Tempt Me with Tempura

Although sushi is probably Japan’s most famous culinary export, tempura is a close second. Wooing the world through the international language of deep-fried deliciousness, these crispy treats are beloved everywhere from San Francisco to San Sebastian. Tempura can refer to any number of ingredients - typically seafood or vegetables - that have been dipped in a batter of flour, egg, and ice water and then quickly fried in hot oil.

Ironically, though, this iconic Japanese dish finds its roots abroad, in Portugal. Traditional Japanese cooking methods (primarily steaming and boiling or simmering) rely on water rather than oil. When Portuguese missionaries and traders arrived in Nagasaki in the mid-sixteenth century, they brought with them a taste for rich foods and the technique of deep-frying. Christianity may have been slow to catch on, but tempura was an instant hit. The Japanese were soon enamored of the new dish. The trend spread northeast and became especially popular in Tokyo, or Edo, as the city was then called. In those days, only fish was cooked in this way; vegetable tempura is a relatively modern invention.

While no one is certain of the exact etymology of the word “tempura,” several theories exist. Some posit that the expression comes from the Latin word tempora, which refers to the days that Catholics abstain from eating meat. Others believe that the word comes from the Portuguese word temperar, or “to season.” This idea is plausible, as the original Portuguese dish would have likely consisted of bacalhau (dried and salted cod) dredged lightly in flour before frying.

Originally, tempura was enjoyed as a convenient, between-meal snack sold at stalls and eaten with the hands. Today, it’s frequently served with a dipping sauce of soy and dashi and a small mound of grated daikon radish, but it can also come with green-tea-flavored salt, or salt mixed with powdered yuzu.


Until somewhat recently, however, the idea of going out for high-end tempura (and paying upwards of Y10,000 for it) seemed a little silly to me. I have since changed my tune. As many of my compatriots can attest, deep-frying has the ability to make almost anything more appetizing, but frying with skill and precision multiplies the delicious factor by at least one power of ten. Take, for example, the shrimp heads served at the start of our meal at Motoyoshi.

"Oh. That," Anna pointed at the remaining piece with her chopsticks and shook her head in an I-can't-believe-it gesture. "That in itself is enough."

The young chef at Motoyoshi gets his timing just right. The tempura there is delicately crisp on the outside, tender and moist on the inside: jumbo scallops still pink in the center, flaky sweet-fleshed kisu fish, a pudding-like croquette of fresh corn. We savored these tasty morsels with a lovely Kokuryu Shizuku Junmai Ginjo (at least I think it was JG...) a bag-drip limited edition with a satiny, creamy texture and resonant umami depth.

Though not impossible to find, the restaurant's location is not immediately obvious. It helps if you've spent time as a boy scout. At any rate, it's worth seeking out if you love good tempura.

Sake no Jin and One Last Look at Niigata

The participants at last week's Niigata Sake no Jin festival could have easily numbered over 80,000 people. As I looked across the crowds, I couldn't help wishing that my sake buddies Etsuko and Ted, Tim, Tony and Robert-Gilles could be there with me. The only thing more fun than going to a monster event like this one is going with friends who are seriously passionate about nihonshu.

To really experience Sake no Jin would have required the full two days (90 breweries, you do the math), but I tried my best to get the gist of it all in a few hours. The buzzword this year seems to be Koshi-tanrei, which refers to a new sake rice strain exclusive to Niigata. It's a cross between the mighty Yamada Nishiki and Gohyakumangoku that's been in development for the last decade or so. After chatting with some of the brewery workers, I learned that it's really started to improve in the past few years. The examples of Koshi-tanrei that I sampled were dry overall, with delicate fruitiness and noticeable acidity. It still seemed to be lacking some of the roundness of Yamada, but I'll definitely keep my eye on it in the future.

I tasted a lot of good stuff, but I unfortunately didn't have time for much note-taking. I was consistently impressed by everything from Taiyozakari (including a tangy, just-pressed Daiginjo), Shimeharitsuru, and Hokusetsu (call me crazy, but I actually prefer their regular line to the specialty sake made for Nobu). Over at Jozen Mizunogotoshi, people were going wild over their limited edition Kasumi no Jozen, a lovely usunigori with demure sweetness and a very light touch of fizz. I'm actually planning to use this one for my Hanami-themed sake program at Taste of Culture today.

A few breweries that I made a note to look for in the future: Yoshinokawa Toji, Hakuro, and Gunki. Both the Yoshinokawa Toji Junmai-Ginjo and the Hakuro Tokubetsu Junmai-shu were great, full-bodied and organic, with a clean finish. The Hakuro (I think it won some award this year) was super warmed as well.


There were also a few token oddities -- a sake aged in whiskey barrels from Fukugao (interesting but I'd rather drink a single malt from Islay) and a line of sake called Ski Masamune (v. light and fruity but not really special), which features skier on its label.

Although I didn't get to spend lots of time there this time, I am sure that I'll be back for the Niigata Sake no Jin next year.

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Come Tuesday, my Niigata Nihonshu no Tabi had come to an end. We breezed back through Niigata City and stopped in for a few minutes at the Niigata City History Museum, where we saw a diorama of rice harvesting the way it was done before the invention of irrigation (which, incidentally, was developed in Niigata). That was kind of trippy; the farmers had to wade into waist-deep water to do this work, and anti-leech socks (!) were absolutely necessary.



Against both my better judgment and all human decency, I ate yet another gargantuan meal. This time, it was homemade soba and tempura. Even though it was every bit as good as it looks here, I started to hate myself about midway through the second shrimp. Honestly, look at the size of it.



By the time we caught the shinkansen home, I was ready to return to Tokyo. I've learned a lot and now have a ton of great memories of Niigata, but it's been so nice to sleep in my own bed, pet my cat, and have dinner at home with JP. Having said that, though, I do rather miss the jacuzzi.

Quiet Luxury in Shibata

My suite at the Tsukioka Onsen resort is a small-scale, modern approximation of the summer homes where samurai once retreated for periods of quiet contemplation. The outer perimeter of the room is a lounge area, equipped with two refrigerators -- one just to chill glasses -- and a small heater to warm oshibori hand towels, with a view of Shibata city and the hotel's carefully manicured garden below.

The inner chamber is closed off with sliding shoji paper screens. Through one door is the walk-in closet and changing room, which leads to the toilet. The bath is in a separate wing, across from the changing room. The walls are cedar, the floors are done in cool slate-colored stone, and there is a jacuzzi surrounded by windows. Suddenly, I'm reminded of one of the reasons people travel: to be Queen for a day.

The staff at Tsukioka Onsen strive to make this illusion seductively palpable. From the moment you arrive (someone is there to serve fresh fruit and green tea as soon as you step into your room), the service is impeccable.

We dine in a private room on the first floor that looks out onto the garden. It's raining, and the drops create waves of concentric circles in the pools. Our first course is an assortment of spring appetizers -- bamboo shoot topped with a single hotaru-ika squid, spring salmon trout wrapped in a sakura cherry leaf, and a skewer of dainty chicken meatballs rolled in pulverized dried sakura-ebi shrimp and nori seaweed. With this, and the next course of sashimi, I enjoyed some local jizke from Fujinoi. The sake had an airy lightness and displayed an oblique, insinuating fruitiness; drinking it was like listening to someone describe the flavor of banana cream pie.

Earlier that day, we'd done a tasting at Ichishima Shuzo, producers of the elegantly understated Omon sake. Their products tend to be dry and very light on the palate, but their 12-year aged Junmai-Ginjo Genshu showed delicious depth, giving off sweet, figgy aromas and delivering woodsy flavors of nuts and dried fruits.


After our visit to Ichishima Shuzo, we toured the grounds of the marvelous Shimizu-en, the former summer home of the Mizoguchi family, which ruled the area for 12 generations. It's lovely, peaceful, and artfully constructed in every detail. The garden and man-made lake had been arranged to resemble the landscape of the eight scenic views of Ohmi in western Japan.




Our guide, the unfailingly enthusiastic Wakaki-san, went to great pains to explain the garden's significance, and led us on a history-packed tour of the city's castle, temples, and important burial places. Try as I might, I will never remember all the names and feuds I learned about that day.

Dinner, on the other hand, was something that I could handle. After a delicate clear broth came sweet steamed crab, which I savored with a dry but mellow honjozo from Koshi no Kanbai, followed by a deeply flavorful piece of grilled nodoguro fish, and a juicy piece of Murakami wagyu steak.


Just when I thought that the night couldn't get any lovelier, Hashimoto-san, the hotel's MD, stopped by to tell us about their private onsen, a salubrious bath of emerald-green water hidden in a secluded spot on the other side of the resort. My partner and I decided to split a session and each go in for 30 minutes (it costs an extra Y4000 per hour).

It was completely worth it.


A night at Tsukioka Onsen will run you about as much as it costs to stay at the Peninsula or the Mandarin Oriental, but that's the price you pay if you want to travel like a Queen. And you know you do.

A Taste of Murakami

I'd heard that Murakami was famous for its salmon. Somehow I didn't make the connection between the seaside town in northern Niigata and the succulent Murakami wagyu beef praised by star chefs like Grant Achatz. Nor did I realize that both Miyao Shuzo, producers of the formidable Shimeharitsuru sake, and Taiyo Shuzo, makers of the excellent Taiyozakari sake, were located in Murakami. I felt doubly stupid, since I'd just spoken to Taiyo's Hirata-san at the Niigata Sake no Jin tasting event the day before. Blame it on a lethal combination of too little sleep and too much sake, with a touch of let lag thrown in for good measure.


Our train pulled into Murakami station just past noon, and we headed straight for lunch at Notoshin, a charming ryotei specializing in salmon and Murakami beef. It's a wonderful space, quaint in all the right ways, with a wide, open tatami-covered main dining room that overlooks a tidy garden and salmon hanging outside of the windows in the back. Our meal arrived in a shiny black bento box. Inside, soy-simmered harumimasu (salmon trout -- the larger variety of salmon is only in season during autumn) garnished with a sweet and vibrant stewed kumquat, fresh sashimi, delicately flavored spring vegetables, and an assortment of small dishes were neatly arranged in compartments. Everything was tasty, but the thinly sliced Murakami beef nigiri, served with a dab of grated ginger and finely sliced scallions, was utterly decadent.



Our guide, Yamagai-san, led us around the city, along roads laid upon the moat that once surrounded Murakami's castle grounds, through neighborhoods lined with striking black walls and fences -- the way they were in the Edo period. Everywhere we went, we passed whole salmon hanging outside of houses and shops to dry in the sun.

At the Ioboya-kan Salmon Museum, they fertilize thousands of fish eggs in an attempt to increase salmon populations. The eggs are allowed to hatch and then the fry are released into the river once a year.

After touring the thatch-roofed summer house of a samurai, we raced to catch the sunset at the beach-side Shiomiso Onsen. My room afforded a spectacular view of the sea, and I enjoyed a Turner-esque moment from my balcony (I can paste in the boat with Photoshop later) with a cup of green tea.


Dinner was an elaborate spread of fresh seafood, Murakami beef shabu-shabu, and steak, served in one of the guest rooms. In keeping with the local spirit of the day, we toasted with cups of crisp, refreshing Shimeharitsuru and dry and slightly fatter Taiyozakari (both, I believe, were Honjozo) before easing into the rotenburo outdoor bath overlooking the sea.


I fell asleep to the sound of waves.

The Niigata Hustle

Our time in Niigata City was hectic. After our visit to the senbei factory, we rounded out the day with a trip to the Northern Culture Museum, the former residence of the wealthy landowning Itoh family dating from the 1800s. It's a stunning example of traditional Japanese architecture, and, from the looks of things (including but not limited to the 100-tamami-mat wide banquet room, and the special entrance made of 100% keyaki wood), the Itoths were rolling in it. There's also a beautiful garden and a super cool triangular tea house/study, also built in the Japanese style, on the grounds.



The next day we got up bright and early for the Niigata Sake no Jin. This was the first time for me to attend one of these huge sake festivals, and I'm so glad I had the chance. Sake no Jin is a mad affair. Last year, 78,000 turned out for it, and I heard that this year the crowds were even bigger -- it certainly felt that way. It's really a big party, but I'll post later in the week with some of my notes from the tasting.


I would have been content to stay at Sake no Jin all day, but after a couple of hours, we were escorted to the Shirone Grape Garden taste sugary-sweet Echigo Hime strawberries, which are, counter-intuitively, in season right now. We each picked a basket full and then said hi to the goats and rabbits.



Next, we stopped at the Niigata Kite Fighting Museum and marveled at the size of the kites used for a wacky kite-tug-of-war that takes place in a river (they're nearly 3 storeys high). Long story, and I still don't quite understand it all. But I flew a kite the size of a car.

Imagine, for a moment, what it must be like to fly a kite the size of a compact car. Now, imagine doing it after sampling at least 30 sakes.


But the day didn't end there. While my travel companion snapped photos of tulips at the curiously named Appeal Hall, I bought a sack of koshihikari rice -- the pride of Niigata prefecture -- that had been dried naturally in the sun. Priorities, my friends, priorites.

Dinner was more delicious sushi at a terrific local sushiya called Kanekyou. I was particularly fond of the flash-grilled aburi toro fatty tuna, abalone, and uni. Good stuff. Earlier, I'd tried some nice sake from a producer I'd never heard of called Gunki, so when I noticed their Gunki Junmai-shu on the menu, I went for it. Solid and bone-dry with a bit of a bite toward the finish.



Yesterday, we traveled at a much more relaxed pace. You can take a peek at what we did here.

Make a Wish

The weather in Yahiko yesterday was gloriously warm. After three days in the frozen center of Snow Country, it was nice to be able to walk around without a hat and long underwear. The day began with a tour of Yahiko Jinja, a shirne dedicated to the first emperor. Our guide was a sprightly older gentleman with a penchant for dad-jokes and Mozart who knows practically everything about the shrine. It’s no small body of knowledge -- the history of Yahiko Shrine begins with the Japanese creation myth (our guide walked us through an illustrated book) and is apparently full of puns (something about a stone bridge…) and decorated with hidden meanings.


“This rock,” he said, pointing to a large elliptical stone, “is very heavy. Pick it up and then make a wish.”

“Okay,” I said, after a few minutes of deliberation. The rock was indeed very heavy.

“Pick up the rock again. If it feels lighter, your wish will come true.”

I tried it a second time.

“Is it lighter?”

“Um,” I muttered, straining to lift the stone. “Maybe a bit, yes.”

“Perhaps,” he weighed his words carefully and slid the rock back into place. “Perhaps your wish will come true. Actually, ishi can mean ‘stone’ but it also means ‘will.’ So to make your dream come true, you must work hard.”

Such is the nature of wish making in Japan.

After a quick peek at six-foot swords and portraits of Japan’s 125 rulers (nine of which were women) in the shrine’s Homotsu-den, we paid our respects to the gods and beseeched them to bestow blessings upon our loved ones. Usually, this involves bowing and clapping twice, but at Yahiko Jinja, it’s customary to bow and clap four times.

We then moved on, an hour north, to Niigata City. Our first stop was the Befco Senbei Okoku factory, where we grilled our own rice crackers and were given paper cards that resemble the wooden signs bearing wishes typically found at shrines. It turns out that there’s an altar to the god of rice outside of the senbei factory, and we were invited to tie our wish cards to the wall beside the altar after two bows, two claps, and a silent little prayer.

I wrote down, “Love, Power, Peace” on the back of my card and hoped that the god of senbei was also a James Brown fan.

At least one of my wishes came true. I’d been craving sushi, and sushi is what I got. The coastal city of Niigata is famous for its fresh fish -- throw a rock, and you’re bound to hit a good sushi shop. We were staying at the Hotel Okura so had dinner at the Yahiko restaurant there. The ikura and uni were particularly nice, and both went well with my Shimeharitsuru Yuki Tokubetsu Honjozo. Though dry and lightweight, it had a lot of organic nuance that allowed it to stand up to umami-rich foods.


Seeing as the next day would find me at the Niigata Sake no Jin festival, it would have been wise to abstain, but I felt compelled to try the Tsurutomo, a liquorice-laced fruity Tokubetsu Junmai-shu that had been recommended by some of the locals. The gods must have been smiling on me because I woke up completely hangover-free.

Eye of the Tiger in Niigata

My morning yukata is bright blue, covered with pink and white flowers. We arrived in the quaint village of Yahiko after 6:00 yesterday evening, allowing me just enough time to chat with JP and change into slippers before dinner. My room at the Minoya Hotel is small, spare, and charming in a somewhat utilitarian way. A long, low couch upholstered in shiny woven fabric leans against one wall, and the unit bathroom -- large enough for one person to stand in -- reminds me of the tiny Meguro apartment I lived in when I was still single. It’s got a 60s-retro feel to it, but like so many things in Japan, the hotel gets it right in the details: a selection of colorfully patterned yukata has been laid out for me by the bed, and loose green tea leaves have been stuffed into fine mesh sachets by the ceramic teapot and electric kettle.

We’d traveled through a snowstorm to the sleepy town of Urasa to visit two temples, Saifukuji and Eirinji, whose interiors had been carved by the master sculptor Ishikawa Uncho. At first glance, the ceiling of Saifukuji’s Kaisando building is a swirl of pulsating colors and textures. Designated a cultural asset by the Niigata prefectural government, the hori-tenjo carved ceiling depicts Dogen-Zenji, Japan’s first Soto Zen master, vanquishing a ravenous tiger. The intricately rendered animal figures -- dragons, hawks, carp -- swim overhead in clouds of smoke and fanciful landscapes, forever locked in a battle of good versus evil.



Somehow, I couldn’t help sympathizing with the tiger. It was, after all, just hungry, wasn’t it?


From Urasa, we hopped on the shinkansen to Sanjo, a city renowned for its metal industry. At the Sanjo Blacksmith Dojo, we were given a crash course in metallurgy and had the chance to make our own nails. Unsurprisingly, I did not excel at this endeavor; it was far more difficult than I had expected. In the time it took me to complete one pathetically misshapen nail, the sensei had made nearly a dozen -- tiny ones the length of a pinky joint with delicately curved heads, menacing, six-inch-long nails that made me shiver involuntarily, and a few fancifully twisted ones “just for fun.”


“The end,” Sensei repeated, “Hammer only the end.”

““Isn’t that what I’m doing?” I asked.

“No,” he shook his head and gave me a grandfatherly smile. “When you hit it like that, you just get a skinny rectangle.”

Twice a year, the Sanjo Blacksmith Dojo offers workshops that teach you how to forge a knife (or a sword, if you swing that way). It’s great for cooks who are serious about their cutlery, but just make sure you have the forearms to pull it off.

At the hotel, we were treated to a delightful multi-course dinner of fresh sashimi and crab; tempura of mountain vegetables; a thick and savory stew of mushrooms, tofu, wheat gluten and chicken meatballs; a creamy dish of tender bamboo shoot baked with cheese; wagyu nigiri; and grilled nodoguro fish. It was the perfect opportunity for me to try some of the local sake, and I opted for the 3-sake kikisake set. In Tokyo, these sets come with three small glasses of sake, but here the servings were considerably more substantial; the waitress came back with 3 tokkuri flasks full of Murayu Tokubetsu Junmai-shu, Hakustesu Tokubetsu Junmai-shu, and Natsuko Monogatari Tokubetsu Junmai-shu. The Hakustesu was light and airy, with a soft, bittersweet finish. Although lacking a bit in the midpalate, it complemented the sashimi course nicely. Natsuko Monogatari had a strong, earthy impact but was still light and clean on the palate. The Murayu began with a fruity attack and noticeable acidity but mellowed into a mildly sweet, ricey finish; of the three, it was the most flexible pairing partner.

We probably should have called it a night after the last dish of steamed Koshihikari rice and homemade pickles, but we carried on to the karaoke room (How could I say no?). After the sake, I was not only brave enough to tackle power ballads like “Open Arms” but also to think that I was giving Journey’s new Filipino lead singer a run for his money.

I considered doing “Eye of the Tiger” but thought better of it. Perhaps after another kikisake set…

Onward and Art-ward Ho

The train speeds on from Yuzawa north toward Tokamachi. It’s blinding white out, a pristine expanse of snow dotted with buildings done in an approximation of the Tudor style common to ski resort towns. At first glance, this could be somewhere in Northern Europe -- Scandinavia, Switzerland, Austria -- but the gauzy mist rising off the mountains reminds me quickly that we’re still in Japan.

Long ago, before the skyscrapers sprouted from the ground, and concrete covered the country, Japan must have been such a mysterious place. Nature here seems so full of secrets, impenetrable and profuse. With its silent Sphinx-like mountains, dense woods and turgid rivers, you can understand how people came to believe in animism.

A group of young girls in colorful hats and miniskirts get off at a ski resort before Shiozawa I watch them laugh as they walk away with their snowboards, into, as Aleksandar Hemon once wrote, the inchoate day.

In Tokamachi, walls of snow piled over 3 meters (roughly 9 feet) high tower over the car we’re riding in. We wind along serpentine mountain roads, and I wonder if we’re disturbing the fairies. Now, a series of long tunnels comprise the vascular system of the area. Back in the day, it would have taken people half a day to climb over the snow-hills to get from place to place.

At the Kiyororo Natural History Center, I notice a picture of an older woman in a woven straw cape and straw boots, forging ahead through an intense snowstorm.

“Before snow plows, the people of the town would go out and stomp a path with their feet. Sometimes for over 200 kilometers,” Ogawa-san informs me.

I shake my head in disbelief. “My goodness.”

In the tower at the front of the building, which forms the neck of a giant rust-colored abstract snake, the musical echoes of falling water emanate from a collaborative art project by Takuro Osaka and Taiko Shono called Tin-Kin-Pin. It’s dark as we climb the 160 steps to the top, save the lines of tiny blue lights that flash in response to “cosmic rays.”

“This is almost as bad as walking up the Sagrada Familia,” I say, breathing heavily after the third flight of stairs. “But I could use the exercise.”

Although today hasn't matched the oinkfest that was yesterday, we have certainly been eating. Breakfast was an elaborate affair of natto, pickles, grilled himono dried fish, onsen tamago coddled eggs, salty shirasu baby sardines sprinkled over a mound of grated daikon, sweet simmered fu wheat gluten and tofu pouches stuffed with mountain vegetables, deep-fried tofu and fish dumplings studded with edamame. Lunch at the Matsudai Nobutai was simple but equally satisfying: croquettes filled with Napa cabbage and cream, a soup of dried daikon and shiitake mushrooms spiked with thyme, an assortment of veggie sides.



In the past, Tokamachi was famous for its tremendous snowfall, but these days the focus is on contemporary art, and conceptual buildings like the Kiyororo and the Nobutai attest to this, but they have also been converting abandoned houses and unused spaces into works of art. I love this idea, and the fact that projects like The Shedding House are facilitating the preservation of some of the area’s minka (old wooden houses). The houses are pretty fabulous on their own, and it’s wild to imagine what it must have been like to live in them. Documentation of The Shedding House doesn’t do it justice, but it’s amazing in person. It took over 2 years to complete, and the obsessive quality of the notched surfaces is mesmerizing.


We finished off the day with a visit to Christian Blotanski and Jean Kalman's Last Class, a chilling reflection on genocide and
depopulation.


The one sad thing is that we missed James Turrel’s House of Light because it’s closed for maintenance. Maybe I can work it into a trip for the 2012 Echigo-Tsumari Triennale? Hope so.

Okay, now for that onsen…

A Snowy State of mind in Yuzawa

As I look out my window this morning, the sun is peeking through the clouds over the mountains. Behind me, steam billows up from a distant chimney. Yesterday, the mountains were shrouded in mist, and the landscape was a palate of blue-tinted white and grey, the silently gleaming snow a sharp contrast to the endless summer of Southern California.

I’m sitting at my low table, sipping warm fresh spring water and wearing the loose Japanese-style pajamas and one-toed tabi socks that the Hatago Isen ryokan has prepared for me. There’s an onsen room upstairs, and I was lucky enough to be the only one there at 11:30 last night. A slice of solitude and a long dip in a steaming hot pool was exactly what I needed after a full day of gourmandizing.

After our soba adventure at Daigenta, we headed straight back to Yuzawa station and the Ponshu-kan sake tasting room inside. It’s a sweet set-up, with 90 varieties of sake lined up in locker-like dispensers along one wall. For Y500, you can try five kinds. I was keen to taste things that I don’t usually find in Tokyo, so I relied on the recommendations of a few locals. The Kakurei Tokubetsu Junmai-shu made with Niigata-only Koshi Tanrei rice was snappy and fresh with a tangy fruitiness to it that reminded me a bit of Smarties. Echigo Jiman Honjozo was thick and rustic with a cedar-tinged edge. A little much for my taste, but sipped with a pinch of salt, an interesting sweetness emerged. Echigo Yuzawa Umatsuke Junmai Nama Genshu made with Koshiibuku rice had a very light impact, followed by a rolling, lingering sweetness. I made a mental note to prepare myself for the massive Niigata Sake no Jin festival this weekend.

We’ve only got another hour here in Yuzawa. I’m going to take a quick walk around before breakfast to enjoy the stillness and brace myself for the day of travel ahead.

Damn My Eyes

For they are far bigger than my stomach. Unfortunately, that didn't stop me from stuffing my face with everything that came into my line of sight.

I had barely finished reading this week's Talk of the Town in the New Yorker when I realized that I'd already passed through the epic tunnel in Kawabata's contemplative novel Snow Country. So much for savoring the moment, but, before I knew it I was in Yuzawa, a quiet town surrounded by mountains that remain covered in snow until May. It's only 80 minutes away from Tokyo, but it feels a world away.



The day started with a tour of Shirataki Shuzo, the makers of Jozen Mizuno Gotoshi sake. Having woken up at 4am, still suffering from jet lag, I was not 100% sure that I'd be up for a preprandial sake tasting, but I didn't let myself down. I've long been a fan of Jozen Mizuno Gotoshi's clean, crisp Junmai Ginjo and Jukusei Junmai Ginjo, so it was real treat to try their other products, including a sprightly Usunigori with a pretty pink sakura-motif label.



Moments later, I'm being carried 2000 meters up a mountain at Yuzawa Kogen, toward lunch at a quaint little restaurant called Alpina that looks like a cross between a Mediterranean cottage and a snow lodge, and specializes in wood-fired oven pizzas. Famished after our morning of sake tasting, we gobbled down chewy-crusted pies topped with anchovies and cheeze, salami and peppers, and garlic and chilies. I chased mine with a glass (but just one) of Vigna Paronza Chianti.





Little did I suspect, however, that we'd be whisked away for a soba-making lesson and a second lunch. Although I ususally object to more than one lunch per day, the tempura of shrimp and vegetables -- pumpkin, sweet potatoes, maitake mushrooms, and mildly bitter fukinoto -- looked too good to pass up. And, for once, the soba I'd make was actually pretty tasty. I am, of course, using the word "I" loosely here.





For someone to whom getting a haircut means the death of an entire day, this is quite a lot of action. Keep in mind that this all happened before sundown -- and our second big sake tasting of the day. But that, my friends, is a story that will have to wait until tomorrow.

Oyasumi-nasai.

Playing Catch-Up

I woke up at 6:30 this morning feeling as close to human as I had in days. Jet lag has not been kind. I waded through the weekend in a fog, waking up at odd hours, craving fried foods, falling asleep with a cup of coffee in my hand. After nearly three weeks in the states, it feels good, if a bit strange, to be back in Japan.

Three weeks is a long time. But it flies by when you’re trying to cram an album’s worth of momentous life events into the span of a few days. It had been nearly three years since our last visit to California, and my initial reaction to the endless roads and the vastness of the landscape was a brief but intense moment of agoraphobia. My disorientation quickly dissolved in a whir of images and emotions -- swathes of strip malls, confusion, beaches, palm trees, places both familiar and unknown, tenderness, babies, belated Christmas gifts, laughter, and wedding announcements.

It was summer-hot in Huntington Beach, downright cold in San Francisco, mild but chilly in Los Angeles. The temperatures changed as often as the roles I found myself occupying. One minute, I’d be cuddling a baby and playing with toy trains, the next I'd be on the computer confirming the price of The Ritz-Carlton’s Diamonds Are Forever Martini (Y18,000,000, in case you're wondering). Finishing up a travel piece about sake sipping in Saijo. Doing a write-up of the Nikka Blender’s Bar. Answering questions for an interview. Trying not to act like a twelve-year-old around my family. Reconciling my past with my present.

The bars are still thrumming at night in the Mission. My friends, who are ageless, look almost exactly the same, except for the fact that most of them are married now, with mortgages, children, and real adult lives. Places I’ve known are the same but different, sealed, like the iconic destinations floating in snow globes, beneath a shiny dome of nostalgia.

“Hey, Chris, aren’t we about to pass the Bison Brewery?”

“We’ve passed it already, hon. Do you remember the time…”

“Oh, girl, which one?”

My parents and in-laws met for the first time. I bonded with my sister. My friends shared unflattering but hilarious memories of me. We talked about old times and our hopes for the future. Thanks to the Winter Olympics this year, I discovered my love for figure skating (Who knew?).

I gorged myself on foods that I crave but can never find here: fish tacos, papusas, empanadas, dolmas, doro wat, baklava, golden beets and mac n’ cheese. We had some lovely meals, both in restaurants -- exquisite Dungeoness crab and five-spice scented dipping oil at Chez Panisse; a first-class breakfast of oven-baked eggs, homemade Italian sausage, berry and ricotta pancakes at Little Dom’s; organic Scottish salmon and risotto Genovese at the Cannery -- and in the homes of family and friends. I couldn’t believe the insane deals on wine in shops and restaurants. Our trip was amazing, significant, and exhausting. By the end of it all, I was ready to come home.

Although I’ve barely had a moment to catch my breath, it’s time for me to hit the road again. For the next week, starting tomorrow, I will be traveling through Niigata and delivering a blow-by-blow account of…dips in the onsen, sake tasting, and snowy hikes. Not exactly adventure sports, but you get the idea. So be sure to check back!