well, such is progress.

Hot and sweaty, we jumped on the train and headed even further west to Miyamaedaira Onsen (宮前平温泉). On a hill above the station in the somewhat severe suburb, sits the modern, well-appointed onsen. When the Ajimi team soaks we have three criteria that we look at - the quality of the water, the amenities and/or amusement level of the baths, and the general ambience and feel of the place.

Like many natural onsen in the Tokyo area the water that feeds the baths at Miyamaedaira Onsen is kuroyu (黒湯) - black water. Strange and wonderful, soap-silky, dark as cola, the water has a slight tingle and leaves your skin about as soft as your grandma's inner arm. There were plenty of different baths at different temperatures, a pleasant rotenburo, a sauna, a salt steam bath for the ladies, jet baths and a wonderful utataneyu (うたた寝湯) bath (the napping hot water bath) - a bath partitioned with shallow, bed-like units, with just enough hot water to immerse one's back, leaving the ventral side open to cooling breezes and the perfect conditions for a good snooze. All in all, a wealth of options with subtle variations. For a few yen extra one can take advantage of the stone bath.

In the lounge were the usual phalanxes of TV/Barcaloungers. The room was softly lit and the low sounds of piped in mood music mashed up with the patter of variety shows that bath-drained customers slept to. Ice cold beers completed the after-bath ritual chill-out.

The Ajimi team loves to get into a bit of hot water after hitting the urban trail. Country trails too. It's the only way to hike.

Miyamaedaira Onsen - http://www.yukemurinosato.com/miyamaedaira.htm l

Sunday in the Park with Henjin

2009-06-14T04:35:00.000-07:00

Tokyo parks on Sunday afternoons are great places to witness all sorts of pretty out-there performances. Yoyogi Park may offer the greatest variety. The live rock bands have been exiled, making the park a quieter if less pulsating place, but there is still plenty to see along the paths through the park's interior, once you get past the wall of dancing Elvises and Elvisettes, the goth Lolitas and the pathetic "free hugs" cultists. (Why do they always look like lonely Moonies?)

But nearer to home is Kichijoji's Inokashira Park, a setting dotted with ancient trees surrounding an elongated, spring-fed pond. It's been a point of pilgrimage since roughly the 12th century since it houses a celebrated shrine to Benzaiten, goddess of love and music. It was also a favored hunting ground for the Minamoto clan and a long-time source of drinking water for Edo via the Kanda River. Nowadays people come to float in swan boats, visit the zoo, parade around with their sumptuously dressed pets, paint, neck, do park stuff. There is also an officially sanctioned group of artisans and performers on hand to entertain the public. The artisans offer fairly unexciting merchandise, but the performers for the most part are unlike anything you are likely to see elsewhere.

We first got to know Broomduster Kan a few years ago during our first visit to the park. Leather clad and playing a cool retro-looking Czech dobro, Broomduster draws rapt crowds as he cranks out energetic blues for about 8 hours a day on weekends. We have had the honor of sharing a bill with Kan-san (indoors, elsewhere) and can attest that he is in the running for the title of the hardest working man in showbiz.

Then there is the storyteller. Touhou Ikimaru （東方力丸）comes to the park each Sunday with a couple dozen manga which he lays out on the ground. Customers choose the story they want to hear -- there are love stories and histories, but most of them seem to be tales with plenty of action. Touhou rips into the story, doing all the voices, providing explosive sound effects, looking like a long-haired shaman trying to cure his patient through the power of fable. He brings his street performance to other areas of Tokyo as well, and has been featured on Japanese television and in the new Sabu film, Kani Kosen (蟹工船 or "Crab Factory Ship"), based on a manga which is based on a 1920's proletarian novel detailing the squalid conditions and crew mutiny on a fishing vessel.

Last weekend there was a new addition to the Inokashira Park performance squad. We didn't catch his name, but he seemed to be offering a stream-of-consciousness description of a ride on the Yamanote Line, stopping along the way for commentary about Kentucky Fried Chicken, McDonald's, President Bush, and Faithful Dog Hachiko. He was wearing a Popeye T-shirt and atop his head was a flu mask with the kanji for "weird" （変 or hen) markered onto it. We will return to catch his act.

Fearless Eating

2009-05-31T18:38:00.000-07:00

I don't know how I managed to get through nearly 7 years of living in Japan without discovering tamago gohan but, tragically, this was the case. Tamago means egg and gohan means rice and that is about all there is to the dish. We ordered it for the first time at Kokekokko (コケコッコ - it's what Japanese roosters say), a lively Showa-retro fashioned izakaya near the south entrance of JR Asagaya station. The waiter brought us a biggish bowl of steaming rice, a bottle of flavored soy sauce, and a bowl of eggs. We were invited to select as many eggs as we liked (two is the standard number). We cracked the eggs into a smaller bowl, whipped them up with a tablespoon or so of the soy sauce, then stirred the mixture in with the rice and a bit of chopped leek and some shredded dried seaweed. Oh man! A new favorite instantly entered the Sorrells/Vroman comfort food cornucopia.

Yes, the eggs were raw and they had been sitting unrefrigerated on the counter, perhaps for several hours. This idea has a very high ick factor in the US where we have become conditioned to fear contact with raw eggs. They are vectors of all kinds of nastiness picked up in the chicken factory and you are supposed to cook the hell out of them to kill the contaminants if, indeed, you are going to eat them at all which you probably shouldn't. The raw eggs I've eaten here (in sukiyaki, soba, and ramen as well as gohan) have bright orange yolks and taste rich and slightly sweet. And, yes, I'm still alive.

Japanese eggs are typically unrefrigerated at the supermarket, too. At more upscale markets, where 10 eggs can run $4 or more, it is not uncommon to see pictures of farmers cuddling their hens, presumably the mothers of the eggs on display or close relatives. We only buy the $2 variety so we don't get the family portrait with our purchase but we trust that our eggs come from very clean homes. Same with chicken, beef, organ meats, and other animal products which are also commonly eaten raw or nearly raw.

What accounts for this relative level of food safety in Japan? Better inspection? Smaller farms? More independent craft farming? I will look it up and get back to you.

Kokekokko (03-3220-7922) is located in Asagaya Minami 3, a few minutes' walk from JR Asagaya station, in an area filled with bars and yakitori joints. Turn right when leaving the station, follow the street that runs along the tracks for a couple of blocks and you'll bump right into it. They feature a lot of tasty and fun variations on traditional Japanese pub fare and a wide selection of shochu. They also hand out gifts to every customer: bath salts for the ladies and rice flavoring packets for the gentlemen.

VS

Peace

2009-05-17T03:20:00.000-07:00

Peace dropped from the sky on August 6 and 9, 1945 in a cataclysmic rain of terror, death and destruction. Six days later the Japanese surrendered and a nation at war was suddenly a nation at peace. Of course, this peace did not come easy. Several years of military occupation and martial law imposed it. The rebuilding of a society took its time. But Japan has since enjoyed an unprecedented nearly 64 years of relative peace.

In the early 50's, as Japan was jump starting its "economic miracle," the great American industrial and graphic designer, Raymond Lowey, was invited to redesign the package of Peace cigarettes. Unlike his simple tweaking of the Lucky Strike logo - creating the most iconic* of American designs, with its clean simple typeface; its red, white and er... gray target; and its straightforward American-ness - Lowey had the chance to begin anew with a completely fresh design.

Peace cigarettes tend to bring chuckles to the foreign traveler in Japan. Who would name a cigarette Peace? Or Hope, another long-running brand? And why? One may ask why name cigarettes Now or True? Peace, the cigarette brand, had been around for a while. The whims of marketers are sometimes hard to fathom.

Lowey turned his imagination to an iconic, yet troubling, image of the dove of peace. As the hope and promise of peace was being embraced by a destroyed nation, Lowey made a beautiful, modern and streamlined representation of this ancient symbol. Steamlining and modernity were Lowey's M.O. His dove represents the inviolable march of the future - the modern world of no nonsense, no frills, no embellishments, no sidetracks. Modern design equalled honesty in his eyes. But a closer look at the design reveals a complex undercutting of the basic iconography of the image - the image of peace. The dove itself is plummeting downward. it looks almost like an airplane, or more specifically, a bomber. The dove is not falling from the sky. It is diving toward the earth. Strange behavior for the symbol of peace. The tail, feathers shaped in a V, the Great War's symbol for victory**, adds yet another layer of metaphor to the iconography. What does this dove represent anyway?

Perhaps it's the image of the allied victory over Japan. Peace from above, enforced on a nation that lost, printed on a cigarette package. In the immediate post-war period, cigarettes, one of the cheapest and most easily consumable of items, lacked the deep stigma of cancer death and health nuisance of contemporary times. In fact, cigarette smoking is still generally accepted in Japan without the social hectoring that accompanies it now in North America. The ultimate victory over Japan was the opening of new markets to the western world. The Japanese have had their moments of turning the tables on market capitalism, but in the current global recession, all nations seem to be in the same sinking boat. Nonetheless, the ubiquitous image of peace remains in the marketplace. And at about 3 bucks a pack, Peace comes pretty cheap these days.

Peace, the logo, seems to show up as a common name/theme for numerous kissaten, the classic coffee shop of Japan. In their 1960s heyday, these often homely places added a pretense of western sophistication in their third place-ness, by not only serving up a strong cup of Joe, but also by being the venue for serious jazz listening and general hanging out. Occupying a seat for hours over a single cup of coffee is not merely an instance of western imperialism of the coffee place, it's a welcome respite in keep-it-moving culture of Tokyo. And coffee and cigarettes go hand in hand. At least they used to. Near the Bic Camera store outside Odakyu Line west exit is a lovely old fashioned kissaten that goes by the name of Peace.

The Tobacco and Salt Museum's current exhibition (until 5/29/09) is about the history of cigarette package design in Japan. Click here for more information.

*Other classic American cigarettes, Camels and Marlboros, are much less "American" in their concepts and designs. Camels refer to the exoticism of the Middle East and Marlboros tend toward a elitism, despite their rebranding in the 60s as a cowboy smoke. Marlboros in package design and original intent speak of high class pleasures. Though it should be noted, despite image, all American cigarettes were and are marketed to the lower and middle classes.

** The index and middle finger displayed in a V sign during and after the WWII years represented victory. The image was changed by the student protest movements of the late 60s and early 70s into a symbol for peace. Nixon tried to reclaim the image as one of victory, but managed only to make of joke of it and himself. The current generation of Japanese have managed to render the symbol totally meaningless in usage in its constant display posing for snapshots.

In Praise of Korokke

2009-05-01T13:42:00.000-07:00

Our good friend, Kiyo Marsh, is publishing a cookbook - tentatively titled Goddesses in Grundens . The cookbook relates her experience cooking in the galley of a crab boat that she and her sister, Tomi, ran off the coast of Alaska a few years ago. Anecdotes, peppered with recipes, lore and a healthy respect for the legacy of the comfort food (fried baloney with soy sauce, anyone?) she grew up with in a Japanese-American household are the heart and soul of her new book. She wrote us the other day asking for some background on korokke (コロッケ) - potato croquettes - one of the great and simple crossover food pleasures found throughout Japan.

So, the Ajimi team did a little research.

Its history in Japan is not very precise. At first thought we conjectured that it may have been introduced along with tempura by the Portuguese in the mid 16th century. But it doesn't appear to have been.

Most online sources put its introduction to Japan in the Meiji era (1869-1912). Apparently a recipe for korokke appears in an 1895 cookbook. Takaoka, a city in Gifu prefecture is making a bit of a claim as the place where where Japanese korokke started. There's a local chain there promoting Takaoka korokke and they have a winter festival at their main temple where one of the featured foods is the daibutsu korokke (the big Buddha korokke). According to the Takaoka Korokke (the chain restaurant) business website there is a reference in a newspaper dated 1900 of a western-style restaurant selling korokke - on the second floor to be exact. It makes a bit of sense as Takaoka was an important port during the early industrialization of Japan. Seems like things western could have been easily introduced there.

Moving into the Taisho era, there was a novelty hit called "The Song of the Korokke" in 1917. The song's popularity led to a popularity of consumption. This hit simultaneously with the introduction and popularization of kare risu and other things from beyond Japan's borders. We haven't found the original recording of the song, but here's a version -

Like many humble foods, there is an essence of the sublime in these mashed potato fritters. The Japanese stye can be perfectly simple or enhanced with either shrimp, crab or meat - often served with a squeeze of Bulldog Sauce, the sweet thick soy variation favored with fried foods. A personal favorite is korroke pan - your basic bun with a couple of korroke in it. We love our potatoes and bread.

Of course, we at Ajimi love our mashed potato fritters in many styles, not just the Japanese way. Noted are cuchifritos, the great Puerto Rican fast food we've found wandering the the Lower East Side in New York. Rellenos de papa (a tennis ball sized fritter of spiced meat covered with potato mash and breading) and alcapurrias (made with taro) are a couple of favorites.

And then there's this place in Madrid that we were told had the best croquetas in the city. It's a funky little bar on the Calle de Esparteros, near the Plaza Mayor, where a copa and a plate of fritters come cheap. Little fingers of breaded bechamel creamed spuds are all they are. And yes, they are the best.

What's That You Say?

2009-03-28T18:19:00.000-07:00

The aural landscape of Japan offers many pleasures and many annoyances. Between the big black trucks trundling down Yasukunidori, broadcasting nationalist anthems and sloganeering at top volume and the general din of overcrowded urban spaces, one recognizes that contrary to the stereotypic notion of Japan being a nation of silence and contemplation, the reality is that it can be really LOUD here. When hackles aren't being raised from the general noise pollution, the Ajimi team often finds mixed pleasure - amusement tempered by amazement before forefingers unconsciously find their way into ears - in the sounds of Japan.

Among the more interesting phenomena is the hawking of products by yelling. The most egregious must be Yodabashi, the giant vendor of all things electrical, photographic, laundromatic and gadget-errific. Take for example, the flagship store in Akihabara. Outside said store, there will be several workers shouting through megaphones about sale items. Upon entering the store, one will find more people shouting, either through acoustic or electric bullhorns, adding to the din of customers talking, and the incessant PA playing the Yodabashi theme song - a variation on the Battle Hymn of the Republic. Then, in particular sections of the store, a voice will break in over the theme song, yelling about this or that item on sale. The din becomes overwhelming. The message is always lost.

Perhaps the most amusing are the poor workers sent out to the sidewalk with small plastic or paper megaphones. A shift of yelling oneself hoarse unintelligibly to unfazed passersby must do wonders for self-esteem and doing a meaningful day of work. But these young workers are often relentlessly enthusiastic. Perhaps the act of doing - and doing enthusiastically and well - is reward enough. Perhaps being in the center of, and being part of a loud (think rock concert or rave) public event every day gives the hawker a pure dopamine rush. We hope it makes up for the minimum wage. Or maybe it's just a bad cultural habit.

Recently we were in Kawagoe where we observed this young hawker hiding behind his prop. Note that the product is manju for only 10 yen. IT'S A BARGAIN!

Peoples' Theater

2009-03-28T01:39:00.000-07:00

In Jujo, a neighborhood at the northern edge of Tokyo, the Shinohara Engeijo (篠原演芸所), built in 1951, is one of the last surviving examples of a style of entertainment that was once widespread throughout Japan. An "engeijo" is a theater or variety music hall where performers engage in "peoples' theater" or taishuengeki (大衆演劇). On a recent Sunday afternoon, guided by our friend Kokubo Shinichi, we went there for a performance by the Hasegawa Gekidan (長谷川劇団).

The performance began at 12:30, but, as we entered the theater at 11:30, it was clear why we had been advised to arrive an hour beforehand. Spectators were already sprawled out across half of the tatami area, and all of the prime seats near the stage had "reserved" signs attached. It was like a lively indoor picnic: everyone was eating, drinking and chatting in a very familial way. Hanging from the ceiling were large colorful banners with pictures of the players, members of the Hasegawa family, mainly, with a few non-Hasegawas for good measure. The mother of Hasegawa Takeya, one of the leaders of the troupe, was taking the tickets. We bought some onigiri and tea from the snack bar and sat back to wait for the show to begin.

Oddly enough, we learned just before the opening curtain that the afternoon's entertainment would include a segment on the life of Okichi, the maiden who allegedly was seduced and abandoned by the first US consul to Japan. Coming on the heels of our recent visit to Shimoda, where it was all Okichi all the time, this seemed to augur well for an interesting performance, or at least one whose general countours we would be able to follow with our limited Japanese.

But first there was the opening act which gave the actors a chance to introduce themselves and to engage in a bit of interaction with the audience. The first few segments looked a lot like voguing, with the younger and hunkier members of the troupe dancing across the stage to J-pops, occasionally pausing for a sexy pose to enthusiastic applause. The audience called out to the performers and offered them gifts: an envelope was slipped into a kimono sleeve, a bottle of health drink appeared, later a can of coffee. There was a very good onnagata (女形)　act in which a middle-aged man in full geisha gear impersonated a sweet young girl.

Then came the star of the show, Aikyouka (愛京花), wife of Takeya and co-leader of the troupe. A very appealing actress, she performed a couple of lively dance numbers, then moved through the theater, shaking hands with every one of the 100-or-so members of the audience. She later returned to the stage for a more formal Japanese dance during which an onlooker attached a fan of thousand-yen bills to her costume. After a little more dancing from the full troupe (with the aid of a smoke machine), the curtain rang down for the first intermission.

When the curtain rose again we were in the 19th-century. Shimoda Elegy -- or Shimoda Aika (下田哀歌) traced Okichi's tragic story from the arrival of Townsend Harris to her eventual death. Or, at least we assume it did. The story was told in three hour-long acts and, despite Aikyouka's lovely portrayal of the doomed woman, we could only manage to stay rapt for the first two. We left before the final denoument, after the murder of her lover but before Okichi ended up in the river.

A different touring troupe is featured roughly every month at Shinohara Engeijo, which has afternoon and evening performances (12:30 and 6:00 pm) on Saturday, Sunday and holidays, with evening performances through the week. Tickets are 1500 yen for adults and 800 yen for children. Here's the current schedule and location information along with links to other Tokyo- area Taishuengekijo in Asakusa and Kawasaki:

http://engeki.cdx.jp/shinohara21.html

Photos:

1. Banners outside the theater
2. An actor grabs a quick snack while getting into costume
3. Onnagata
4. Ai-san onstage
5. Ai-san works the crowd

VS

Kanogawa

2009-03-19T15:08:00.000-07:00

When going anyplace in the world, the Ajimi team always does a bit of advance research on local foods, booze, tourist attractions and the like. Shimoda is all about promoting all the Admiral Perry stuff, the Okichi - Townsend story, the onsen, but generally leaves its cuisine to the imagination. Unlike many Japanese towns, promoting either the best noodles in Japan or the best local fish (no doubt shipped from the Tsukiji fish market in Tokyo) the tourist literature on Shimoda tends to underplay the local dining options. This is all a bit surprising, because Shimoda actually still has the remains of a local fishing industry, kelp and seaweed beds, and a working waterfront where the locals spend lazy mornings fishing for iwashi (鰯) or whatever else may be swimming by. Plus they have a few blocks of the small town devoted to the himono (干物) - dried fish - business. When the Ajimi team popped into town on a perfect off-season day, the old heart of town had many local businesses with racks of drying cuttlefish and sardines spilling into the streets catching the sun and salty air of this famous little port.

Of course with the proximity of the wide Pacific we queried the local tourist office on where to partake of the local catch. A false start brought us to a decent but ultimately unmemorable restaurant. The second night, Friday, braving rain and wind, we hit the empty streets looking amongst the few open places for something local and delectable. And find it we did!

We noted an unassuming storefront, classically funky Japanese-style izakaya during our afternoon walk. It was one of those places that can be a true risk, perhaps gawdawful, or maybe at best acceptable, but Kanogawa (かの川) had the advantage of a posted menu describing a list of fare that we a) had never tasted in our lives and b) we were completely unfamiliar with. Always a good sign.

Sliding open the front door revealed a warm wooden room modestly outfitted with 3 tables, a small irori (open hearth) dining area and a small bar with seats for about 6 people. Sitting at the bar was the woman of the house busying herself with cleaning seaweed. Her husband sat behind the counter, watching the TV set high above the dishware-cluttered back bar. He, also, when not glancing at the tube, was attending to a large bunch of seaweed. We were their only guests the entire evening.

We asked for some local sake and were informed that there really was none, or at least none worth serving, but happily, the masters of the house were true sake lovers and had chosen about a dozen bottles, mostly from the Niigata region, to highlight the fare that came from their humble kitchen. Our hostess was more than enthusiastic in describing some favorite nihonshus, so leaving ourselves in her hands the sake poured and the feast began.

We started off with the most brilliant of otoushi. A long glass box with 3 compartments featured a classic gobo and carrot salad, vinegar-cured wasabi shoots, and an intriguing seaweed that was gathered that morning. In fact, the piles of seaweed that they were cleaning was the very stuff itself. We had never had anything quite like it. Not quite as strong as cured konbu, but not as delicate or silky as a wakame, this seaweed had a beautiful brinyness, a whisper of smoke and a satisfying tooth - just enough to give it a soft crunch. The wasabi shoots had a touch of heat, but none of the acridness that wasabi can sometimes smack you with. The vinegar was puckery and demanded a sip of sake to tame it.

We followed that with three little tokubushi (常節) - small abalones. And in great Japanese style, the little critter was served up whole, not just the foot. The faint muskiness and softness of the innards complimented the fresh chewiness of the perfectly cooked foot. After that, a small selection of bite-sized miso-cured iwashi himono. These little sundried sardines still had a bit of moisture in them, their already oily tastiness intensified by the sun and sea air.

Next came some local turban shell sea snails - sazae (栄螺) - which in the local parlance are called maimai - small blue shells where we pricked off the hard estivate and corkscrewed the tender flesh out with toothpicks.

We then ordered some locally caught kinmedai (金目鯛) as a nimono (煮物), a simmered dish.

As it took a bit to cook, our hostess brought out a little bowl of namoko (海鼠) - little bits of sea cucumber. We had seen these odd creatures in fish shops but had yet to try them. We were greeted with a light sea-y taste and an amazing texture. A rubbery toothiness turned immediately into a sort of nothingness, or rather liquid state at each bite. This relative of the sea urchin is apparently under close scrutiny from bioengineers for its ability to turn its tissue from solid to liquid and back again. There's nothing in the world quite like it.

The kinmedai arrived - a whole fish, red with a big eye staring at us, laying in a puddle of shoyu. We picked at the mildly sweet flesh, drank our last of several rounds of sake for a perfect end to the eating portion of our experience.

And then it was time for dessert.

We had noticed several large glass jugs of mysterious infusions behind the bar. In the best of izakaya traditions, Kanogawa makes their own fruit infusions. The classic is umeshu (梅酒), made from local Japanese "plums." In June every year, many bars and households put up this fruit in shochu. The Ajimi team is no different: our first batch is resting on the back of a low shelf awaiting its 1st anniversary in June 2009. Kanogawa, however, in addition to umeshu had several other fruit liquors on hand. We had a sampling, on the rocks with a splash of soda, of local yamamomoshu(山桃酒 - mountain bayberry) - delicate, with a slight astringency to its basic sweetness - and yamabudoushu (山葡萄酒 - mountain grape )- slightly more robust, with a touch of grapey funkiness.

Kanogawa is not exactly a rare find, but an important one. In a country, or rather a world, where tradition and localness have become brands - controlled and tailored to create a homogenous "experience", its always wonderful to stumble into the unhyped, unhurried and exceptional places that honestly do carry on local traditions and allow experience to become an adventure.

Kanogawa is located a few blocks from Shimoda's waterfront, a 3-minute walk from the train station, at Shimoda 1-12-22. Telephone 0558-22-2649. No English is spoken.

Searching for a taste of the sea

2009-03-18T18:34:00.001-07:00

South of Tokyo the Pacific seashore is mostly encased in concrete. This concrete was ostensibly poured to control erosion, but, along with massive dam projects, river channelization, and the general de-naturing of many of the country’s once wild and beautiful places, the disfigurement of Japan’s seacoast has mainly served to stave off erosion of the national public works budget. Thus, one has to travel several hours by train from the metropolis to find a relatively unspoiled stretch of ocean.

Eager for some contact with the Pacific, we headed for the Izu peninsula. At its northern end, the spa town of Atami is another testament to overbuilding. The highrise hotels and endless crowded shopping streets -- not mention a storied red-light district -- have managed to obliterate whatever natural features might have attracted visitors there in the first place. But head farther south along the eastern coast and the towns become smaller, the buildings shorter, the views of unspoiled seashore more frequent. By the time you reach Shimoda, it is possible to imagine what life in that part of Japan might have been like 150 years ago.

In Shimoda, making you imagine the historic past is the main touristic purpose. It was here, in 1853, that the Black Ships (kurofune – 黒船 – in Japanese), a fleet of American vessels led by Admiral Matthew Perry, sailed into port, the key event in opening Japan to American influence. The Kurofune/Perry theme is omnipresent. So is the story of Townsend Harris, the first US consul to Japan, and the Japanese maiden Okichi. The most romantic legends have it that Okichi became Harris’ lover and right hand for many years, only to be abandoned once her usefulness was over. Other tougher-minded historians claim that Okichi lasted but a few days in Harris’ employ, only to be tossed out on suspicion of having syphilis. She may or may not have run a bordello after that (or was it a saloon?), and may or may not have committed suicide in her early '50s (or did she just fall into the river in a drunken stupor?). Whatever the real tale, local tourism promoters never let the facts get in the way of a marketable story. The Harris/Okichi story has become a cottage industry. (You may recall it as the subject of the film “The Barbarian and the Geisha” starring John Wayne as Townsend Harris). There are also some lovely remnants of 19th-century streets and buildings to stroll around in while you take in the lore.

But of course the Ajimi Team was mostly there for the food. All along the Izu coast one sees signs for himono (ひもの), fish of one kind or another that is dried in the sun, with or without flavorings such as miso or salt. Kinmedai (金目鯛) is another heavily advertised local specialty. This version of tai, or sea bream, is served in many ways, including stewed whole or atop kamameshi (釜飯), a hearty dish which usually combines rice, vegetables, mushrooms and meat or fish which is then baked in a metal bowl. We also tasted wonderful wakame (若布), fresher than we’d ever tasted it, pulled that day from the sea, and were introduced to fresh nori in its original red state in our miso soup. Overall, Shimoda is not a grand dining destination but we found a few excellent izakaya （居酒屋）and shokudo （食堂）that served up memorable meals built around local products. Snails were eaten. More on that in the next post.

Photos, top to bottom:

1. The Pacific coast from the seaside walkway south of Shimoda

2. Harvesting wakame

3. Kinmedai and ginmutsu (Japanese bluefish)

The Ajimi Team in the Japan Times

2009-03-14T18:08:00.000-07:00

Howdy, y'all. Please take a look at our recent article about the Tokyo bluegrass scene:

http://search.japantimes.co.jp/cgi-bin/fm20090313a1.html

Jōmon Style for the 21st Century

2009-01-22T19:56:00.000-08:00

The Jōmon (縄文) people of ancient Japan may have hit their aesthetic heights at about 2,500-1,500 BCE. Jōmon means "twisted cord" and refers to the distinctive decorative style that marked their ceramics. As any dynamic art, their ceramics developed from the small lightly decorated rough pottery of their early period (roughly 10500-1,200 BCE) to massive and ornate storage and cooking pottery marked by intricate patterns and fancifully fluted lips and brims. These "prehistoric" folk certainly left a historic legacy throughout Japan with bits and shards of their distinctive pottery - which are generally accepted to be the oldest known functional ceramic ware in the world - for future archeologists to speculate upon.

The Ajimi team was out strolling a bit ago in Takaido-Higashi through a little park off the mighty Kanda when we came to a little plaza strewn with some classic/contemporary examples of Jōmon clay work.

Individual stools, with faux reconstructed body sherds, shaped in classic inverted cone of Jōmon ware were planted solidly into the paving stones along the edges of a small plaza. The collars were etched in a simple pattern referring to early period Jomon style. Two opposing curls of clay referred to primitive handles, binding the seat tops into a graceful whole. The seat tops were glazed to protect the fired clay from the elements. Glazing was unknown to the Jōmon people.

Next to stools was the Jōmon ashtray. Again in the distinctive inverted cone coil construction of much of Jōmon ware. This oversized object highlighted simple yet pleasing castellations on the edges of the collar. Spare and tasteful decorations made by pressing a twisted cord or piece of rope graced the body of the free standing ashtray.

Perhaps the highlight of the ceramic pieces was the drinking fountain. Again in the classic conoidal style of middle period Jōmon ware, the surface was beautifully decorated, the collar simple and functional - as befits a contemporary simulacra of a spring for potable water.

And last, but not least, the garbage can. A bit more Baroque in decoration, referring to late middle style, the shape was more of an inverted bell. The modern and Duchampian touch of a bicycle rim was not only fanciful and art historically resonant, but functional - a great way to keep crows from making a mess of refuse.

Some smart ideas for the 21st Century. These pieces of public furniture were part of a permanent display that also included a reconstruction of a Jomon hut (Tokyo residential designers take note - these ancient people certainly had better ideas than most of what passes for housing design in contemporary Tokyo apartments) and an information center/museum where the Ajimi team could marvel at genuine pottery on display.

Lovelocked

2009-01-16T00:29:00.000-08:00

Shortly after the New Year, the Ajimi team took a trip to Enoshima (江ノ島), a little island just south of Kamakura, accessible by a short walk across a long bridge from the mainland. Sometimes referred to as the Mont-Saint-Michel of Japan, it, like the noted French Island, is overrun with tourists, yet still holds a certain enchantment behind the clutter of souvenir shops and tourist cafes and the special way certain shrines maximize profit where there are guaranteed to be a lot of visitors.

Benzaiten (弁才天), one of the seven lucky gods, is the mistress of the island. She's the one in charge of everything that flows - water, words, music, money and sometimes, love. Jostling with the streaming crowd up the bustling shopping street (where curiously many shops sell padlocks amongst the tchotchkes, dried fish products and senbei) one reaches the vermillion torii demarcating the entrance to Enoshima jinja (江島神社), a shinto shrine promoting Benzaiten, a Buddhist goddess. There's a place to wash one's money under her watchful eyes and for 200 yen one can enter a pavilion where you can see her naked - a lovely and rare sculpture of the goddess unclothed.

Perhaps this bit of titillation is to get one into the mood for love. We humped our way up the hill beyond the jinja past hucksters, through crowds to Okutsunomiya (奥津宮) shrine, where one can see an image the all-seeing turtle seeing all.

Just a bit down the path and to the left a solitary souvenir shop stands, doing brisk business selling padlocks. It's here where couples make their purchase and walk arm in arm up a path to a bluff overlooking the Pacific. A small pavilion on a cement platform houses a bell. Festooning the low cyclone fence on one edge of the platform are locks. All kinds, from simple padlocks to bicycle locks, each sharpie-inscribed with statements of enduring love, from the simple x loves y to perfect haikus and longer tomes. And it is here where they attach their own.

This is Lover's Hill (恋人の丘), a relatively recent - sometime in the 1960s it seems to have started - promotion that's now become tradition. As the story goes there was this dragon god, Ryujin, who was seriously bugging the mortal folk living on Enoshima. Benzaiten stepped in and vowed to marry Ryujin-san, but only if he left the island and people of Enoshima alone. She may have had other motives - judging from the dragon that guards a cave/shrine near Okutsunomiya. Whatever, the story's a good one and now a few generations of young and old lovers have made the pilgrimage to Enoshima to hang their locks of love, ring the bell, and slyly pocket the key, just in case. As the fences get filled to capacity, they're taken from the posts and laid on a nearby path, creating a lovely found sculpture to modern love. The bodies and shackles of layers and layers of locks, rusting and slowly returning to the earth.

An Acquired Taste

2008-12-29T02:45:00.000-08:00

It's a typical Friday night in an typical neighborhood izakaya. The man next to me asks if I like sushi. He acts genuinely surprised when I say yes. He asks about natto (musty tasting, gluey fermented soybeans).

I say, "it's OK, but I wouldn't go out of my way for it."

He smiles. "Shiroko (steamed fish milt)?"

I answer the same, having spent a week last February accidently ordering it in restaurants over several days and finding it not so unpleasant.

He hopes to catch me. "What do you think of shiokara (salt pickled squid, guts and all)?"

Japanese rightfully pride themselves on the amazing permutations and variations of their cuisine. From many a Japanese point of view, a measure of cultural difference is the stuff they eat. Quite often, among less worldly folks here, there is an assumption that only Japanese like - and can eat - Japanese food. What makes the outsider truly different is that they will never like the food from their world. And the litmus test is how the outsider reacts to the ostensibly difficult foods - from the raw, to the sticky and slimy, to the obscure, and to the fetid.

When the Ajimi team first began flirting, a true "ah ha, this is a woman who can rock my world" moment came in a missive in which Virginia stated "we will sing for our supper at a local Japanese restaurant (try the fish innards)." A complex and brilliant seduction was underway. Appealing to our mutual desires of making music and being in the spotlight together opened up a door. But fish innards were a key to my heart and soul. I soon flew from Seattle to Japan to spend some time with this woman whose taste for culinary adventure was boundless. Our first night together in Japan took us to what would become a favorite restaurant, Kawacho. At this small, neighborhood joint hidden on a back street in Bakurocho, we ordered a small plate of house-made shiokara. As I offered the first taste to Virginia, she declined, saying she actually really didn't like the stuff. At least she had tried it before.

The rough handmade dish complimented the silky bands of squid. A beautiful mahogany colored sauce caressed the off-pink strips of perfect briny cephalopod. I picked up a glistening bit of squid in my chopsticks. The moment had finally come. I ate my first bite of shiokara.

It was awful. It was just how one might expect several days-old squid to taste - sour, rubbery, rotten.

Two years have nearly passed since our first outing in Japan. Since that time I've had the opportunity to eat shirokara often. It's a recommended snack to compliment one's sake. As time has passed, I've actually grown to like it. At a recent Slow Food dinner several bowls of potatoes slathered in shiokara appeared. They were great.

I turn to the man in the typical neighborhood izakaya. "Actually, I really like shiokara."

He looks at me quizically, then lets out a hearty laugh. We toast to our mutual likes. Virginia joins in, though she passes on the shiokara.

If you want to make your own shiokara there's a recipe at this link.

The Ajimi Team in the Press

2008-12-27T19:01:00.000-08:00

We've been busily writing over the last few months about a variety of topics, from music to wine to chocolate to coffee. This month the New York Times published our piece about the music scene in Koenji. We'll have articles in Wine Enthusiast Magazine about the Japanese wine industry (November) and boutique chocolatier Claudio Corallo (January or February). Finally, Fresh Cup Magazine will run a piece about roast-to-order coffee merchants in Tokyo in its February issue.

We hope you enjoy reading these articles and we'll keep you posted on future developments.

We Got the Beets

2008-12-14T05:36:00.001-08:00

A few years ago, my then-neighbor Adrienne bought a juicer and began making juice out of everything she could lay her hands on: garlic, carrots, apples, ginger, celery, spinach...all were drawn into the vortex. But one vegetable eluded her: beets. It seemed that she could not find a beet anywhere in Tokyo, at any price. I had not given much thought to beets in many years but began to keep a sharp eye out for them whenever I went shopping. And, indeed, beets were nowhere to be found. A few months ago we did spot some at the Kinokuniya supermarket in the basement of the Bunkamura building in Shibuya...puny things for about 3 bucks each! We wrote beets off and moved on.

But Christmas is the season of miracles. On Friday night we attended a bonenkai party where we met Alex the Russian. Nick's first question: where the heck do you find beets in this town? Alex scores his -- affordably -- at the OK Market near Yoyogi Uehara station. He even makes a sweet liquor infusion out of them. But then, the following night, we attended a Slow Food party at the Shinjuku Kumin Center and what to our wondering eyes should appear but a boiling cauldron of home-made borscht! Synchronicity! One of the organizers, Noriko, orders her beets from a food co-op and the resulting soup was served with fresh cream and yogurt. The borscht had a special Japanese touch: a dash of Awamori, high-octane Okinawan rice liquor, to give it a special zing.

The party was a very yummy affair with guest foodies from all over Japan. We met Narita-san, a master soba maker from Tokyo; Meero-san, an international food consultant from Hokkaido; seed savers from Osaka; and Masu, who throws monthly fruit, music and art parties in Aoyama (reservations in English and Japanese at fruitsparty@gmail.com). Most of the guests had arrived before noon and spent the day cooking together in the well-outfitted kitchen-cum- function room overlooking Shinjuku Gyoen. We dined by candlelight with the lights of Shinjuku glowing in the distance. As we left around 9 pm, people were still arriving to share food and comradeship. We received a large, lovely beet as an early Christmas present.

VS

Uguisu Droppings

2008-12-01T05:41:00.000-08:00

Here is an example of how a little curiosity -- combined with confusing information -- can be a dangerous and wonderful thing. We were riffing the other night on the meaning of the names of stops along the Yamanote Line, that roughly oval train line that circumscribes central Tokyo. Many of the stations along the Y are named after natural or historic features that were obliterated in the urban expansion. Take for example Uguisudani -- Valley of the Bush Warbler -- the stop north of Ueno on the city's east side, now noteworthy for the sharp contrast between its 20th-century love hotel district and Sasanoyuki, one of the city's most revered tofu restaurants dating back 200 years or more.

So, like, today, Nick picked up a wee treat at the local konbini, a pastry filled with green bean paste. It was called "Uguisupan." The penny dropped and we started thinking that there might be some connection between the pastry and the place. The pastry was a classic an-filled bun, but instead of the traditional red bean filling, there was a sweet mild green beany paste. We hit the Internet, with its problematic auto-translation, to assist our limited Japanese. Several false leads later, we finally came upon a site that had a recipe for uguisuan - the mildly sweet paste filling. Voila! The secret of the paste was endomame - peas, minus pods, cooked with sugar to create an enjoyable sweet spread. But where did the bird fit in? Was the treat named after the color of bush warblers? Their droppings? The sound of steaming bean paste mimicking their love call? Or what?

Uguisuiro -- or "bush-warbler color" -- also translates into olive green. A quiz of some Japanese friends revealed that the names of many colors - or at least the more appealing ones - come from their resemblance to the flora and fauna of Japan.

The uguisu is also sometimes referred to as the Japanese nightingale, although it never sings at night. A web search followed for the term "Japanese nightingale." And what should turn up first but a reference to the use of Japanese nightingale droppings as a component of a beauty cream used by Victoria (Posh Spice) and David Beckham. This wonder product apparently contains an enzyme that lightens skin, cures acne and could enhance your career as a kabuki actor.

Alas, the little mystery of the origin of the pastry name remains unsolved. Is the green bean paste known as uguisuan because of its resemblance to the bird or its droppings? It's a sticky subject we've come to - and maybe not just metaphorically. When you open the door and a little uguisu darts in, be prepared for a few flights of fancy and some potentially profitable cleanup.

The wikipedia entry on the bush warbler - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Japanese_Bush_Warbler- adds another layer of lore and uguisu usage for your pleasure.

NV and VS

Tokyo Style

2008-11-25T18:18:00.000-08:00

Like many a culinary capital, Tokyo, is the nexus for regional styles and international influences, and by sheer scale a place where one can find nearly anything to satiate one's oral desires. But what foods and what styles denote food that one can truly say "comes from Tokyo."

Well documented is nigiri sushi - the act of putting a slice of raw fish on a thumb sized lump of rice. Also classically Tokyo are standing bars - yakitoria and other places near stations or on corners that befit a fast paced, commuting lifestyle.

And then there's ramen. Or at least Tokyo style ramen. Born in the years of postwar reconstruction, it's a simple style that reflects hard and lean times. American occupation forces brought in cheap wheat flour. Japanese forces returning home from China brought a newfound taste and acceptance of Chinese noodles. Traditional disdain for the inelegant and plebeian food of immigrants fell to the serious demands of hunger. Broth, a bit of protein - slivers of meat or an egg, some preserved vegetables, starch - all basic foods to feed a hungry nation. The Japanese foodscape changed irrevocably. Ramen, in countless variations, is now as Japanese as tempura, originally a Portuguese import.

On a cold and rainy November Saturday, the Ajimi team journeyed to Ogikubo, the west side neighborhood where the first famous Tokyo style ramen joints opened in the black market shotengai that popped up near train stations after the war. Laying claim to be the originator of the style is Harukiya (春木屋), an unprepossessing place a couple of minutes from the Ogikubo station.

Unlike many modern rameneria, Harukiya only offers a few variations on the basic soup. But what a soup it is! In essence, thin, kansui-yellowed noodles with a good bite, nutty menma (麺麻 - reconstituted dried bamboo shoots), thin and powerful slices of roast pork, sharp rounds of negi (ネギ - Japanese leek), maybe a perfectly cooked ajitsuke tamago (味付け卵 - a egg boiled in soy sauce, runny in the middle, hard on the outside) and a shio enhanced stock made of chicken and dried sardines. It's the fishiness of the stock that gives it the Tokyo taste. A trademark of Tokyo style, whether it's with oden, soba, or ramen is the affinity toward things piscine.

There's an artlessness, an honesty and assurance about the ramen at Harukiya that appeals to our sensibilities at Ajimi. Every wonderful slurp brings time, place, history, necessity, and taste to the forefront of an experience beyond consumption - to an understanding of what makes something Tokyo style.

Harukiya's Website

You Can't Beat Christmas in Tokyo

2008-11-16T18:14:00.000-08:00

The Christmas windows at Isetan's flagship Shinjuku store are remarkably awful this year. The displays are 99% bling free and seem pieced together from stuff they had lying around, like big sheets of cardboard, tufts of cotton wool, old cake models, balls of yarn. Maybe they were going for a retro 1970's JC Penney's kind of look. The theme is Christmas A to Z and "M" is for "muffler" - the scarf kind - while "W" is for "waffle." In less troubled economic times those letters would likely have been represented by Missoni and Vera Wang. The entry for "F" caught our eye: it stands for "fork," "flower" and an activity one would not generally associate with the spirit of Christmas.

VS

Hitting the Art Trail

2008-11-02T16:45:00.000-08:00

Go west from central Tokyo by train and, within an hour, you are in the mountains. Not big mountains -- for those you need to continue another hour or so by Shinkansen to the Japan Alps. The mountains just west of central Tokyo are wooded and welcoming, laced with rivers and lakes and onsen and hiking trails. Small towns cluster around the train stations on the Chuo and other tributary lines. Like many small rural towns in Japan, these places often have a faded, forgotten quality owing to mass migration to big cities, particularly Tokyo, during the postwar boom. In some cases, local boosters have developed promotional campaigns to lure daytrippers from the capital. Some of these campaigns are fun and quirky, some are just sad. Banners tend to feature anthropomorphic cartoons of the local produce - melons, peaches, whatever - or advertise some aspect of the local culture.

The Ajimi Team found Fujino by describing a 90-minute train travel radius from home base. We were looking for a Sunday hiking destination that involved both open water and an onsen to soak in at the end of the day. A stop past Mt. Takao on the Chuo main line was the town of Sagamiko on the northern shore of its namesake lake. A quick google of "Sagamiko onsen" turned up a very cool site highlighting the neighboring town of Fujino. Here is some of what it had to say...

Fujino, which means "field of wisterias," attracted several Tokyo artists during the war. Since then, other Japanese and foreign artists have settled there, numbering around 100 all together among the population of some 11,000. Since it is a watershed for Lake Sagami, which provides drinking water for a portion of Kanagawa Prefecture, industrial development has been restricted in the area. Consequently, the Fujino municipal government has attempted to promote the town as an "art resort" to boost the local economy. Artists were commissioned to create outdoor sculptures to line an "art trail" winding through the hills. The prefectural government kicked in, building an art workshop and performance space.

This much we knew before we set out on our expedition. At Fujino station, a large map provided the bare minimum of information. (Note to Japanese mapmakers: Pulleeeze start including scales of kilometers, walking times, something to indicate how long a hike one faces from one place to another. The occasional North arrow would be nice, too.) But on a hillside rising to the south (we think) of the station we could see a large sculpture in the shape of a letter sealed with a heart, held by 2 giant red hands. We set off in that direction, following signs pointing to the art trail. All along the way we found stands selling fresh vegetables and nuts, often on the honor system, with no one monitoring the cash box. Persimmons (kaki 柿）, daikon (大根), walnuts (kurumi 胡桃) and a wide variety of potatoes (imo 芋) were the most common offerings.　 The directional signs were infrequent and confusing enough that we got lost a few times, though not unpleasantly, since the place is pretty and the weather was sunny and clear.

It turned out that the route circulating through the outdoor art installations was much longer than we could have navigated in the few hours we'd allotted to it. We did see several pieces on our walk which were far more fun and original than the usual kind of public art one sees in Tokyo, where it runs more to lifesize bronzes of naked ladies in front of public buildings or insane-looking bronze babies frolicking in public plazas. By the time we found a sign that actually showed the location of the 20-or-so Fujino art trail pieces along with photos, the need to find lunch forced us to turn back toward town. After eating soba, we visited a culture exhibition at the local grade school (this was the Sunday before Culture Day). We took a free shuttle bus through the hills to Higashiotaru Onsen where we were able to soak for a couple of hours in 100% natural spring water for just 800 yen. We didn't make it to the prefectural art workshop.

The next day we did some additional googling to find out more about Fujino. The aforementioned cool site, curated by Norman Havens, was last updated in 2004 (are you still there, Norman?). But there was a very recent entry concerning the town on the website for The Guardian. Fujino was identified as the planet's 100th "transition town," and the first one in Japan. Founded in England just two years ago, the Transition Towns movement encourages localities to create their own plans for developing low-carbon economies that respond to the needs of local people. The website for Fujino's group isn't up yet but we will be checking back soon on this community's latest efforts to determine its destiny.

VS

Some Thoughts on Ramen

2008-10-26T06:24:00.000-07:00

On top there are the primates. Beneath that dolphins. And then there are pigs on the level of smartness. An old human idea is that by eating the organ, the muscle, the essence of those things that we have conquered or killed we receive that essential quality. The liver for courage, the heart for honor and compassion, the muscles for strength. Does one get smarter for consuming tonkotsu, the rich milky broth that defines Hakata-style ramen? Pork bones boiled hard an long are at the heart and soul, and perhaps are the brains behind, this great style of Ramen.

The Ajimi team recently visited Hakata Tenjin (博多天神), a favorite little ramen chain, in their Shibuya location. They've got a pretty famous branch in Shinjuku, often photographed for the bigger than life-size pig-faced tanuki in front of the shop. Though crass - what else from a ramen joint? - the sculpture belies the fact that the place makes a simple, cheap, and lovely ramen that's well worth a taste in one's search for noodle bliss.

What one gets for 500 yen is a bowl full of fine ramen noodles, a thin slab of fragrant char sui, a pile of menma (dried and reconstituted bamboo shoots), and some shavings of negi. It all works together beautifully with the collagen-a-riffic broth. But what takes it over the edge are the brilliant condiments that line the counters and folding tables of this simple establishment. First, there's pureed garlic. Then there's benishoga, vermillion colored pickled ginger. And then there's the karashi tenaka, spicy pickled Chinese mustard greens. They are musty, smokey, sharp, and perfect at Hakata Tenjin.

So, what's all this have to do with getting smart? Well, Hakata is a ward in Fukuoka, where this wonderful style of ramen was developed. It was in Fukuoka where Sugawara no Michizane died in exile in 903. His spirit, which was some mighty powerful, was deified and became known as Tenjin. Over the years Tenjin became the kami, or god, of scholarship. Some food for thought when slurping down a bowl of noodles at Hakata Tenjin.

Hakata Tenjin website

Black Eggs in Hell

2008-10-08T02:16:00.000-07:00

There is a place called Owakudani (大涌谷） in the resort area of Hakone that demonstrates that there are no limits to the local-delicacy-hawking ingenuity of Japanese tourism developers. The name means something like "big gushing valley" owing to the plumes of sulfur and other noxious gases that burst from the landscape. It smells -- and looks -- like absolute hell, so of course we had to go there the other day to check it out.

Owakudani is about a 40-minute bus ride from the town of Hakone Yumoto （箱根湯元）a comfortable little tourist trap where we spent Saturday night. All of the Hakone region is more than usually seismically active and attracts crowds of visitors who need something to do when they are not soaking in hot springs. Owakudani is also a stop on a ropeway that connects the tourist towns of Soun-zan and Togendai on Lake Ashi (the latter is a port for the famous pirate ship excursion). Both Lake Ashi and the sulfur fields were created when Mt. Hakone blew up about 3,000 years ago.

Big signs at the entrance to the nature trail advertise warnings in three languages -- Japanese, Korean and a kind of English -- about the toxic nature of the gases. If you are of "delicate bronchus" you are strongly urged to vamoose. Despite this, a steady stream of tourists climbed the stairs from the parking lot to the end of the trail. What emboldened them to risk lung damage by traversing the volcanic field? Perhaps it was a sense of adventure for some but for others had to be to down a couple of the famous black eggs.

Here is how to make black eggs. Start with regular chicken eggs. Gather several dozen together and put them in a little cage. Attach the cage to its own wee ropeway and send it up the slope to the edge of a naturally boiling, sulfuric cauldron with big signs around it advising people to stay away. There, have a guy wearing absolutely no respiratory protection gear dip the cages of eggs into the volcanic goop. Keep the eggs in there for probably 10 times longer than you would boil them on the stove as people stand around taking pictures and breathing deeply. Pull them out when they are good and black. Sell the eggs for about a buck a pop to people who believe that eating one will add seven years to their lives (I wonder if that is before or after you factor in death from exposure to the sulfuric acid fumes).

I don't know why the usually intrepid Ajimi Team did not choose to sample the famous Owakudani Black Eggs since we will usually eat just about anything once. Perhaps it was the odor of the surroundings, rather like being trapped in a banquet hall after dinner with 300 people with active constitutions who had forgotten to take their Beano. Maybe we were just full. It had to happen eventually.

VS

The Downpour

2008-09-16T21:21:00.000-07:00

A summer of constant rain in the Kanto plain inspired the Ajimi Team to seek higher ground when planning a recent vacation. Up we went by midnight bus from Tokyo to arrive at dawn in the mountain town of Hida Takayama (飛騨高山） thence several days later to Matsumoto (松本）for what we hoped would be four days of hiking in the hills, interspersed with onsen visits and great regional cuisine. But the rain followed us, and whenever we passed a television set it was showing images of the entire midsection of Japan awash. We did make an attempt on our second day in Takayama to follow the trail of shrines and temples that meanders through Higashiyama (東山） but the downpour got the better of us and we were driven indoors.

The town of Takayama is often referred to as "Little Kyoto," both because of the Higashiyama district patterned on the more famous one in Kyoto and because of the wealth of historic architecture that lines the streets at the center of town. A large number of old merchant dwellings and storehouses are used today as retail establishments ranging from twee boutiques to sake breweries where -- you guessed it -- the Ajimi Team managed to overcome its disappointment over the foul weather.

One very nice thing about certain Japanese towns, Takayama included, is the way they are integrating regional cuisine into their tourism promotion. Almost every town in Japan is "famous" for one kind of food or another and, although local lampposts and tourist literature can be festooned with images of the relevant fruit, grain, animal, flower or tuber, encounters with the actual foodstuff can be rather underwhelming (although we learned later on this trip from a resident of Chiba prefecture that certain famous watermelons in that part of Japan really are remarkable in their delicacy and sweetness and we should make a special trip to experience them next July). The Hida region is famous for its beef, the yumminess of which we will report on later. But we were pleasantly surprised by the ubiquity and quality of the jizake (地酒） or local nihonshu and the multifarious circumstances in which one could sample it.

A local sake association publishes a lovely guide -- only in Japanese as far as we know -- to 13 Takayama sake breweries, including descriptions of their products and suggested pairings with local cuisine. The Ajimi Team didn't make it to all 13 breweries, but we settled in for extensive samplings at several and three tasting experiences were especially noteworthy.

Our first stop was at Sansha (山車） where the main attraction was their signature sake ladled from a small cask for a bargain 250 yen per serving. We sank into comfy benches surrounding an unlit but cozy hearth. The woman serving us explained that this was "old style" nihonshu, and we labeled this and several other sakes we would sample in Takayama "pre-central-heating nihonshu" with a lingering sharpness that would come in handy during cold mountain nights. Beyond the counter was another area with the original boiler, curing tanks, a picnic bench, several chairs, and a collection of dilapidated machinery whose original function was a mystery. We enjoyed several additional cups of Sansha and namazake (生酒 - NB: the storm was raging at this point) sitting back in the storage shed amid the not-unpleasant aroma of machine oil.

At the other end of the spectrum, both in terms of the taste of the nihonshu and tastefulness of the surroundings, was the Niki (二木）brewery. There, the heavy beams and white plaster walls of the tasting room echo the style of traditional Takayama mercantile architecture, but are a recent addition to the original 200+ year-old building. We ordered a flight of 5 samples, all lovely, but lighter and more floral than the Sansha. The staff there were very welcoming and gave us an English translation of a chart outlining the sake brewing process.

Then it was on to Kawajiri (川尻）, an older style sake brewery with a couple of details that set it apart. First, they offered coasters for each sample that were miniatures of their respective labels, very handy for making notes and remembering what the hell one is drinking on what might very well be the nth brewery visit of the day. Second, they had a stuffed tanuki. Any experience, we believe, is enhanced by the presence of a stuffed tanuki. This tanuki was sans chapeau but was otherwise accessorized like the pottery variety, clutching an account book and sake flask. Here, we tasted the very robust Masamune (正宗) which is aged for two years after a brewing process that lends it it both a light yellow cast and a dizzying 20 proof alcohol rating.

Each year, from early January to mid-March, the sake breweries of Takayama open their doors to visitors. For further information about visiting these and other breweries, click here.

VS

Kujira Helper

2008-08-23T20:05:00.001-07:00

Japan is one of the few countries in the world that does not take part in the international ban on whaling. Every year, through the auspices of the Japan Institute of Cetacean Research (日本鯨類研究所, Nippon Geirui Kenkyūsho), Japan harvests whales in what it terms "research" on the sustainability of whaling. The results of this research can be found in grocery stores and restaurants throughout Japan.

Whales, most famous for being the subject of a magnificent book and for spawning a subgenre of songs in the 1970s dedicated to their salvation, were historically a part - a small part - of the Japanese diet. They became a much bigger thing in the Land of the Rising Sun when American occupation forces were faced with a large, destitute and hungry population in much need of protein. Whales are big and got a lotta meat - an easy solution. Japanese school kids' lunchboxes throughout the 50s regularly included a slab o' whale.

Recently the Ajimi team were walking through a shotengai in Asakusa where we came upon a restaurant specializing in research. A small and tasteful retail section opened up to the walking street proffering any number of cuts of whale meat and various flavoring agents, pickles, and packaged products to cover up... er... enhance the taste of these fat and protein filled behemoths. And best of all we came across an instant curry manufactured specifically for making くじらカレ (kujira kare), or whale curry.

We at Ajimi are suckers for a good curry. And we're also suckers for the Japanese variation on this Indian import. Japanese curry can be amazingly bad at any number of cheap "kare" joints that dot the urban landscapes of all Japanese cities. A pool of thin one-dimensional sauce, a potato, a piece of rubbery meat and some tired rice make for a quick, but particularly unsatisfying meal. But Japanese curry can also be great! When prepared well, it's got a nice complexity of spices, with a mild burn, a lively and "fruity" edge and the Japanese secret - a nice dark roux to thicken it all up. Served with fresh seasonal veggies and quality meat... well, it's a perfect comfort food that holds its own against other world curry variations.

Curry, Japanese-style, hit the market in the late 50s, with easy-to-make instant variations made available to busy housewives and salarymen. Around this time interest in consuming whale was on the decline. Other, tastier and better foods were becoming more readily available as Japan boomed. Whale never left though. There are a few restaurants that specialize in it and it shows up seasonally (perhaps when some research is being activated) in supermarkets. However, the Ajimi team, having come of age in the 70s still remember Graham Nash and David Crosby's To the Last Whale - and whether it's at a certain revulsion in remembrance of that song or if we're just being PC, when it comes to whale, we just say no.

To Dorothy

2008-08-21T17:26:00.000-07:00

It was just about 8 years ago that I visited Japan for the first time. I had fallen in love with a building -- Rafael Vinoly's Tokyo International Forum -- and wanted to check out both the building and the city where it was built. After a couple of months of searching I came across a ridiculously cheap airfare and, with my mother's 75th birthday looming, invited her to join me for 10 days in Tokyo and Kyoto.

Dorothy had always been an excellent traveling companion. We had visited Italy, England and Mexico together. She was the kind of traveler who was up for anything, approaching each new horizon with a sense of adventure. Our budget for the Japan trip was tight. Aside from the first few nights at the lovely Ryokan Shigetsu in Asakusa, we roughed it in cheap lodgings. Dorothy gamely hoofed it up and down subway stairs, often with the aid of a cane. But she endured the hard walking and lack of luxury, propelled by the desire to see everything.

On that trip we developed a shared love of tanukis, an animal indigenous to Japan that over the centuries has become mythologized into a party-loving, shape-shifting, impecunious rascal and the patron deity of actors and lovers of the bottle. The dictionary defines them as "raccoon dogs" and they are renowned for having some of the biggest balls in the animal kingdom. There are tanuki statues all over Japan, often outside izakaya and restaurants. Dorothy in particular took a shine to these statues and whenever she saw one would make a note of what was going on below the waist.

Dorothy died a year ago today. The trip to Japan was the last one she would ever take. Her eyes went first, then her knees, limiting her horizons to a few square yards in a small apartment. Cancer came next and, although it was beaten back with drugs and radiation, ultimately it was she who was beaten. Today we will visit a small shrine in Asakusa that Dorothy and I visited for the first time together. There we will light a candle and give her regards to the tanukis.

VS

Golden Bats

2008-08-21T05:23:00.000-07:00

The first bats of the season appeared this week. Flitting above the Zenpukijigawa, a few brave furry fliers tested out the warm spring air, darting hither and yon, daintily devouring insects. It's a welcome sight here in Tokyo. Sakura blossoming means that spring is coming. Bats mean that spring is here. Seeing these super-signifying flying mammals made me think of the archetypical Japanese smoke, Golden Bats.

Oh, wait... it's been a few months since I wrote those last few words. We're nearly through the doldrums of another hot and sticky summer. The bats are now out in force. Last night at twilight, the sky was heavily peppered with bats, the air buzzed with drill of cicadas. And boy, do I need a cigarette.

Golden Bats (Ogon Batto) are the grandaddies of Japanese cigarettes. In 1904, the Japan Tobacco, the state-run tobacco monopoly, was formed and by 1906 the flagship brand of Golden Bats was introduced to the public. They are still being made with their distinctive green packages and pair o' bats design, somewhat compromised these days by the oversized health warning labels. They're a classic non-filter smoke, akin to Luckies. And they are cheap! Japanese cigs are one of the few bargains to be had in the land of the rising sun, but Golden Bats are a true steal at about 180 yen a pack. That's about a buck and a half! Rumor had it that Golden Bats were made of the leftover leaf ends from the manufacture of other brands of cigarettes, making them either really great - if you got some from the batch made with premium cigarettes - or really horrible - if you were just unlucky. But the truth is they are made from a strict formula and like most contemporary cigarettes generally designed to deliver nicotine and tar, rather than taste.

Another great story around the Bats is that during Japan’s occupation of Manchuria in the 1930s, Golden Bats were sold to the local population heroin-spiked, to keep them docile on off-kilter. A rather sinister idea, that lends a certain frisson - outlaw cred and reprobate nationalism together at last - to these cigarettes in particular.

However, Golden Bats have perennially been a favorite choice of cancer for generations of Bohemians. Photo documents of writers such as Yukio Mishima and Osamu Dazai with smokes in hand offer proof. Both Mishima and Dazai managed to beat death by cigarette by taking control of their own destinies and committing suicide. To this day at Dazai's grave in Mitaka, devotees often leave packages of Golden Bats as remembrance offerings.

Golden Bats have developed a great lore and hark back to a somewhat more nostalgic time, when things such as drinking, smoking, and living were judged a little less harshly and the interdictions against them were a bit more benign. However, you can still find some interesting propaganda on the positive side of slow death at the Tobacco and Salt Museum in Shibuya. Japan Tabacco runs this museum, documenting in loving detail, history, package and poster design, and lore about smoking. It also has a space for changing exhibitions. Most recently the Ajimi team saw a photo show on stimulants throughout the world. Coffee, tea, betel nuts, and khat use were lusciously documented in oversize photographs. But when you're at the museum, there's no smoking allowed. You can go outside, though, and huff down that Golden Bat in a special designated smoking section.

Tobacco and Salt Museum site

Navel Grazing

2008-08-16T18:06:00.000-07:00

Among the many pleasures of exploring Tokyo is taking a stroll on a warm evening, rounding an unfamiliar corner, and stumbling across a neighborhood festival in full swing. These are not grand, traffic-stopping celebrations like Gion in Kyoto or Asakusa's raucous Sanja festival. Instead, Tokyo's neighborhood matsuri allow you to enter the intimate spirit of the surrounding area, to feel like a member of the community. A visit to a matsuri can begin with a stop at the temizuya to purify the hands, then at the main shrine building for a prayer and a blessing. After the religious rituals are dispensed with, participants get down to the serious business of eating, drinking, listening to traditional music, playing games of chance, and seeing what the neighbors are up to.

If, in mid-September, you happen to be exploring the area around Eifukucho station on the Inokashira line, you might stumble across the Aki Matsuri, or Autumn Festival, at Suginami-ku's Omiya Hachimangu. Sometimes referred to as Tokyo no heso, or the navel of Tokyo, this shrine is said to have been founded during the Heian era, between the 8th and 12th centuries. Stretched out along an avenue lined with towering cedar and zelkova trees, small food stalls serve up traditional matsuri fare such as yakisoba (fried noodles), takoyaki (octopus balls) and okonomiyaki (a kind of pancake stuffed with vegetables). But there are also yatai selling Thai food and Chinese dumplings, reflecting the changing population, or perhaps just the changing tastes, of Japan. To see more photos from last year's festival, click here.

Omiya Hachimangu Autumn Festival 2008
September 12 - 16
Nearest station: Keio Inokashira Line Eifukucho Station (10 minutes)

VS

Veg-a-matic

2008-08-11T03:50:00.000-07:00

Tokyo is known for its quirky vending machines: from them, you can buy booze, porn, fresh flowers, even, according to legend, the used undergarments of enterprising schoolgirls. But would you believe vegetables? Yes, indeed! In northern Suginami-ku, a 20-minute bike ride from Ajimi HQ, a vegetable vending machine operates at the edge of a small urban farming plot. For those of you who have just had your minds blown by the idea of a farm in the middle of a Tokyo residential neighborhood, be aware that these kinds of market gardens are a fairly common sight within the bounds of the 23 districts that make up the central Tokyo region.

The vending machine has 36 little doors and looks more like the kind of locker that you put your shoes in at public bath houses than, say, a canned soda dispenser. You slip in your 100 yen coin (about $1) and pull out a bag of four or five vegetables that were picked that morning from the adjacent garden. At the time of our visit, about 5 pm on a Monday, all that was left were a few bags of なす(nasu, or eggplant) じゃがいも(jaga imo, jacket potatoes) and きゅうり (kyuri, slender Japanese cucumbers). A sign next to the machine invited customers to e-mail a website to have tomato harvest updates transmitted to their cellphones.

These are not bad prices by Tokyo standards, especially considering that the produce carries Eco Farmer certification, indicating that the farm, called Miyuki-en （三幸園）, has made efforts to reduce dependence on chemical fertilizers and pesticides through soil enhancement and use of organic farming techniques.

If you can't peddle up to Igusa 2-chome to visit the vending machine, you can have the vending machine come to you, so to speak, at least at certain times of the year, at least if you live anywhere in Japan. At Miyuki-en's website, www.yasai.com, one can place vegetable orders via the Internet or download a fax order form. Alas, that service has ended for this year, but seasonal vegetables will be available at the vending machine through January.

The website is fun to look at just to read the blog (hit the auto translate option to get the Japanese translated roughly halfway into English) and the commentaries on urban agriculture and the latest goings-on in the garden.

Now, as for those vending machines dispensing schoolgirl panties...the Ajimi team will offer a bag of fresh Miyuki-en eggplants to anyone who can provide documentary evidence that such things exist.

VS

Yuzu Wonderland

2008-08-04T15:06:00.000-07:00

The Ajimi team's hands-down favorite Japanese fruit is yuzu（柚子), that sweet, winter-bearing citrus fruit that is used to spice up everything you can think of, including your bath. It shows up whole in stores around mid-November, in spice and pepper mixes throughout the year. It has a nicely warming effect when you squeeze it into the bathtub, making your body tingle. So imagine our delight when we found a ryokan for our weekend getaway that is as crazy about yuzu as we are.

The place is called Yuzu no Sato (ゆずの里）and is perched on the northern bank of the Tamagawa in Mitake, about two hours west of central Tokyo on the Ome line. Sato means village and the ryokan itself is village-like, a collection of small, wooden buildings, traditional in design but modern in execution and comfort level, connected by covered walkways and surrounded by landscaped ponds. Even completely full as it was it on the busy weekend, it was very quiet and relaxing.

We chose to have our multi-course dinner served on the large wooden deck along with two other groups at separate tables. We started at 6 sharp with a shot of yuzu liqueur then on through a dozen courses including vegetables in aspic, salad, tempura, and ayu (鮎), that sweet river fish that is served on sticks at Japanese festivals. But unlike the matsuri version our fish was fresh from the river. Awesome. We also ate sashimi of river fish: trout or masu (鱒）which tasted a lot like salmon, and koi or carp, which was a bit on the chewy side, but salvaged somewhat by the delicious miso and yuzu dipping sauce. Every course had yuzu in some form, shredded, squeezed, dried, powdered, even whole, scooped out and used as a serving dish for a seafood gratin. We ate the bowl afterward. The meal was accompanied by a bottle of nihonshu we had acquired down the road that afternoon at Sawanoi, the local sake brewery. After sunset, we could hear the sounds of fireworks drifting up the river from Ome mingled with the screeching of cicadas.

The Tamagawa hereabouts is as wild as rivers around Tokyo get, cutting through a gorge and providing lots of pools for wading and fishing, rapids for doing the things one does in rapids. The pilgrimage site of Mitake Shrine is atop a nearby mountain, a cable car ride away. But beyond that there is not a hell of a lot to do in Mitake. The precipitous climb of the landscape away from the river doesn't leave a lot of room for development and the entire area is within the confines of a national park. This certainly helps reduce crowds and maintain the relaxed atmosphere but makes it tough to go down the road for a nightcap at 9 pm on a Saturday. We attempted to do that and found one barlike establishment open, a fried pork emporium that one member of the Ajimi team found brimming with local color and the other declared simply fetid.

That night, following our piping hot yuzu bath, we slept with the windows open, bathed in breezes. At 4 am we were awakened by a chorus of frogs. We hiked up the hill before breakfast, to a shrine dedicated to the water god.

For additional images of Okutama and Mitake, click here.
For more on Yuzu no Sato, click here: http://www.est.hi-ho.ne.jp/yuzusato/e-top.htm

The Rhythm of Work

2008-07-09T10:17:00.000-07:00

The age of the computer seems to have dealt the final death blow to any idea of music coming from the workplace. Gone are the field hollers, shanties, and chain gang calls and responses. Heavy labor is not romantic. Nor is the modern office place. But what music came from sweat and toil of working men and women! The legacy of songs wholly defined by the rhythm of work is rapidly becoming the province of collectors. The tapping of fingers upon the keyboard may lend itself to some manipulation and novelty in the making of music, but it will never become an intrinsic part of any sort of new music.

We recently visited Kawasaki, a township a little south of Tokyo, most famous for phalli, a pink one named Elizabeth and a more sturdy solid steel prick, which shall remain nameless. They are the prominent features of mikoshi paraded around the streets in early spring during the famous Kanamara Festival.

A few blocks away from the Wakamiya Hachiman-gu shrine, the Shinto fertility shrine that hosts the Kanamara festival, is Nakamisedori, the street leading up to the Oyama gate of Kawasaki Daishi, Kawasaki's main Buddhist temple. Turning the corner onto Nakamisedori, one is greeted by the tap tap tapping of knives on cutting boards in complex rhythms clacking out from the portals of the dozens of ameya (candy stores) lining the tidy walking street. The seemingly random yells and cajolings of candy sellers add yet another counterpoint to the beats competing from the different stalls.

Here's how it works. The candy maker, making toffees to be precise, rolls and stretches the soft candy into thick cords, all the while chopping in steady rhythm, modifying it occasionally while turning and twisting and placing the toffee into position. Meanwhile, a companion candy maker, sans toffee in hand, keeps a lively counter rhythm going -variations on one, two... and four and...

Unlike the txalaparta, the Basque instrument that has become an aestheticized analog to its humble origins in cider making, the music of the Nakamisedori candy makers still functions within its role as work. And a joyous sound it is!

The sound of Nakamisedori is so compelling that in 1997 the Japanese Environmental Protection Agency included it in its compendium of environmental sound, 100 Soundscapes of Japan.

Nakamisedori candy makers

Txalaparta players

Cognitive dissonance, supersized

2008-05-19T19:32:00.000-07:00

This has nothing to do with Japan but may, in a weird way, have something to do with food culture. Yesterday I was reviewing the news on Yahoo. The topic was the Myanmar government's refusal to solicit or distribute aid from foreign sources for its dying people. People were starving to death despite the world's efforts to intervene. While I was reading this a video window at the upper right of the page attracted my attention. The words "Rescue Brigade" shone in red, illuminated by a flashing Mars light. For a moment I thought this might be an appeal for aid to Myanmar, China, or any of a thousand places in the world that could use a few extra calories right now.

But, no, it was an ad for Arby's. "Are you driven by hunger?" it inquired. I didn't put on my headphones to catch the soundtrack but it looked like the premise was that our hero, Captain John Maddox, could be dispatched in an instant to your suburban US neighborhood to lay on a bag of beef sandwiches, mozzarella sticks, and a Berry Swirl to help you alleviate your boredom between lunch and dinner. The Captain himself looked as though he had been alleviating his own boredom quite a bit on the job. And I thought to myself, this is the essence of the bipolar information barrage of the 21st century, the cognitive dissonance of being alive right now. Here, on one page, the clashing extremes of deprivation and excess. To see the excess side, click below:

http://www.arbysrescuebrigade.com/

VS

Slow Food that Quickens the Heart

2008-04-06T07:12:00.000-07:00

The Pillow Book, Sei Shonagon's observations of courtly life in 10th century Japan, is full of lovingly detailed observations and obsessively concerned with lists. Among her more famous lists is "Things that quicken the heart." She lived and died long before cacao sailed from the Americas to all parts of the world. And long before the Meiji era, when confectionary giant, Meiji, began its domination of the Japanese chocolate market with its decidedly dreary chocolate bars. I'm quite sure that on her list that includes such things as "to notice that one's elegant Chinese mirror has become a little cloudy" and "to pass a place where babies are playing", she would have added "to eat chocolate."

Eating pure chocolate - eating good chocolate, one feels a slight surge under the skin, a slight chill on the cornea, a spark of electricity. The heart quickens.

The Ajimi Team recently met with a bunch of folks from Slow Food Suginami-ku for a leisurely dinner with internationally renowned chocolate maker, Claudio Corallo. Over platters of pasta, cheeses, and various antipasti, about a dozen of us chatted over all things food, chocolate in particular, at a cozy little Italian cafe called Lemon near Ochanomizu. Conversation rolled in a mix of Japanese, English, French, and Spanish over the course of three hours. As the delightful meal came to a close, Claudio brought out samples of the very artisanal chocolate that he is justly famous for.

First a bit about the man himself. Corallo, originally from Italy, went to Zaire in 1974 where he found his way into the coffee business. Revolution in Zaire and a growing interest in cocoa led him to São Tome e Príncipe in 1993 where he set up shop. He's been on a voyage of culinary love, rehabilitating old plantations, and rediscovering and husbanding ancient strains of cocoa and coffee that found their way from the New World to the tiny islands that he now calls home.

And what about the chocolate? Corallo first brought out 3 of his flagship chocolates; one he labeled his "soft" chocolate - a 75% cacao; his 85% chocolate; and his 100% chocolate. It should be noted that Corallo's chocolates use no vanilla, just cacao and sugar. Even the most "pure" of what's available in the market is no match for Corallo's. His chocolates are simultaneously austere and completely indulgent. Used to the contemporary style in artisanal chocolates that forefront a certain perfuminess and BIG taste, Corallo's seem to be a bit lacking at first taste. However, we found ourselves sneaking more and more samples of his fine chocolates. They unlocked their pleasures slowly, subtly, and to great satisfaction.

Chocolate, often gobbled down unthinking and un-tasting, is common currency. Fast, easy - a quick sugar fix. We rarely give it time. And much chocolate is not worth much time. The slow food pleasures of Corallo's chocolates, however, were well worth taking some time over.

Just as the dinner was wrapping up, Monica Cespedes and Juan Carlos Fernandez, a couple of Chilean food producers in town for FOODEX, brought samples of their avocado oil, fruit vinegars (not fruit-infused vinegars, but vinegars made from the fruits themselves - raspberry, strawberry) and cusqueño (a dried aji chile condiment).

It was a pleasure to take some time with food and new friends in this city that seems as if it can't go fast enough. Special thanks to Toshiya Sasaki and his wife Noriko of Slow Food Suginami-ku for putting this all together.

More on Claudio Corallo - his fascinating story and information on his chocolates can be found at this link.

Slow Food Suginami-ku's site can be found at this link.

Chilean vinegars and other artisanal food products can be found at this link.

NV

Snow Strawberries

2008-04-05T16:43:00.000-07:00

The Ajimi Team is a sucker for snow strawberries (yuki ichigo - ゆきいちご - 雪苺娘), the delicate decadent mochi confection. Like a pink-cast snowball, it's a wrap of thin mochi over a light cake, whipped cream and a sweet/tart strawberry. The gooey chewy moochi makes a perfect compliment to the spongy cake, the unctuous cream, and the berry fruit goodness of this perfect treat.

The movie Careful comes to mind when looking for yuki ichigo. Guy Maddin's contemporary bergfilm takes place in an alpine village where the threat of avalanches is so great that the residents must speak softly at all times. Quietly repressed desires fuel passions in this pastel tinted winter wonderland. One can imagine soft pink yuki ichigo - they not only look like breasts, but they feel like them too - as objects of illicit desire.

But there's no problem with speaking quietly at our favorite yuki ichigo stand under the tracks at the entrance to the Yurakucho JR station. But it's for a different reason. The place is run by hearing impaired workers, who quickly and quietly dispatch orders from this perfect little hole-in-the-wall. Also available are momo (peach), pudding, and anko plus strawberry filled daifuku. A perfect place to indulge those desires.

NV

Fugu 'n me

2008-04-01T19:50:00.000-07:00

My track record with fugu is not great. My first encounter with this delicacy came during my first-ever Internet date. I knew that this relationship was not going to be long-term within the first 30 minutes when the guy told me that he owned exactly 30 pairs of shoes, most of them expensive Italian ones. Now, as a dedicated shoe fetishist I am not opposed to the idea of a man owning 30 pairs of shoes: I was put off more by the fact that he had classified their number and value as priority information.

Nevertheless, off we went to dinner at a moderately expensive restaurant that featured fugu and shabu-shabu. (The kanji for fugu, by the way - 河豚 - means something like "river pig.) This being November, I ordered une petite verre de Beaujolais Nouveau, the only wine available, which was served well-chilled as red wines generally are in Japan. Shortly, the fugu arrived, arranged like a feathery collar on an enormous platter. A few bites into it I felt a mild tingling sensation in my mouth then, before long, I began to feel decidedly woozy. One glass of wine does not make me woozy, at least, not since 5th grade it hasn't.

After a decent interval my date and I swapped banalities about what a nice time we'd had, must do it again, then I stumbled off to the train and he went home to count his shoes. The next morning, I felt an oral itching and, next thing I knew, the inside of my mouth was peeling off!

My next encounter with a member of the fugu community was when a couple of fins showed up, less than deliciously, in a can of sake that the Ajimi Team bought on the shinkansen to Yamagata. See the February 19, 2008 posting for more detail.

Perhaps these sub-optimal encounters with the fish make me especially melancholy whenever I pass a fugu restaurant. Usually, fugu float around in big tanks in the windows of these places, reminding one of prostitutes in the redlight district in Amsterdam. Often, a few hapless fugu are "resting" on the bottom of the tank, belly up, past caring about their fate. The live ones are not much livelier, gazing out at onlookers with the calm blankness of the doomed. Which begs the question: how do you select your own personal fugu from among the dozen or so in the tank? My guess: don't pick a dead one.

VS

Solitary fugu photo: VS

Fugu funeral photo: NV

Stop and 見the 花

2008-03-29T23:47:00.000-07:00

A few years ago I was lolling with friends on a blue tarp during a hanami party at Shinjuku Gyoen. We were tucked under the sakura, several beers into the celebration of spring and the transitory nature of existence when we noticed that a neighboring tree was attracting a lot of attention. One by one photographers, some of them bearing foot-long lenses that looked like they could have been used to read a newspaper on the Moon, came up and snapped pictures of the same ordinary blossom on the same ordinary tree. There were maybe 10 of them. And, according to a poll conducted later that day, 80% of our group had the same thought flash through their heads as they observed the parade: how many other blossoms had these people photographed before, just like that one? Or as one observer quipped: "That's Japan for you: intense, joyless appreciation."

Japanese friends tell me that to understand Japan you have to experience hanami. But unlike other Japanese cultural gateways like tea ceremony or ikebana or calligraphy, which require years of discipline and study, hanami is instantly accessible. It's about liberation from the constraints of winter and embracing the promise of the season ahead. It's like spring break, except instead of heading to...wherever college students go for spring break these days...people of all ages head for the sakura groves with 3-liter bottles of sake and karaoke machines and let loose. It's about controlled hedonism. I have heard tales of one company's annual hanami parties at which a supervisor got bombed and disrobed down to her underwear, then climbed a tree, every year for years, becoming something of a legend among the English teachers who worked for her, and her students. At Ueno Park yesterday, where millions converged for the first Saturday of hanami, two 60-something men attempted to cut their way through the crowd by pretending they were about to barf, like a couple of 8-year-olds. At the Shitamachi Museum at the edge of the park, we saw an Edo-era woodcut of a long-ago Ueno Park hanami depicting a drunken game of blindman's bluff, with one guy on all fours lapping up some spilt booze.

But back to the trees. Clustered together, arching over as you walk beneath them, the blossoms are an exhilarating gift. The world feels reborn in a state of pink grace. The experience is evanescent and eternal and impossible to capture on camera. Nevertheless, some people -- myself included -- can't stop trying.

VS

Beer for your Dog - Happy Lager

2008-03-20T15:21:00.000-07:00

You've just gone out shopping with Fritzie to the little shop in Ginza that specializes in dogwear for dachshunds only. Perhaps you've bought him custom-fitted lederhosen and you're thinking "hmm, a nice Bitburger Pils for the both of us might be nice." There's a great little izakaya down under the JR line that has German ryori and beer. But alas, in Tokyo, there are cafes for pets and for humans, but never the twain shall meet.

Don't despair, though. You can get a six of Happy Lager and have a little party at home!

We recently were at our local discount liquor barn and saw a display for Happy Lager, a near-beer marketed for dogs... er, rather for obsessive dog owners. The beer's label, touting "healthy drink" pictures a happy beagle, slavering over a freshly poured glass of suds. The "beer", itself, is a beef-flavored beverage that little Fido will love.

Pet owners worldwide anthropomorphize their charges, but in Japan it's taken to new level. To wit the specialty shops and cafes and the parade of fashionably clothed dogs you can see on many streets and any park. But now, you can sit at home, crack open a beer for yourself and the dog, bring out the milkbones and kakipeas, and settle down in front of the TV with your best friend and maybe watch some sumo... or perhaps a dog competition?

Check out their website here, where they have a wonderful promotion for hanami (cherry blossom viewing) featuring crudely photoshopped dogs viewing flowering trees - and a sweet pink-cheeked, fluffy white mutt passed out in the foreground.

Menami

2008-03-18T07:13:00.000-07:00

Is Menami the best restaurant in Kyoto? And therefore in all Japan? The ajimi team thinks so.

Kyoto is justifiably famous for its cuisine. Born in an unforgiving environment - frigid in the winter, stultifyingly hot in the summer, a bit to far from the sea to create a fresh seafood cuisine - Kyoto ryori has made the best of limited resources and its plebian food products to develop a truly elegant kaiseki tradition, a delicious and varied tofu cuisine, nishin soba - a Kyoto specialty served with a dried herring, obanzai ryori - the home cooking of Kyoto, and many other wonderful regional foodstuffs.

Menami is a modern obanzai restaurant, reviving and updating the cuisine under the sure hand of chef/owner Ippei Yamamoto. A block off Kawaramachi, the less snooty party district on the opposite side of the Kamogawa from Gion, Minami's decidedly modern interior emphasizes the beguilingly simple and perfect food that comes from its kitchen.

Sitting at the dining bar, with full staff on hand, the counter was lined with bowls of the day's bounty. Like a Spanish tapas bar, one could just point and choose from any of the delectable offerings on hand. We chose to give our waitress a budget and let the feast begin.

First up was an elegant plate of perfect sashimi - maguro (まぐろ- tuna), madai (まだい - porgy), and hirame(ひらめ - flounder). The maguro, which far too often comes badly cut or partially frozen, was simultaneously rich, unctuous, and almost melty. The madai, clean and fresh. And the hirame was slightly briny, with a toothsomeness that gave it completeness.

Next came dish of sei no hana (せいの花 - broccoli rabe), perfectly steamed with light wasabi-tinged dressing. A gentle crunch, a slight wateriness, and a zip of spice brought us out of sashimi heaven and set our taste buds buzzing for the next dish, which were some satoimo (さと芋) - rich, slightly glutinous taro tubers - in a brilliant yuzu and tonyu sauce, a classic of obanzai ryori. The flowery citrus danced playfully with the big round tastes of the spuds and soy milk

Next came a hotate kakiage tempura. With rough cut carrots, onions, and scallops in a perfectly cooked batter with sea salt and slice of fragrant and wonderfully sour sudachi, the simple fritter reached sublime heights.

Then came a plate of beautifully cooked gyu no shippo (牛のしっぽ - oxtails). Slow-cooked so the meat was hashi-tender, the fat, gelatinous and flavorful. A perfect expression of umami for the closing of the meal.

A coda arrived with a simple salad of steamed broccoli and lettuce. No frills, but none were needed. From the presentation, to the choice of the best ingredients, to the orchestration of the dining experience, Menami left its mark as one of the most memorable dining experiences we've had.

Menami
Kiyamachi, Sanjo-agaru
Nakagyo-ku
Kyoto 604-8004
tel: 81 75 231 1095

NV

Meet the Neighbors

2008-03-14T20:24:00.000-07:00

We were walking home last night across Zempukujigawa Park. It was around 11 o'clock and the rain had picked up, the river was moving more swiftly than usual, puddles of mud were spreading under the pine trees. In the darkness I noticed a small movement on the path along the river's edge, progressing from the river toward the woods. At first I thought it might be a rodent but it was moving a bit too slowly for a rat in the rain. "It's a frog!" I shouted at last, but, no, it was two frogs, one small frog clinging to a bigger frog's back. They stopped as we approached them, not showing the slightest apprehension (how do frogs show fear?), allowed me to take their picture, then calmly moved on.

VS

Food vs. Art

2008-03-08T20:23:00.000-08:00

The kaiseki ryori tradition descends from the spare meals eaten by Buddhist monks and, later, the selection of small dishes eaten during the tea ceremony. It has evolved into Japanese haute cuisine and consists of several courses of small dishes of seasonal fish, poultry, fruits and vegetables (never beef or pork) selected to complement each other, then perfectly prepared and arrayed on the table. Kaiseki ryori is considered a Japanese art form and like so many others – noh, kabuki, tea ceremony – can sometimes become ossified by ritual. The meal we were served in our room at Nissho-besso followed the classic kaiseki formula, six courses in all and, since this was Kyoto, was heavy on the local staples of vegetables and tofu. It included a lot of flavors we’d never encountered before, unusual juxtapositions of ingredients that made us occasionally slow down and savor. But overall it seemed less like a meal than a museum piece, a bit too precious and fussy to be appreciated as real food. Not a big wow factor.

For the record, we have had a couple of extremely wow-inducing kaiseki meals at ryokan. The most recent was dinner at Notoya Ryokan, in the Taisho-era onsen resort of Ginzan Onsen in Yamagata Prefecture. It was mid-December and the meal was built around local game and river fish. It followed the kaiseki pattern but the flavors seemed fresher and more interesting than those in our Kyoto kaiseki experience, the meal overall, more relaxed. Part of this was owing to the delightful personality of the woman who served us: she mothered us from the moment we walked in until we left two days later and explained everything about the food she presented us with. But it occurs to me that the little ryokan in the hills of Yamagata, a region not especially known for haute cuisine, was freer to experiment and to focus on flavor and hospitality since it didn’t have to bear the burden of all that Kyoto culinary tradition.

But don’t worry: we didn’t starve in Kyoto. Breakfast the next morning at the Nissho-besso was delightful: tofu stew and fresh vegetables, several kinds of pickled vegetables, dried fish. We also made several wonderful discoveries over the next few days, from simple meals in local izakaya to our first obanzai ryori meals. And we haven’t given up on kaiseki. Someday I really would like to try one of those lavish $500 meals overlooking a Kyoto garden. But that’s a few meals from now.

For information about Notoya Ryokan, click here.

VS

Kyoto Kaiseki

2008-02-26T02:23:00.001-08:00

Here's what we had at our kaiseki meal at Nissho-Besso

A plate of sashimi - tai, maguro, and hirami

Hassun - various appetizer tidbits, including tarako, tako, little fu cakes, among many other things

Futamono - a bowl of delicately stewed shirako

Futamono # 2 - hotate stewed in tonyu with yuzu

Yakimono - grilled buri with mixed pickled and fresh vegetables

Suzakana - ebi with pickled daikon, koimo and snowpeas

A little interlude with king crab

Shiizakana - Kamo-nabe ingredients

Kamo-nabe cooking

Naka-choko - tarako

A Kyoto regional specialty, yudofu and fu

Gohan

Kanomono - beautiful pickled vegetables

Mizumono - a light dessert of melon and ichigo

Japanease: One Night at the Nissho-besso Ryokan

2008-02-23T22:13:00.000-08:00

The most wonderful thing about staying in a well-run ryokan is the pleasure of putting yourself completely in the hands of competent professionals who have been trained for generations to think about nothing else other than doing whatever it takes to make you, personally, happy. You give up your street shoes at the door of an ancient building and put on the slippers that have been waiting there for you maybe forever. The quiet is soft and enveloping except perhaps for the sound of a fountain somewhere. Hot tea and sweets are waiting in your room. The futon is hidden away for later but a couple of low chairs in the alcove next to the window afford a view of late afternoon sun on the garden. There’s cold beer and sake in the fridge. Before the kaiseki meal arrives, there is time to slip on your yukata and pad down the hall to take a nice hot bath.

Those are the essential characteristics of the ryokan experience. Our stay at the Nissho-besso ryokan (http://homepage3.nifty.com/nissho-besso/) in Kyoto hit the mark on all of them. The façade is basically all that remains of the original building, constructed over 220 years ago as the home and shop of a wealthy thread merchant. The remodeled public spaces are organized around a long path to the entrance, a central garden and an atrium, bright and modern, but still cozy. Since we booked the special Rosanjin kaiseki meal – about which, more later – we were lodged in an enormous 15-tatami-mat room (almost the size of our entire apartment). Our room was named “Aoi,” or “hollyhock”- ryokan rooms are generally named after plants or animals. The garden was delightful, compact but strollable, though a bit marred by the blue tarps of a construction site next door.

If you go there, treat yourself to the “chartered bath” which costs an extra 840 yen per person per dip. This buys you 45 minutes of privacy for at least 2 people (not sure if more are allowed) in a bathroom with a view of a small garden and three different tubs of varying temperatures. There’s a traditional hinoki or Japanese cypress bath at one end that two people can stretch out in, then two big ceramic bowl-shaped baths, each big enough for one. Of course, as with all Japanese baths, you scrub yourself well before soaking. The dressing area offers a selection of creams and lotions, razors, q-tips, sprucing supplies and cans of cold tea.

And then to bed. At just the right time, the futon team shows up to lay out the bedding. A bottom mat is overlaid with a softer upper layer which is then topped off with a thick feather comforter. At the Nissho-besso, they also laid out a bedtime wish on our pillows, accompanied by tiny origami horses. Here’s the wish:

“Welcome to the Nissho-besso. The origami or folding paper of “HORSE” means physical and mental energy in Japanease oneiromancy or dream-fortunetelling. We hope that you will feel rested well tonight for tomorrow. Have a good dream and thank you very much for staying here with us. by Manager.”

Beats a mint.

VS (Origami horse photo by NV)

Temples? Shrines? Phooey! What's for Dinner?

2008-02-19T22:40:00.000-08:00

When the Ajimi Team travels, it travels on its stomach. Thus, when it honeymooned last week it chose to take the Shinkansen south to Kyoto, home of the best food in Japan in addition to what it understands are some thousand years of religious, cultural, architectural, imperial and literary history completely unrelated to food. The epicurean part of the journey began with the decision of what to eat on the 2.25 hour ride on the Nozomi Super Express. We have read a lot about eki bento, the boxed lunches on sale at stations throughout Japan, but we have yet to find any truly delicious ekiben at Ueno or Tokyo stations, the main points of departure for the Shinkansen. We did get some rather nice pork buns at Tokyo Station, some senbei and mixed nuts, all washed down with some One Cup sake purchased from the food cart on the train. (Not the best of nihonshu, at least this was a step up from our first Shinkansen booze on a trip last year to Yamagata. On that journey, the only nihonshu available from the cart was flavored with fugu fins and tasted exactly like what you would expect tepid, fishy booze to taste like. That was, however, our first encounter with the self-heating sake can, an admirable bit of technology that makes one appreciate anew living in a land where they devote a ridiculous amount of attention to infinitesimally small details).

But we swallowed our disappointment for we were resting up for the main event: five days and four nights of eating and drinking in Kyoto. Neither snow, nor cold, nor vanishing guidebook restaurant recommendations could prevent us from having several outstanding meals with a few sublime snacks thrown in for punctuation. Yes, we trod the path of culture and history but after all that treading it was the meals that restored our spirits. We accumulated more photos of small plates of kyo ryori than of any temple, or of each other, for that matter. And the bento we prepared for the ride back to Tokyo was lovely.

(Photo: The Ajimi Team at the Gekkeikan Okura Sake Museum, Fushimi, Kyoto)

石焼き芋 - Ishi Yaki Imo

2008-01-18T22:54:00.000-08:00

"Yaki imo... yaki imo... ishi yaki imo.." the truck's loudspeaker blares. A common sight and sound throughout the neighborhoods of Tokyo in winter are the stone roasted sweet potato trucks. How these little indie operations make any money is up for speculation, but the urban landscape of Tokyo would be lesser for not having them.

In my neighborhood, there's a guy who stations his rig in Wadabri Koen on a little bridge crossing the Zenpukiji River. He sleeps in the cab getting out on rare occasions to sell a spud or two or to stoke the fire that's burning on the bed of the pickup. Some vendors fire up the tubers with broken furniture (which I suppose is at a premium as folks have already burned them up for New Year at the temples). Our vendor seems to use the detritus from construction sites - old scraps of treated lumber lending a particularly complex and modern taste to the roasted skins.

The basic theory here are makeshift stoves and a central flue, so the heat remains steady, with a side chamber lined with little stones. The imo are placed upon on the stones. Indirect heat and long cooking make for particularly sweet and densely textured sweet potato. They're a bit overpriced. 200 for a small one and up to 600 for a custom supreme, but on a particularly biting day, there's nothing much better than sinking your teeth into a such esculent hypogenic vegetable matter. Well worth it!

The satsuma imo (薩摩芋 - the Japanese sweet potato) are a dense yellow-fleshed potato with rose-colored skin that turns an appealing burgundy color when well roasted. They are somewhat drier than your usual New World sweet potato. Seems they made a circuitous journey to Japan. They went from the New World to China and then landed in Okinawa sometime in the early 17th century and then worked themselves up to northern islands. They are also called kansho (甘薯), ryukyu-imo (琉薯 - after the place they first found themselves in Okinawa), and karaimo (唐薯芋 - Chinese potato).

七草 - Nanakusa

2008-01-18T02:19:00.000-08:00

Before the birds of the continent (China) fly to Japan, let's get nanakusa.

January 7 is the day to eat nanakusa (七草), the 7 herbs of springtime. 7 for luck. 7 for health. 7 for the ritual of the 7th day. You're supposed to say the above saying as you cut and steam the herbs to add to the simmering rice gruel. It's the beginning of the end of the winter fast. The air is cold. The trees are brown and leafless, yet somewhere (perhaps at the huge seasonal displays in the vegetable sections of every supermarket) you are to find the first of the year's herbs and vegetables. Turnips (すずな) and daikon (すずしろ), for sure. They keep long and hardy under the blanket of earth even as the air around grows cold. They're a staple of the Japanese diet because they last through the short, but brutal winter. Then there's the water dropwort (せり), the shepherd's purse (なずな), the cudweed (ごぎょ), the chickweed (はこべら), and the nipplewort (ほとけのざ) - hardy survivors of the winter, straggly, moderately edible, delicious for their bursts of chlorophyl on taste buds numbed by a meagre diet of roots and rice.

And then there's the myth, or is it the empirical wisdom of centuries, that gives the herbs and vegetables healing powers - shepherd's purse for clear vision, cudweed for nausea and fevers, chickweed for being regular, dropwort (or Japanese parsley) for digestion, nipplewort for toothaches, daikon to stop neuralgia and whooping cough, and turnips to promote good digestion (and with willful mistranslations from the online translator - it's also good for burning servants and freckles).

The days are getting longer though there's a chill in the air. Nanakusa reminds us that it will soon break and the promise of springtime is not far.

NV

A Note on O-shide

2007-12-31T23:53:00.001-08:00

When opposing weather fronts meet - warm and wet, cool and dry - the heavens thunder and crackle with raw electrical force. At shrines throughout Japan shide (紙垂), folded paper streamers hanging from shimenawa (注連縄), the braided rope that surrounds sacred trees, torii gates, and other objects of veneration appear to the distant observer as stylized lighting bolts.

O-shide mark the boundary between the spirit world and the floating world. Just like the signs on fences and gates of electrical works - beware of crossing from this world to the other.

Kodama (木霊) sprits inhabit certain sacred trees at Shinto shrines. You will know which ones by the presence of the o-shide hanging from the thick rope wrapped around them. To harm the tree is to harm the kodama, which will surely bring bad luck.

O-shide are not, however, limited to trees and Shinto shrines. They are also used to decorate anything considered sacred. You can see them at Kabuki theaters, on matsuri mikoshi, decorating the belts of sumo wrestlers.

I watched them being tousled in the wind on a blustery day on the last day of the year. They were hanging around a huge old pine housing an ancient kodama. I kept a safe distance while admiring the tree.

Akemashite omedetou gozaimasu, y'all

2007-12-31T23:07:00.000-08:00

Today we combined two great New Year’s Day culinary traditions: Japanese osechi ryori and down-home Hoppin’ John. We didn’t do the full-on osechi menu of 12 or so dishes and we didn’t prepare any of it ourselves: few people do anymore. Instead, we bought a few of our favorite New Year’s sweets from the local supermarket: datemaki (伊達巻), kuromame (黒豆), and kurikinton (栗金団). Datemaki is a rolled spongy omelet made with fish. Our datemaki was made with tai (鯛) or sea bream, an especially lucky fish since its name sort of mimics omedetai, which is a wish for good fortune. Similarly, the word mame sounds like health – or diligence, according to one friend – so consuming black beans is assurance of both for the coming year. Kurikinton, or chestnuts stewed in sweet potato sauce, look like gold coins, promising wealth.

Friends tell us about the vanishing tradition of osechi home cooking. The women of the house cook up a storm for the week or so prior to New Year’s Day, preparing enough food to carry them over the first three days of the new year. These are days of rest for the family cooks, but the tradition itself likely began in the imperial court in Kyoto, where it was forbidden to light the hearth for those three days.

We didn’t put the dime in the Hoppin’ John as tradition dictates, but did manage to find a credible slab of bacon to substitute for the hamhock. The symbolism: Rice for riches and peas for peace. We wish you both in the new year.

VS

One Year Ago Today...

2007-12-31T00:27:00.000-08:00

As we prepare to head out to celebrate New Year's Eve, I got to thinking about last year's celebration and the making of mochi. It was a bit after midnight. No sooner had the bell finished its 108th toll, releasing the several hundred thousand people assembled from the burden of the 108 possible sins, than another sound emerged from behind the belfry at Zojoji shrine in Shiba Koen. This was the sound of mochi being pounded and everyone got to take a whack.

As with many foods that are fun to create, the making of mochi combines simple ingredients, exotic tools, and an element of danger. First, rice is steamed to a virtual mush then loaded into a large wooden bucket. Next, up to three people at a time take turns beating the rice down with large wooden mallets. An intrepid mochi flipper sticks his hand in there from time to time to move the thickening mochi around and make sure it is pounded evenly. Care must be taken not to hit the sides of the bucket in order to avoid leaving splinters. On this occasion, the nearly completed mochi was transferred to a smooth stone bowl and pounded some more to finish it off. Everyone was invited to sample a bit when it was done.

This year we will be going to Ana Hachimangu for New Year's, then to Kumano Jinja on January 14th for their mochi ceremony. Their signature flavor is kinako, sweet mochi dusted with a special soybean flour.

VS

Food Like Grandma Used to Sew

2007-12-30T04:04:00.000-08:00

There’s a little café down by the fishin’ hole in Wadabori Park. On sunny days when the catch-and-release crowd is out in force it is filled with people downing plates of yaki soba, onigiri, and other food that’s good for washing down a beer with. The odds that I will ever eat there were increased when I happened across the food display, outside next to the 8-foot-tall talking humanoid popcorn machine. Instead of the usual plastic images of what’s on offer, the food in this display is made of felt and yarn, a handmade labor of love. It’s not quite as mouth-watering as your well-made plate of plastic dumplings, but it seems far more sincere. However, the idea of putting woolen soba noodles in my mouth is a bit of a buzzkill.

VS

マチに一本。。。

2007-12-30T03:15:00.000-08:00

The sharp crack of sticks, the occasional shouts of "hi no yojin" break the quiet of the early evening. It's the day before New Year's Eve and the neighborhood fire watch team is making its yearly round through the empty streets of Narita Nishi. It's a tradition that harks back to sometime in the Edo period, when the big wooden cities that became the megalopolises of Japan were springing up. Wood means fire. Tokyo itself burned so often that residents in a sort of desperate joke referred to the great conflagrations as the flowers of Edo (Edo no hana). The tradition of community fire patrols lives on, more as tradition than practicality. But a sure sign of the coming New Year celebration are the teams of folks, one carrying a paper lantern illuminated with a candle, one with wooden clackers, one or two with flashlights, reminding folks to "be careful with fire." Considering the strange flame spitting, noxious heating contraptions found in many households and businesses and the equally strange and terrifying wiring of many a building here "hi no yojin" is still an admonition to take seriously.

Menya Musashi Kodo 麺屋武蔵虎洞

2007-12-20T23:26:00.000-08:00

This kodo (tiger's cave) is a fashionable, yet funky little ramenya a couple minutes from the Kichijoji station. As part of Takeshi Yamada's mini-empire, this great little place looks like an old-fashioned eatery, creating some very authentic and tasty traditional style ramen, along with creative seasonal variations.

Ramen, for some reason gets a bad rap. It could be the 1958 invention by Momofuku Ando, Top Ramen, that gives it the pentimento of poverty, rubism, and bad memories of undergraduate life. It could be some simple jingoism -whether from the gaijin viewpoint of Japanese culinary hegemony or the Japanese viewpoint of ramen's roots in Chinese culture. Many Japanese feel that ramen is not quite as Japanese as udon or soba. But like almost all food in Japan, it did come from elsewhere. And like many a culinary wonder in Japan, what becomes of this simple dish of noodles can be amazing.

Granted, there are a zillion ramen joints throughout Tokyo that leave much to be desired. Ah, but when you come upon a good one, mark it on the map. And when you come upon a great one, make it part of your life.

Case in point is the ramen from Menya Musashi Kodo. Today's choice was a simple, yet classic, variation - an aji tama shio ramen. And let's make that karai (味玉辛ら〜麺). That's a luscious bowl of perfectly cooked fresh ramen noodles with menya (salted, then reconstituted bamboo shoots, cha shu, a few shreds of Japanese leek, a couple of squares of nori, an egg perfectly cooked in shoyu and who-knows-what, all swimming in a rich broth red with hot spice. There's nothing quite like it after a grueling walk through the food department at Lon Lon, listening to incessant Christmas music. It makes it all worth it.

Let's talk about the ramen itself - the noodles. They are made from wheat, salt, water, and the special ingredient - kansui. Kansui is an alkaline mineral water, containing sodium carbonate, potassium carbonate, and sometimes a small amount of phosphoric acid. Kansui was named after the water from Inner Mongolia's Lake Kan which contained large amounts of these minerals and was said to be perfect for making these noodles. Making noodles with kansui give them a distinctive yellowish hue and a firm texture that holds up to rapid boiling. The ramen at Menya Musashi are about as perfect as a noodle can be. Toothsome, staying firm until the last drop of broth is slurped, they are the definition of ramen.

The cha shu, cut thin, is supremely flavorful. A little goes a long way. The eggs are a thing of true beauty. The soy-colored outer albumen gives way to a pearly whiteness. At the center the yolk is firm along the outer edge of the sphere, giving way to a perfectly liquid, gooey center. How do the Japanese cook eggs this way? The veggies and the nori, perfect in proportion and accent.

And the broth itself - amazing. Just karai enough to bring up a nice little sweat, nicely garlicky, hot, and rich.

笹みどり - Sasa Midori

2007-12-18T00:39:00.000-08:00

Exploring enka. There's a great record store near the Tokiwadai station. Bins and bins of 7 inch enka records. Grabbing a handful for covers alone I managed to score an old Sasa Midori record.

Still performing, Midori-san embodies the best of enka tradition. Soulful, graceful, yet plumbing the depths of emotion. Why enka doesn't have the cache of fado is a mystery. Yet enka is still considered camp, instead of soul. Perhaps, like many traditions, history has passed it by. The living tradition, like blues, like soul, like rap, becomes the playground of revivalists and mannerists. The place it originally came from no longer exists. The smoky bars and pleasure districts of postwar Edo are shadows of what they once were, replaced by the faux fashion of Ginza and the fragile coat of glitz that covers Shinjuku.

She hit the scene in 1965. Her second big hit was 下町育ち(Being Brought Up Downtown), and the rest was enka history.

下町育ち

Ajimi 味見

The city beyond the castle

When You're Hot You're Hot

Journey to Onomichi

Spring: Meiji Jingu

Loli Gagging

卯年

The Warp and Weft of Chichibu

Why We Shoot

She Saw Showa

Eaten off the Beaten Path

A Cinephile's Guide to Tokyo

The fierce urgency of lunch

Pintxatu

Love Letters in the Sand

Saru Show

10 Best Japanese Films 2009

Tastes Like Ass

Kamakura-area Restaurant Highlights

Densha Otoko

Baby Bags!

Vida brevis. Esselunga!

Hockney Days in Wadabori Koen

Utopia

Do It for Hachiko

Making Noise

In Hot Water Again

Sunday in the Park with Henjin

Fearless Eating

Peace

In Praise of Korokke

What's That You Say?

Peoples' Theater

Kanogawa

Searching for a taste of the sea

The Ajimi Team in the Japan Times

Jōmon Style for the 21st Century

Lovelocked

An Acquired Taste

The Ajimi Team in the Press

We Got the Beets

Uguisu Droppings

Tokyo Style

You Can't Beat Christmas in Tokyo

Hitting the Art Trail

Some Thoughts on Ramen

Black Eggs in Hell

The Downpour

Kujira Helper

To Dorothy

Golden Bats

Navel Grazing

Veg-a-matic

Yuzu Wonderland

The Rhythm of Work

Cognitive dissonance, supersized

Slow Food that Quickens the Heart

Snow Strawberries

Fugu 'n me

Stop and 見the 花

Beer for your Dog - Happy Lager

Menami

Meet the Neighbors

Food vs. Art

Kyoto Kaiseki

Japanease: One Night at the Nissho-besso Ryokan

Temples? Shrines? Phooey! What's for Dinner?

石焼き芋 - Ishi Yaki Imo

七草 - Nanakusa

A Note on O-shide

Akemashite omedetou gozaimasu, y'all

One Year Ago Today...

Food Like Grandma Used to Sew

マチに一本 。。。

Menya Musashi Kodo 麺屋武蔵 虎洞

笹みどり - Sasa Midori

マチに一本。。。

Menya Musashi Kodo 麺屋武蔵虎洞