tokyo through the drinking glass

A Family (and Friends) Affair: Gochiso at Home with Chef Ema Koeda

2011-12-09T15:26:00.007+09:00

Two days before our Gochiso Family and Friends Garden Party last month, the weather was cold, wet, and miserable, quite out of character for the unseasonably mild autumn we’d been enjoying.

Needless to say, Chihiro and I were freaking out. We’d planned the event based on the theme of nodate, a tea-party picnic, and had envisioned our guests sitting on the grass, sipping cups of foamy matcha under the trees. We’d even convinced nagauta shamisen perfomer Gojiro Sakamoto (no small feat) to play for us. None of that would work if the weather didn’t cooperate.

We lucked out big time. The gods blessed us with blue skies and one delicious day of Indian summer.

This time, we worked with chef Ema Koeda, whose offer to let us hold the event in the garden of her family’s home in Kamakura gave us the idea for the theme. Ema graduated from the CIA Greystone in Napa, and her specialty is Japanese-slanted California cuisine. We thought that her simple, elegant cooking style would be perfect for the breezy atmosphere of the event, and we challenged her to create gourmet bento boxes for our guests.

She did more than meet the challenge. Ema stuffed the bento boxes with soy-and-sansho glazed chicken drummettes, zingy ginger and broccoli rice, white miso and macadamia nut chocolate chip cookies, and a delicious apple and Satsumaimo crumble cake. The savory items went nicely with the Shimeharizuru Shiboritate sake we served.

As our guests filed into the garden, we walked around passing out the appetizers of sansho-cured lox and homemade ricotta on rice crackers, and delicate lettuce cups filled with calamari and nashi Asian pear salad, while Gojiro Sakamoto began strumming his shamisen. It was a beautiful day.

I first met Ema while covering the CIA World of Flavors conference last year. She was in charge of coordinating all of the Japanese chefs, so we hardly had a chance to talk (the theme of the event was Japan, and it was the first time so many Japanese chefs had ever gathered together in one place). Every so often, I saw her slender frame whiz by as I negotiated my way through the crowds.

We reconnected this summer when she came to our Gochiso Food Is Art dinner event, and have been getting together to talk food and drink ever since. I’ve even seen her on the job (she’s a freelance restaurant consultant), but I hadn’t sat down with her to talk about her background until just the other day.

Funny what you can discover about a person if you just ask. She was born in Iran (!) and lived between New York and Tokyo for most of her childhood. Although she’s one of the most flawlessly bilingual people I’ve ever met, she didn’t really learn Japanese until she came back to Japan for university.

While getting her business degree at Boston College, she realized that she wanted to work with food.

“English wasn’t the native language for a lot of the students there, so food became a communication tool,” she told me. “It was our main bond.”

When she moved back to Tokyo, she didn’t waste any time getting a job as a restaurant consultant with Suntory. She didn’t have any experience, but she was armed with a natural confidence and the focused determination of a former high-school tennis champ. Suntory put her to work in their restaurants, and during her nearly four years with the company, she learned how to create a restaurant from scratch: everything from developing the concept and menu, to coordinating the interior and finding a chef to match.

But she knew that if she wanted to move forward as a restaurant consultant and really support chefs, she would have to have a better understanding of how a chef works. So she enrolled in the Culinary Institute of America, as one does.

Now, in addition to restaurant consulting, she works with the US Embassy promoting American products in Japan and vice versa. When she’s not doing food coordination for magazines or working on cookbooks, she travels to find inspiration for new recipes.

Her most recent adventure took her down to Kagoshima, with the television program Kitchen ga Hashiru , where she hunted for local ingredients and cooked alongside celebrity chef Hiroyuki Sakai, of Iron Chef fame. As she described the miso chutney she made -- a modern take on a Kyushu recipe of miso sautéed with sugar and bonito flakes -- I couldn’t help drooling a little, especially when she told me that it was used to garnish a kurobuta pork confit (I have a weakness for confit of all kinds).

We’re so glad we had the chance to collaborate with Chef Ema on Family and Friends, and we definitely hope she’ll agree to work with us again.

The Kagoshima episode of Kitchen ga Hashiru will air on NHK on December 30, at 7:30pm. Be sure to check it out!

Thanks to Chihiro Moriyama, Shizuka Wakashita, and Kiyoko Sagane for the images.

Ganbatte Tohoku Sake!

2011-11-18T11:39:00.003+09:00

October marked the start of this year’s sake brewing season, and, despite the destruction wrought by the March 11 disasters in northeastern Japan, sake makers in Tohoku are back in business. More than half of the region’s 145 sake producers were affected by the earthquake and tsunami; in a few tragic cases, the breweries were completely razed. But according to sake guru John Gauntner, most are showing encouraging signs of revival.

“Almost everybody has managed to get up and running this season, and they’re back on their feet to a certain extent,” he says.

For some of these breweries, recovery has been nothing short of miraculous. In the hard-hit city of Ishinomaki, on the coast of Miyagi prefecture, the brewing facility of Hitakami Shuzo was inundated, toppling a dozen fermentation tanks and spilling a liquid carpet of sake across the floor. Fortunately, they were able to salvage a fraction of the sake and the brewery has made great efforts to pick up where they left off.

“I wasn’t sure that Hitakami was going to make it, but they’ve done a really good job,” Gauntner remarks.

In the months that have passed since the earthquake, breweries have shown formidable resolve and resourcefulness. Niizawa Shuzo, located in Osaki City, was spared flooding by the tsunami, but the impact of the earthquake rattled all five of the brewery’s buildings and caused irreparable damage to their foundations. This fall, Iwao Niizawa, the brewery’s fifth-generation president, was able to relocate the business to a new facility about an hour away, and production has resumed.

The tragedy has engendered an unprecedented spirit of cooperation among producers. Although nothing remains on the original site of Suisen Shuzo in Rikuzentakata, Iwate prefecture, president Yasuhiko Konno has found a way to keep brewing. After the 67-year-old brewery was swept away in the tsunami, Suisen turned to rival brewer Iwate Meijo Corp for help. Konno and Iwate Meijo head Yorihiko Oikawa agreed that Suisen could borrow the brewery’s facilities in Ichinoseki for a period of three years.

Distributors and retailers have also come together to show support for the affected brewers and communities in Tohoku. Across the nation and internationally, charity events and campaigns have been held to raise money and awareness for the disaster victims. Sake exporting company and retailer Hasegawa-sakaten collaborated with 12 breweries for its fund-raising project, “Kanpa+i,” a play on the words kanpai (cheers) and ai (love). A portion of the profits generated from the sale of sake bearing the Kanpa+i label will be donated to relief and rebuilding efforts.

“The program will run for a year,” says president Koichi Hasegawa. “We are thinking of new ideas to ensure that the events of March 11 are not forgotten.”

Although many have feared that fallout from the Daiichi nuclear power plant in Fukushima might pose further problems for Tohoku’s brewers, the threat of radiation contamination has proven to be low. The Japanese government has been testing rice all over the country, and no contamination has been detected in sake rice. “The rice has all come up clean, and some brewers will check it again,” Gauntner adds.

In September, the National Tax Agency announced plans to check all of the water used to make sake (as well as wine and beer) within a 150km radius of the nuclear facility, while random tests would be performed on water from other prefectures. The tax agency will also be screening the finished products for radiation.

So far, radiation concerns have not put a damper on consumption. In fact, sales of Tohoku sake have risen slightly, and some industry professionals speculate that the disaster may have sparked a renewed interest in the national drink among Japanese. No one knows whether the positive trends will continue, but one thing is clear: Tohoku’s sake makers are determined to keep brewing.

** A version of this article originally appeared in the Japan Times earlier this month.

Alright, folks, I've got a plane to catch but I'll be back soon. Onward, ho, Shanghai!

Born This Way

2011-11-09T22:02:00.004+09:00

Sake, as the saying goes, has the power of a hundred medicines. But Atsuhide Kato, the 11th generation head of Kato Kichibee Shoten, whose brewery produces Born sake in Fukui prefecture, maintains that his brews can do a lot more than take the edge off a case of the sniffles.

“I always tell people that drinking Born will bring you visions of the future,” Kato-san declares, conveying the brewery’s philosophy first in English before switching to Japanese. “I really believe that. The name of our sake means ‘striking truth’ in Sanskrit, and also ‘birth to the future.’”

Kato speaks from personal experience. When he took the reigns at Kato Kichibee Shoten, he dreamed of turning their line of artisanal sake into a global sensation. The brewery, located in the tiny town of Sabae, has a history that goes back to the 1860s, and making sake for the local community had been its original focus. But, from the start of his tenure as president, Kato sought to expand their audience and worked to cultivate an international image for Born.

“Even in the early days, I pushed to participate in events all over the world. We’ve done events throughout Asia, the US, Europe, South Africa, and Dubai,” he tells me, as I furiously scramble to jot down notes.

Since then, Born has been exported to around 30 countries and has garnered accolades both domestically and abroad. Their award-winning Nihon no Tsubasa Junmai Daiginjo is the official sake served on board the Japanese government aircraft used by the Emperor and the Prime Minister. To celebrate the election of Barack Obama in 2008, former Prime Minister Yukio Hatayama presented the US President with a bottle of Yume wa Masayume Junmai Daiginjo, an elegant brew matured for five years.

The first time I encountered Born sake was long ago, through my good friends Etsuko and Ted of Tokyofoodcast. They had brought a bottle of Born Tokusen Junmai Daiginjo and suggested that we try it warmed. At that time, I was skeptical. I had never had a Daiginjo served warm and, whether or not I admitted it to myself, was still holding onto the notion that all premium sake should be served chilled.

How wrong I'd been. The Born Tokusen Junmai Daiginjo was delicious chilled -- with hints of perky citrus and round melon. But warmed, it really came into its own. Full-flavored yet mellow, with a velvety texture and generous umami depth, the sake reminded me of finding a warm, fuzzy blanket on a chilly evening.

Talking to Kato-san, it comes as no surprise that his brewery would produce sakes so bold and so visceral. While speaking on the phone, we are frequently disconnected as he races through highway tunnels (once, he hangs up when he sees a police vehicle). He is loquacious and charming and tells me things that sometimes surprise me.

Earlier this autumn, Kato Kichibee Shoten completed construction of a sparkling new brewing facility with enough space to store up to 20,000 koku (3,600 KL) of sake at temperatures below freezing.

“We usually age the sake for one to two years at around minus 5 degrees Celsius,” he explains. “Doing this gives Born a deep yet clean and smooth character.”

The new brewery was also designed to withstand a magnitude-8.5 earthquake and is equipped with extra fireproofing features. Although Fukui prefecture was unaffected by the Great East Japan Earthquake, Kato was moved by the plight of brewers and disaster victims in the northeast, and he worried what might happen if a similar calamity struck closer to home.

Taking swift action, Kato ordered several changes to the reconstruction plans, which had been drafted eighteen months before. An extensive third floor was added, along with stairs on the outside of the building, so that the brewery could be used as an evacuation shelter in the case of an emergency.

“We are a brewery that values the community,” Kato concludes. “We also want our brewery to be important for the community. In this way, we will go forward into the future together.”

Of Love Lost and Found: A Salty (Fish) Tale

2011-09-29T11:33:00.003+09:00

My father’s face wore a look of cautious concern. “Let me just ask you this: Are you sure that he can handle it?”

I knew what this was about. My mother was making my favorite childhood dish — rice steamed with a pungent filet of salted, dried fish and Chinese sausages — and I’d invited my high school boyfriend over for dinner. After three years, my parents had finally gotten used to Shawn, had started to like him, even, but they never dreamed that I’d ask him to join us for hom-ngoy.

I folded my arms defensively across my chest. “Of course he can, Dad. Shawn loves Chinese food.”

“But we’re not talking about Chinese food here,” he protested. “Quite frankly, it stinks.” His head sprang up suddenly, and he looked around with his right hand extended, palm upturned, addressing an invisible audience in the kitchen. “You can’t ask the man to eat that.”

We’d ventured into a racial stereotype long held by my Chinese-American parents: the belief that white people can’t eat our food.

“That’s totally racist.”

“That’s not racist, that’s a fact,” he nodded sagely.

In truth, I could understand how my parents came to this idea. Having grown up in Mississippi and Louisiana respectively, my mother and father had encountered their fair share of Caucasians with unadventurous palates and narrow-minded attitudes toward Chinese culture in general. Living in Louisiana, we were still surrounded by such people, but I had tried to convince them that white people were not genetically predisposed to hating foreign foods. Besides, Shawn was different. Hadn't we just spent three weeks together studying Mandarin in Minnesota (he was much better at it than me)? Didn’t he extol, vociferously and repeatedly, the virtues of vegetarian Buddhist cuisine (I was an incurable carnivore)? Wasn’t he planning to travel to mainland China next summer to visit his Chinese pen pal (she’d even given him a Chinese name, Cheung Wei-han)?

“Look, he can handle it,” I snapped.

My dad shrugged and walked away. We would have to agree to disagree.

Cantonese salty fish has a highly idiosyncratic odor. It’s virtually synonymous with the word “stinky.” Countless stories have been told about neighbors who have called the police because families in a nearby apartment were cooking salty fish. My parents used to joke that I’d have no choice but to marry a Chinese guy because no one else would be able to stand the stench.

“I know that at least one of my daughters is going to marry a Chinese,” my dad would chuckle, drizzling a spoonful of oil over his rice and salty fish.

This comment invariably elicited laughs from the table while I remained uncomfortably silent. Little did they know that Shawn and I had already talked about marriage. We’d have a private ceremony in Greece, on a cliff overlooking the Aegean. I’d wear a simple white cotton shift; he’d cut his hair. All we had to do was wait until we finished university.

It’s not that I was philosophically opposed to marrying a Chinese man. It’s just that there were so few of them in Shreveport. The Yip brothers, Howard and Tommy, were hardly exciting choices. Perhaps for this reason, my parents had reluctantly agreed to send me to UC Berkeley.

“Dad, I really don’t think that salty fish and interracial marriage are mutually exclusive prospects,” I’d say with a sigh.

“Honey, you’re an optimist, but listen to me,” he’d say, waving away my comment and giving me a father-knows-best look. “No gwai-lo is ever going to be able to share his house with the smell of hom-ngoy.”

The funny thing is that I’d never thought of salty fish as stinky. In fact, when I catch a whiff of it cooking, I immediately get hungry and rub my hands together in anticipation.When steamed with plain white rice, the fish infuses the grains with an intoxicating base note of umami. It’s joltingly, mouth-wateringly salty, a thousand times more savory than Parmesan cheese, several factors saltier than anchovies. Unsurprisingly, you don’t need much to make an impact. My mother typically uses a modest rectangle about the size of a business card to feed our family of four.

The most common way to cook salty fish is to steam it with ground pork, slivers of ginger and chilies, perhaps with a few cubes of tofu. My Aunt Dorothy used to make this dish when I visited her, but it had never really grown on me. The flavors were muddled, the texture ambiguous.

I preferred my mom’s plain salty fish. First, she soaked the fish in a couple of changes of cold water to soften the flesh and tone down the salty bite. Then, she nestled the filet between a few links of sweet Chinese sausage, on top of the raw rice, and steamed everything together in the rice cooker. Once it was done, she’d slice up the sausages, plop the salty fish into a metal dish of hot oil, and set it over a candle to keep warm.

When I went away to college, I discovered the classic Cantonese dish of fried rice with salty fish, shredded chicken, and scallions. It was good, a treat I’d order when I went to dinner with Chinese friends, but it never came close to my mom’s salty fish.

As the evening wore on, I started to hear the bubble and hiss of the rice cooker, and the first heady puffs of fish-scented steam came curling out of the pot. I salivated; Shawn began to fidget.

“What’s that smell?” he asked, swiveling to look behind him.

“The salty fish,” I replied, and gave him a reassuring smile.

“The… fish?” he asked, incredulously. “That’s the fish?”

His face was ashen. He stood up and excused himself.

My mother poked her head into the living room. “Where’s Shawn?” she asked.

“Um, bathroom,” I muttered.

Five minutes later, he was back, with a towel covering his nose. “Oh, god,” he gasped. “It’s everywhere. You can’t escape the smell.”

My eyes widened in a mixture of disbelief and fear. “I cannot believe this is happening — I can’t believe that my father was right!” my mind screamed, as my 17-year-old worldview crumbled quietly around me.

“Oh, no,” he was squirming in earnest now, frantically reaching for his jacket and packing his bag. “I’m sorry, but I think I’m gonna be sick.”

After a quick apology to my parents, he rushed out the door. My father remained diplomatically silent, and we refrained from discussing the incident over dinner.

I was stunned. A couple of months later, Shawn and I broke up for the first time. A year after that, our relationship was officially over.

My father and I repeated our little kitchen conference a few years ago, when I brought my Canadian boyfriend JP home to introduce him to my parents. My mother had asked me what we’d wanted to eat, and I replied, “Salty fish.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, full of uncertainty. My dad gave me a look that said, “We’ve been through this before.”

“Mom, trust me,” I said.

A tremor of anxiousness hovered in the air as my mother began to prepare the fish. She looked at me one more time before turning on the rice cooker.

Before long, the familiar aroma began to waft through the kitchen and into the other rooms of the house. JP had been watching TV when he turned to me and asked, “What’s that smell?”

My father leapt from his chair, as if ready to put out a fire. I felt a flutter of incipient nausea.

“What’s that delicious smell?” JP asked again. My dad and I both froze.

“Isn’t it the most delicious thing you’ve ever smelled?” I asked, a smile spreading involuntarily across my face.

“It kind of is,” he replied. He sounded almost surprised at his answer.

JP and I will celebrate our fourth wedding anniversary in April. We devour salty fish with relish whenever we visit my parents in Louisiana, or when we travel to places like Hong Kong. If we could find it in Japan, though, we'd happily make it at home. Who cares what the neighbors think?

-------------------------------------------

A version of this story originally appeared in the magazine Nomad Editions Real Eats. JP and I recently returned from a long trip to visit his family in Canada and mine in Louisiana, where we feasted on salty fish and Chinese sausages, among (many) other things.

Portrait of a Sake Lady: Tsuki no Wa's Hiroko Yokosawa

2011-08-23T16:13:00.004+09:00

Hiroko Yokosawa is a petite woman in her mid-30s, with large, inquisitive eyes, soft features, and cropped brown hair that falls in waves around her ears. With her demure bearing and erect posture, she could easily be mistaken for a librarian or a schoolteacher, but Yokosawa-san is one of Iwate’s leading master brewers, and one of only about 30 female toji in all of Japan.

I’d encountered Yokosawa-san once, very briefly, about two years ago at a tasting in Tokyo. John Gauntner had pointed her out to me from across the room.

“That’s the Tsuki no Wa toji,” he told me, “one of the best female brewers in the country.”

“For real?” I asked in disbelief. “That little lady?”

I’d been a fan of Tsuki no Wa Honjozo for years before I learned that it was made by a woman. It’s definitely not a girly brew. Like all of the Tsuki no Wa sakes I’ve tried, it has fantastic depth of flavor and satisfying ricey heft. I love the Honjozo because it works well with a variety of rich foods, and, at Y1080 per bottle, it’s a real bargain.

Last month, I interviewed Yokosawa-san for an article about lady brewers I wrote for the Japan Times. She’d recently been in Osaka to participate in a fundraising event for Tohoku disaster victims that featured a number of female kurabito, so I knew she’d have a lot to say about being a woman in the industry. I was nervous about calling her, though. We’d never spoken before, and it’s always painful for me (and, usually, the person I’m speaking with) to conduct an interview in Japanese, but she was very gracious. Her voice was deeper than I’d expected, her speech even and straightforward. She was refreshingly opinionated and spoke candidly about the difficulties women face as brewery workers.

One thing that struck me was that, unlike most of the other brewers I’d talked to in the past, she hadn’t decided to go into the sake industry purely out of family obligation. Many have said that, although they’d never especially wanted to pursue a career in sake, they did it because the brewery was without a successor. Generally speaking, the children of sake brewery owners view taking over the business less as a choice, than a natural consequence of their birth. It’s hard, stressful work, particularly if you decide to take on the dual role -- as many brewers these days are -- of owner and toji.

From talking to Yokosawa-san, I got the sense that her decision to take up brewing was prompted in part by the search for deeper meaning. Before moving back to Iwate, she’d been living in Tokyo, working at an office job. After a while, she got fed up with the monoculture of modernity she found there.

“You couldn’t find any traditional culture,” she said. “It seemed like things were getting to be the same everywhere, and I wanted to bring back crafts that were uniquely Japanese.”

Her philosophy of sake making -- the quest for authenticity -- reminded me a lot of a conversation I had with Aoshima-san of Aoshima Shuzo, whose dedication to the traditional methods of sake production and single-mindedness of purpose border on the religious.

Yokosawa-san prides herself on making old-school sake, full-bodied brews that let the flavors of the rice shine. And shine they do. After our talk, I went out and bought a bottle of Tsuki no Wa Junmai-shu, which I paired with a dish of iwashi no ume ni, sardines simmered with ginger and umeboshi.

Although I’d never made it before, the fat sardines I found in the basement of the Isetan inspired me to give it a try (tip: get your husband to gut the fish, and the rest is a snap). Sardines are in season at several times during the year, and high summer is presumably one of them. Like a cat, I’m attracted to shiny things, and I found the silver gleam of their skin irresistible. Iwashi no ume ni combines the smokiness of the fish with the pert, zesty flavors of fresh ginger and pickled plums, and it’s terrific served cold or at room temperature in the summer. That zap of acidity is just the thing to stimulate appetites made sluggish by the Tokyo heat and humidity.

The Tsuki no Wa Junmai-shu worked remarkably well with this dish. The sake’s lively, fruity acidity highlighted the tart and spicy notes of the umeboshi and ginger and cut some of the richness of the oily fish, while the round, ricey back notes complemented the soy-based sauce. It’s fruitier and a little more flash than the Honjozo, with less of a toasty edge. In a phrase, it’s poised and substantial -- a little like Yokosawa-san herself.

In other news, it's been a crazy, crazy summer here. We've had an insane heat wave, a series of pretty sizable earthquakes, and a visit from Vice President Biden. The Gochiso team and I have been coming up with some very exciting ideas and gearing up for our next event, which, if all goes well, will happen in the late fall.

Food Is Art, Gochiso #2

2011-08-02T15:41:00.009+09:00

The premise was tinged with the absurdity of a Dadaist riddle and the impossibility of a Zen koan: How can a chef cook without a kitchen?

We found ourselves in the unenviable position of having to confront this and other head-scratching conundrums as the days evaporated, leaving us no closer to securing a kitchen one week before our second Gochiso event. When we first conceived of Food Is Art, we’d imagined staging it at a gallery that doubled as a café. In our minds, this magical place would have everything we needed to throw a fabulous pop-up dinner -- tables, chairs, stylish glasses and sleek dishware, a well-equipped kitchen, a friendly team of servers, and of, course, walls covered with fabulous art. No more shipping tables, fretting over cutlery, or lugging plates and ramekins from home. Hurrah!

In the real world, however, places that perfect don’t really exist. After considering several possible venues, we realized that we’d have to compromise on something, and that something would either be the kitchen or the art. Kitchen or art? It was a hard choice, one that involved weighing the relative merits of logistical ease against conceptual integrity. We chose conceptual integrity, and everyone questioned our sanity.

Apart from its lack of a kitchen -- and refrigerator – Art Statements Gallery in Ebisu was exactly what we were looking for. The exhibition at the time, a group show of large-scale, edgy contemporary works by artists like Yoshitaka Amano and Erwin Olaf, reflected the irreverent spirit of our project. The moment Eriko and I stepped into the space, we could already envision the set up for our dinner. We’d play with the idea of a modern feast and seat everyone at one long table. The gallery’s high ceilings and minimal layout would highlight the drama of the dinner itself.

We’d thought we could get around the kitchen issue by renting a cooking studio, but there was no place close by that was even remotely within our price range. As the event drew nearer, we started to ponder the possibility of knocking on the doors of homes around the gallery. But the likelihood that anyone would allow perfect strangers to commandeer their kitchen for a weekend was laughably low. The whole thing seemed impossible.

As it turns out, the solution to the problem was Chef Maria Suzuki herself. Chef Maria, who had wowed all of our diners at the last Gochiso event, Make Yourself at Home. Chef Maria, who handled every glitch with graceful aplomb. Chef Maria, who had worked at internationally renowned restaurants and also happened to be a trained Raw Food specialist.

To be completely honest, though, I was skeptical of going with a full Raw Food dinner menu. My own experience with Raw Food had been limited to the smoothies one of my colleagues used to bring to work, frothy greenish-grey drinks, which, after a year of watching him imbibe variations on that theme daily, I’d assumed formed the basis of a Raw Food diet. These were thick, gloopey (but not entirely unappetizing) blended concoctions that always seemed to incorporate bananas and wheatgrass and reminded me a lot of the healthy shakes my mom used to make when I was a child. The only thing missing was the cod liver oil.

But Chef Maria changed my mind. I’ll never look at Raw Food in the same way again; the food was that good. Here are a few of the highlights.

In keeping with the artistic theme of the event, we chose titles for each of the dishes and listed them on the menu without other descriptions. The amuse bouche, called Seed, was a fresh corn and nut croquette, rolled in flaxseed and placed, rather sneakily, amidst the decorative garden-boxes set in the middle of the table. The idea was for each diner to nibble on the edible stones while unearthing the sweet baby carrots also nestled in the boxes. This was served alongside a refreshing mint granita, topped with lemon espuma.

In choosing a sake for the first two courses, I had to look for one that had both flexibility and finesse. The second dish was a tomato assemblage of semi-dried tomatoes, marinated tomatoes, and tomato mousse (which we entitled Rothko Red), and the third dish would be paired with Argyle Brut, delicious a full-bodied sparkling wine from Oregon’s Willamette Valley, so I needed something light, crisp, and smooth, but with enough umami to stand up to the creaminess of the croquette and the depth of the tomatoes. I went with Hidematsu Aka Honjozo from the esteemed Ichishima Shuzo in Niigata. It has all the characteristics you’d expect in a Niigata brew, coupled with a fine acidic structure and a generous umami base. It’s also immensely drinkable -- I knew that it had won a gold medal at this year’s International Wine Challenge, but I was surprised at how quickly everyone finished off the bottle.

Earth and Sky consisted of minced baby shiitake mushrooms and walnut paste, rolled into cigars and encased in a thin skin of dehydrated mushroom flavored with soy sauce, perched on a fluffy cloud of whipped avocado and minted edamame soybeans.

We decided to pair this dish with two different but equally fantastic Chardonnays, just for fun. The sweet honey notes and oaky richness of the Crossbarn Chardonnay from Sonoma spoke to the dish’s savory side, while the lemony acidity and silky texture of the Girard Russian River Chardonnay highlighted the fresh, ethereal notes of the edamame and mint.

Blanket was a stunning dish of thinly sliced daikon wrapped around a rich filling of nut cream and avocado, finished with white truffle oil and thyme, black truffles, and a vibrant splash of raspberry vinaigrette. Blanket impressed me so much that I made a version (albeit an unsophisticated, considerably less photogenic version) of the dish at home last week.

We served this with a luscious, floral Gewurztraminer from Thomas Fogarty winery in Monterey. It was an unconventional pairing but the lychee and tropical fruit notes worked with the spiciness of the daikon and the tartness of the raspberry sauce.

What an amazing experience. We made some mistakes but finished on a seriously high note. A huge thanks to Chefs Maria Suzuki and Tsutomu Otsuka, the incredibly trusting Dominique Perregeaux of Art Statements, the good people at iwine.jp (in particular Yoshi Takemura, for helping us choose the wines), Ichishima-san of Ichishima Shuzo, and all of the lovely people who dined with us on July 23rd and 24th!

I am aware that I still haven't posted the details from our last event yet, but you can read all about the shambolic birth of Gochiso on Umamimart and Time Out.

Gochiso-sama Desu!

2011-07-05T09:36:00.004+09:00

For high school students waiting to for the semester to end, one month seems like an eternity. For three women organizing a pop-up dinner in Tokyo, it’s a different story entirely -- particularly when the three women involved have no background in the restaurant industry. I'm a writer; I deal in words and spend most of my time working alone. My partners, Chihiro Moriyama and Eriko Miyagawa, are in graphic design and film production respectively. There is no logical reason why we should be hosting guerrilla-style gastronomy events in a city where rules abound and form really matters.

But that’s what I love about Tokyo. It’s a megalopolis built on impossibility and contradictions, a place of blinding vertical infinity and dense electric warrens, one of the last corners of the globe where people can still get lost and reinvent themselves.

We had a solid concept: to use pop-ups as a platform for emerging culinary talent. We wanted to collaborate with creative people from different fields to stage events that would challenge perceptions of fine dining and reconnect chefs with their artistic side. We decided on the name Gochiso and started marking our calendars. All we needed was a chef…and a venue.

Fortunately, my friend Robert “volunteered” his house -- a stunning three-story flat in Shibuya -- after a little gentle prodding. In the following days, he’d become the driving force behind the project (the man wanted to eat). And once we started talking about it, Gochiso developed a momentum of its own. We soon found the perfect chef. Eriko had met the lovely and talented chef Maria Suzuki through a connection with the Tsuji Cooking Academy and had heard that she was back in Japan after three years at Bouley in New York City. Maria had been working in Nara at the highly acclaimed restaurant Akordu (whose chef had been at Mugarritz in San Sebastian) but quickly tired of the Japanese system and left to pursue a career as an independent chef and food consultant. Thanks to California wine importers WineInStyle, we had the perfect wines to match with Chef Suzuki’s creative fusion of classic French, modern Spanish, and North-American Raw Food.

Within a few weeks we were live. We entitled the event Make Yourself at Home and turned Robert’s house into a restaurant for one night only. 14 fabulous guests. 16 bottles of delectable wine, and 2 outstanding bottles of sake. But the star of the show was Maria’s stellar summer menu. Here’s a taste, pictured above:

Fluffy foie gras and avocado terrine drizzled with cocoa sauce and dotted with fresh apple vinaigrette. The acidity of the vinaigrette matched the brightness of the Rudd Mt. Veder Sauvignon Blanc ’09 that we served with it.

I’ll be writing more about the event here and also on Umamimart (if you don’t already know about this awesome blog, shame on you), so stay tuned. In the meantime, read what the WSJ has to say about us here and check out our Facebook page for more photos and updates. Oh, and you can help us out by clicking on the Like button.

Drinking Japan: A book after my own heart

2011-05-22T09:58:00.005+09:00

I bet you didn't know that Sartre -- the original misanthrope, of No Exit and The Stranger fame -- was an early proponent of Japanese whisky. Yes, Sartre added Japanese whisky to his diet of hard liquor, cigarettes, and amphetamines on his trip here with Simone de Beauvoir in the 60s, and he was known to knock back liters of the stuff.

Actually, the spirit's roots in Japan can be traced back to 1854, when Commodore Perry brought over 100 gallons of American whiskey on the infamous "Black Ships" to Tokyo. The Japanese may not have relished the infiltration of Western culture and influence, but they welcomed whiskey with open arms; an article in the New York Observer from that year describing a party with US officers and samurai mentions that the "toddy flowed." It was scene of tipsy merriment, not unlike Shimbashi on a Friday night, with lots of hugging and, presumably, red faces.

These and other fun bits of trivia are sprinkled throughout Chris Bunting's new book Drinking Japan: A Guide to Japan's Best Drinks and Drinking Establishments.

The book gives delightful, in-depth overviews of six of the most beloved drinks in Japan: sake, shochu, awamori, beer, whisky, and wine. As the name suggests, dozens of recommended bars and pubs are listed in each category. Bunting also throws in a section on other great bars in the country, from the esteemed cocktail bar Tender in Ginza, where you can find the perfect gimlet, to the quirky Bozu bar, where both Bloody Marys and Zen koans are served by Buddhist monks, in Nakano.

I first came to know Chris through his excellent blog, Nonjatta, which is the most informative site about Japanese whisky on the web. He was the first person to turn me on to Ichiro's Malt, the delectable distillations of artisanal producer Ichiro Akuto in Chichibu, about an hour outside of Tokyo, and I've been a great fan ever since. Needless to say, the chapter on whisky belies his enthusiasm for the drink. I've visited a handful of the whisky bars he reviews in Drinking Japan (as well as several of the sake bars in Chapter 1 -- surprise, surprise) and am keen to try the others. Hopefully, I'll be able to catch up with Chris for a dram at one of these places. Perhaps at Cask in Roppongi, where I might give him a heart attack by ordering "one of those Yamazakis."

Everyone has a vice (I personally have five: sake, wine, whiskey, fried food, and foie gras -- not necessarily in that order). If yours can be imbibed, you should definitely check out this book. A portion of the proceeds will be donated to the Japan Earthquake Relief, so it's a win-win situation.

Flower Power

2011-04-13T07:11:00.001+09:00

Never have I felt more strongly about the tradition of o-hanami than this year. So much beauty and grace in the midst of chaos.

Sake Solidarity

2011-04-03T16:15:00.004+09:00

Disregard the misspelling. Never mind that the staff at my local sake shop drives me crazy (I resisted the urge to throttle the clerk, who, after keeping me waiting for 15 minutes, pulled out an abacus to tally up my purchases). I fully support the sentiment behind this sign -- and the others like it posted around the store, which urge customers to "save Fukushima" and Miyagi.

When the earthquake hit on March 11, we knew it was a big one but didn't realize the scope of the destruction it had wrought in Tohoku. The news coverage that followed showed horrifying images of whole towns that had been wiped from the face of the earth. We watched in stunned silence as the tsunami rolled inexorably across the city of Sendai, sweeping up a jumble of cars, boats, and buildings as it stretched further and further inland.

"It's not stopping," I said, shaking my head in disbelief and clutching my sweater.

"Those poor people," JP whispered solemnly.

The video clip lasted for an interminable five minutes. A lone car trying to outrun the tsunami raced across the bottom right hand of the screen, barely escaping the deluge. My throat tightened and I shivered; I've never been a strong swimmer.

I shook the thought from my head and turned suddenly toward JP: "Oh my god -- the poor brewers."

Many sake producers in the north suffered structural damage to their brewing and storage facilities. Some breweries, like Suminoe in Ishinomaki, Miyagi prefecture, were completely razed, although I've since heard that they intend to rebuild. Fortunately, no human casualties have been reported, but Tohoku's brewers lost several tons of sake as tanks toppled over and bottles were smashed. In some cases, the rice was also ruined. These losses, in conjunction with the fuel shortages and infrastructure problems that have halted shipments, have dealt a considerable financial blow to the industry, and groups like the Japan Sake Brewer's Association Junior Council are collecting donations to help producers get back on their feet. For those interested in donating, my sake brother Tim from Urbansake.com has posted helpful tips in English that will walk you through the process.

Perhaps most threatening, though, is the fear of radiation contamination that has already crippled the agriculture, fishing, and restaurant industries in Japan (the government call for jishuku, or self-restraint, that has canceled spring festivals and discouraged hanami parties has done little to help the situation). Sadly, this problem is sure to affect the entire sake world. The other day, John Gauntner told me that at least one restaurant in Las Vegas has stopped buying sake, while Hiroko and Rick of Sakaya mentioned that a few of their customers were also spooked. It's hard to say whether the Japanese will feel the same way, but if so many people are already afraid of drinking the water in Tokyo, I doubt that they'll feel safe drinking sake from Fukushima. This is particularly worrying for small brewers in the region like Niida Honke, who grow their rice locally and were very close to reaching their goal of becoming fully organic by 2013.

Some of my favorite producers -- Suehiro, Daishichi, Hiroki, Kokken, Niida Honke, just to name a few -- are in Fukushima. It's not that surprising when you consider that it's one of the largest sake-making regions in the country. And you can bet that I won't stop buying sake from there, or anywhere else in Japan.

Don't let fear sink the sake industry. Help keep sake alive. Keep drinking.

This Blogger Is Not Dead

2011-03-27T10:26:00.002+09:00

Never in my life had I dreamed that I’d be sitting at my computer with a Geiger counter on the screen. But, then again, the events following the earthquake on March 11th have been nothing less than extraordinary. In the last two weeks, a cascade of calamities, each marked with the dubious distinction of being unprecedented in scale, have befallen the country I’ve come to think of as my adopted home. First came the magnitude 9.0 earthquake, followed by a 10-meter tsunami that eradicated whole towns in the span of minutes, and now we’re facing an nuclear crisis involving six reactors that is proving harder to resolve by the day. Lying awake in the watery light of predawn, waiting for the aftershocks to roll by, I wonder how Japan will recover from the difficulties brought by this triple disaster -- problems that, coupled with the threat of a prolonged economic recession, are huge in scope and in reality just beginning.

We in Tokyo have been incredibly lucky. During the earthquake, the only damage we incurred amounted to a broken coffee pot and the loss of a few dishes. Even after throwing out some cracked o-chokko, I still have more than 30 (they must multiply in the cabinets). We’ve had no trouble getting food, although toilet paper still remains elusive at neighborhood shops. I know it’s out there because I’ve seen other people walking around with it, but I’ve also noticed that those people are invariably elderly. JP suspects that there’s a Mixi page just for seniors listing all of the stores that have toilet paper in stock. There was a moment of genuine panic when we learned of the US Embassy’s announcement urging citizens to evacuate, but, after reassessing the facts, we chose to stay.

For the time being, I’m sitting tight, watching the situation, and getting on with my life. I’m hoping for the success and safety of the courageous people who are risking their lives by working around the clock to avert a nuclear meltdown in Fukushima. I’m doing my best to conserve energy at this critical time and encouraging people to do the same, while discouraging people from hoarding. I’m going out and supporting local businesses, many of which have reduced their business hours to save electricity. Despite the temporary radiation scare, I’m continuing to drink the water in Tokyo; it’s perfectly safe for adults, and buying up all of the bottled water could mean that some infants, who should not consume tap water if levels of radioactive iodine rise again, might be left with none. And, needless to say, I’m drinking a lot of sake from Fukushima, Iwate, and Miyagi, where several breweries have suffered as a result of the disaster.

I don’t know what will happen, but I’m remaining cautiously optimistic. As one economist said recently, “Only the fool bets against Japan.”

This blogger is not dead. And, although it’s been a very long time since my last post, this blog isn’t dead, either. I promise that you’ll hear more from me soon.

Red, White and Gold: The Many Shades of Work

2010-10-19T14:16:00.007+09:00

Not so long ago, I was delighted to discover my good friend Karin Sprin online in IM. This feeling was, however, initially unreciprocated; she'd neglected to make herself invisible and I'd caught her right in the middle of an important task.

"I've got to mark a mountain of papers today," she typed.

"But you love your work," I tapped in glib reply.

"Right," she responded, "Love...work."

I know a lot of people who hate their jobs. Karin's definitely not one of them. She's the kind of person who takes her work very seriously and rarely, if ever, breathes a word of complaint about her job.

Until quite recently, I wouldn't have described my own relationship to work as particularly felicitous. It's not that I'm necessarily lazy, but I just hadn't found the right career path (at least, that's what I like to tell myself). Even now, I'm still prone to grousing about my job.

Contrary to popular opinion, there are several annoying things about my job. Occupational hazards. Anger management issues. Guilt and, yes, the occasional bout of dyspepsia.

That said, there are a lot of perks, too. Like 25 courses at Noma, while exploring the culinary delights of Copenhagen. Sharing schnitzels with my buddy Sophie after 5 days of Austrian wine tasting at VieVinum. Getting an inside look at the creative process of avant-garde chefs. My very own jacuzzi at an onsen resort in Niigata. The chance to connect with fascinating people doing amazing things (there's just a tiny misquote there but, hey -- it's a blog). Above all, though, I'm lucky to be doing something that I enjoy.

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about sake pairing, but I've also had some very good wine-pairing experiences -- most recently at the new Azure 45 restaurant in the Ritz-Carlton Tokyo.

Next time, I'll tell you what I ate with these. In the meantime, enjoy the rest of your weekend!

Sketches from Cook it Raw: Trees

2010-09-26T08:59:00.003+09:00

Rene Redzepi sat at a table surrounded by journalists. Six people were helping him snip the thousands of pine needles necessary to make the oil he was considering using in his dish.

“Spruce,” he corrected. “Spruce oil.”

Redzepi has a relaxed, easy manner, but he’s also eagle-eyed and exacting. Perhaps that’s why his restaurant is number one in the world.

“What are these doing in here?” he asked, pointing to a few flecks of brown in the bowl of green needles.

I ran my fingers through the needles. They were cool and dry, smooth and prickly at the same time. I fished out three of the offending brown ones and wondered how many branches had gone into that bowl.

Earlier that day, Redzepi had collected the tender inner layer of bark from birch trees. He peeled it away in long, circular strips.

“We’re going to do a cold infusion with this,” he said, passing around a sliver of bark. It was supple and sweet smelling, reminiscent of youth.

On the night of the final dinner, Redzepi walked me through the dish he’d prepared together with Claude Bosi and Magnus Nilsson. It was based on the idea of a family dinner, and everyone was to serve himself from the three heavy pots the chefs brought to the table. The dish consisted of white carrots braised until perfectly sweet and tender, flavored with the sap and resin of branches; potatoes wrapped in lichen and buried in salt before baking; and a mushroom and tree bark consommé resonant of the autumn woods.

“What about the spruce oil?” I asked.

“We’re not sure if we’re even going to use it,” he replied.

I like the way that Redzepi tells you exactly what he’s thinking at the time. He’s outspoken and candid, at times egregiously so.

“We’re all of us a bit weird,” he said, pulling apart raw mushroom tops. “You’re a little weird, too.”

The observation caught me off guard.

“You said before that you can’t figure yourself out,” he continued.

Did I say that?

“Have you figured yourself out?” I asked.

“No, I haven’t,” he answered.

In the end, he used the spruce oil.

Sketches from Cook it Raw: Lakes

2010-09-17T15:05:00.007+09:00

The fishermen had been out since before dawn. Sober-faced and silently smoking, they shook out their nets, and the fish made a gentle plopping sound as their silver bodies hit the tarp.

The fish were small, only a few inches in length; it took less than a minute to gut them and scoop out their precious orange eggs. Someone had set a pan over a fire by the lake and was grilling them, liberally sprinkled with salt. Kenneth plucked one from the pan and used the back of his knife to lift a tiny fillet from the wire-thin bones.

“Did you used to eat these all the time growing up?” I asked.

“Something like this,” he replied, working methodically, one fish at a time.

He speaks in such a way that each word inhabits discrete aural space.

“So I guess it’s kind of a nostalgic flavor for you?”

“You could say that.”

The fish tasted of clear, fresh water. The bubbly skin was crisp and smoky, the white flesh sweet. As pinpricks of coarse salt hit my palate, I found myself wishing for a glass of autumnal sake -- something broad and tangy like Suehiro Yamahai Junmai Namazume Hiyaoroshi (a natural with fish) -- to wash down these grilled treats. But all we had was thick, black coffee.

Over a hot fire in the kitchen hut, surrounded by seats covered with reindeer pelts, our host Jari Rossi stirred potatoes into a pot of fish soup. Every part of the fish had been used in the dish, from the creamy liver to the turgid beads of roe, but there wasn’t a trace of fishy odor.

Magnus Nilsson had waded knee-deep into the waters. Bent over a patch of reeds, he looked like a rice farmer in a paddy.

"What's he looking for?" I asked. Everyone around me shrugged.

In his left hand he held a bunch of stalks tipped with slender, bamboo-colored roots.

"We can use these," he grinned. "These will be good."

Sketches from Cook it Raw: The Lichen

2010-09-14T13:57:00.007+09:00

The lichen that carpets the floor of the Lapland forests is plush and pliant, moist and springy to the touch. It blooms in jade-toned terrestrial clouds, swallowing our footsteps and muting our voices.

The vivid green leaves of Elk lichen resemble the curved horns of the animal for which it is named. They're silky-cool and have a delicate mushroom flavor and almost berry-like piquancy. The spindly, white branches of Reindeer lichen are crunchy and mildly bitter when cooked.

“The ladies know which are good for different dishes,” says our nature guide Tina Ollanke.

“You keep saying, ‘the ladies.’ Do only women do this work?” I ask.

“Pretty much,” she answers. “The men take care of the hunting and fishing, and the women forage.”

“That’s awfully traditional,” I remark, sounding thoroughly North American.

“It is,” she says. “We used to think it’s so old-fashioned, but now that my friends and I are getting older, we like to go to the woods on the weekends, stay in a cabin with some wine…”

“And you forage?”

“Yes, it’s fun.” She leads us to a patch where the Elk lichen and Reindeer lichen grow side by side.

After about half an hour of picking berries and mushrooms, sticking my fingers in the dirt and pulling lichen, I start to get her point. It’s almost like a game.

Daniel Patterson hands me a leaf of Elk lichen and says, “Here, taste this. It’s phenomenal stuff.”

I respond with a questioning look that says, “Is this okay to eat raw?” and warily place a piece on my tongue.

Why hadn’t I ever eaten this before?

In truth, I’d never thought of it as food for humans. I’d known that lichen was a plant-like organism, an abundant hybrid occupying the nebulous space between fungus and algae. I’d heard that it had been eaten in Japan during times of famine, but I never dreamed it could be used to create dishes as magical and innovative as the ones I experienced at Cook it Raw last week.

Yoshihiro Narisawa used different varieties of it in a poetic reconstruction of the forest floor. Claude Bosi wrapped swathes of it around baby potatoes before baking to infuse them with smoky, organic umami. Petter Nilsson and Inaki Aizpitarte fried it quickly in butter to finish their dish of smoked white fish and beet topped with consommé and berries. It was the final note that brought further harmony to an already harmonious composition.

The lichen was here, there, everywhere -- and it was delicious.

What an amazing experience. Sorry for the long silence, but I’ll be posting more of my thoughts and recollections of Cook it Raw this week and next week.

A Little in Love with Hong Kong

2010-08-05T08:31:00.008+09:00

Over the weekend, I ate blood. I gambled at the temple of tack that is the Venetian. I sweated my ass off running from meal to meal and loved every minute of it.

I never thought of myself as the kind of person who would attempt, let alone enjoy, any of the aforementioned activities. But, then again, I never thought I'd be so enamored of Hong Kong. We were there for only a short trip, but I'm already dying to get back.

"Wouldn't it be great to stay here for a year just to study the food?" I asked, surveying the impossible landscape of skyscrapers jutting out of dense, mountainous jungle. Hong Kong is a city built on hubris.

"There's just so much to learn, so many fantastic ingredients and amazing diversity," I prattled on.

JP nodded in agreement but added a cautionary, "You couldn't really do it, though, could you? It would be hard to pull off."

My reverie broken, I flashed him a hurt, can't-I-have-a-dream look.

We went from watching live razor clams ooze out of their bamboo-reed shells at a market in the morning to eating them, sauteed in a chili-laced black bean sauce, that evening; from gorging ourselves on Portuguese suckling pig and bacalao fried rice in Macau, to sipping molecular cocktails and dining on refined New Nordic cuisine back in Hong Kong; from dainty dim sum at a stylish hidden spot, to down-home and dirty (figuratively, not literally) Chiu Chow cuisine -- goose blood and kidneys, oyster omelettes, steamed fish air bladders.

One of the first meals I cooked once we got back to Tokyo was, naturally, Chinese.

It's been infernally hot here, and, when the temperatures rise, Asians reach for bitter melon, a hearty gourd that looks like a warty cucumber. My parents called it fu-ga, but in Japan it's called goya. One of the classic ways to prepare it is stir-fried with chicken and onions in homemade black bean sauce.

Bitter melon is, as the name suggests, emphatically bitter and thus a tricky ingredient to pair. I'd been hoping to find a nice jukusei-shu aged sake to go it with, but things didn't work out that way and I came home with a bone-dry Tobi-kara from the excellent Mizubasho in Gunma prefecture. Although I wasn't sure how it would go at first, I was very pleasantly surprised. The sake, while light and refreshing on the palate, had the strength to stand up to the strong flavors of the dish. The spice and bitterness of the bitter melon brought out the sweet, ricey tones in the sake. A good match.

I may be a little in love with Hong Kong, but the sake will always make me happy to come home to Tokyo.

On another note, my friend Beau Timkin of San Francisco's True Sake was kind enough to invite me to recommend a sake for his August newsletter. If you're not already a subscriber, get over there and check it out. His newsletter is always a pleasure to read and chocked-full of sake-centric information!

We Say Oui to Kagurazaka

2010-07-19T17:52:00.006+09:00

In the midst of Tokyo’s garish fluorescent glow, Kagurazaka feels like ananachronism. With its stone paved alleys and sloping, lantern-lit lanes,it retains much of the quiet charm of the city in its pre-war heyday. The quaint old townhouses and discreet black fences that line the residential streets lend the area an atmosphere reminiscent of Kyoto.

The similarity is rooted in more than architecture. In the late Meiji era, Kagurazaka became famous for its pleasure quarters, where geishas delighted guests with their grace and beauty. Shops specializing in kimono and green tea remain, and Kabuki actors and musicians still frequent the area.

In recent days, Kagurazaka is becoming known as a fashionable dining
destination. Trendy eateries line Kagurazaka Slope, and the winding back streets are dotted with tiny wine bars, cool cafes and exclusive ryotei Japanese restaurants. The neighborhood offers something for every predilection -- from traditional wagashi sweets to modern Spanish tapas and, perhaps most notably, excellent French cuisine.

Kagurazaka is home to a sizeable French population. L’Institute Franco-Japonais de Tokyo is located a short walk away from IIdabashi station, and specialty food shops carrying top-quality cheese or pastries abound. The area boasts a number of refined French restaurants, as well as an array of casual bistros serving authentic fare.

Brasserie Gus, a small, unpretentious restaurant hidden along a narrow street off of Okubo Dori, is particularly popular with my foodie friends Tamami and Sugita. The menu sticks to hearty classics such as buttery pork rillets with corchicons pickles, escargots sizzling in garlic butter and roast lamb in red wine sauce.

By 7:30, most of the seats are full of young, casually stylish guests and getting a reservation can be difficult.

Possibly more difficult, however, is choosing from the several delicious-sounding options. The choice between the silky foie gras terrine and the rich goose liver and lentil pate can only be described as painful. Both are dense and creamy, and I have soft spots for both.

Selecting a main dish is no easier. Although the braised beef cheek was
awfully tempting, I can never pass up a good confit de canard. Though confit is as much of a brasserie staple in Tokyo as it is in Paris, I have been burned more than once. In the wrong hands, the dish can end up soggy, tough, or heart-stoppingly greasy (I was so happy to hear that a certain place, whose confit was guilty of all three of the aforementioned sins, closed, that I clapped). Happily, the duck at Brasserie Gus was none of those things. The skin was crispy, the meat tender. This dish, like all of the mains at Gus, was served with a side of mashed potatoes and a medley of sautéed vegetables -- broccoli in cream, mushrooms in garlic sauce and cabbage finished with a touch of vinegar. Creative it isn't, but that's not really what you look for at a down-home place like this.

Our merry band of boozers passed on dessert and opted instead for a small cheese plate to go with our third bottle of wine, a lively red from Saint-Emilion whose name escapes me just now. Another pleasant surprise came with our bill: The tasty food and Gallic hospitality were a bargain at only Y5000 per person.

Yaraicho 82
3268-7157

Strategy Is Everything

2010-07-12T11:05:00.006+09:00

This is as true in sake tasting as it is in war. At a recent sake fair in Ochanomizu, however, I found myself without one, drifting around aimlessly and looking somewhat dazed. By the time we'd arrived, the event was winding down, and the atmosphere exuded the incipient gaiety that accompanies the shift from spitting to sipping. We were on a totally different wavelength, though. We'd just rushed over from another tasting at the Japanese Sake Brewer's Association and had only 30 minutes to get through everything.

It wasn't even that big of an event, but felt slightly overwhelmed.

Although I've been to a lot of sake tastings over the last few years, I still feel like a novice when it comes to navigating my way through them. It can be tough work, depending on the scope of the event, the size of the crowds, and the accessibility of spittoons.

When I first got into sake, I dug the big tastings. They were like huge frenzied parties, and I reveled in all the jostling, tispy excitement. These days, I'm much more partial to the small tastings. I prefer to go in the afternoon and I always, always, always try to spit. I still have fun, but it's fun of a different sort -- a tamer, nerdier brand of fun, more like playing Scrabble than playing drinking games.

I devise different tactics for different tastings. For really large ones, I tend to focus less on the breweries I know well and look for labels that are new to me. I'll take note of the popular producers (ie - the booths that are most crowded) but may not actually taste the sake there, as I'll likely encounter it elsewhere.

If the layout is organized by region, I usually start with lighter brews from the north-east and work my way west. Sometimes, I just stick around one or two areas and try everything on the tables. Recently, I've been curious about Gifu and Mie prefectures, so I've been looking out for sake from these regions.

Most of the time, I corner someone I know and ask them what's good.

"What's your plan?" I turned to my friend Elsie, who was in town for a visit.

She answered with typical Canadian equanimity. "Don't really have one," she said.

Elise is a serious sake lover. She'd even spent the last two years making it at the brewpub Moto-i in Minneapolis. If that's not dedication, I don't know what is, but the look on her face said that she wasn't going to bust her ass trying to come up with a tasting strategy.

"There's so much here that I've never tasted before. I'm just going to dive in."

"Okay," I muttered doubtfully, assessing the crowd. "I guess I'll, um, do that, too."

My taste buds felt a bit flat, so I decided to shake them awake with some vivid brews from Kameizumi. I'm not usually a fan of the funky, musky, outre CEL yeasts, but Kameizumi handles them well. The sakes are all intensely aromatic -- a swirl of exotically fruity and floral notes that precedes a forceful impact. Fine acidic structure and almost austere dryness, however, keep these bouquet bombs from going way over the top. The flavors seem to float weightlessly over the palate. As usual, Saibara-san had no recollection of meeting me, but at least I was ready to do some more tasting.

I moved over to the next table and onto the full-bodied Shichida sakes from Tenzan Shuzo. I'd tasted these sakes on several occasions (Sadly, Shichida-san, too, had no idea who I was. Am I really so forgettable?) and have always liked them for their smooth mouthfeel and fat, umami-rich breadth.

Looking around at the people merrily sipping sake beside me, I realized that my uptight attitude was preventing me from having fun, nerdy or otherwise. So I let myself ease into the slack, end-of-the-day rhythm that everyone else seemed to be grooving to and just went with the flow.

After bouncing around a bit, I stumbled on the excellent Koshi no Omachi Junmai Nama from Niigata's Minogawa . I often like sakes made with Omachi rice. They tend to have a sturdy structure and exhibit an appealing earthiness, but they can also be a little astringent. The rice for the Minogawa Koshi no Omachi was grown locally, and the sake exhibited the fine-grained texture and lightness characteristic of Niigata brews. The impact was bright and fresh, and it showed a lovely balance of acidity and umami in the midpalate. The texture was soft and billowing, but the finish snapped back as crisply as a freshly laundered sheet. The interesting thing is that the rice had only been milled to 70%. Pretty impressive.

As the announcement sounded bringing the event to its close, I heard a quiet, "Pssst, Melinda-san." I turned around and saw Matsumoto-san from Minogawa gesturing to me.

"Present for you," he said, handing me a bottle of the Koshi no Omachi.

After the tasting, we enjoyed it with panko-crusted fried chicken breasts stuffed with nori and creamy Havarti cheese (namazake and creamy cheeses are surprisingly good friends), drizzled with a honey-soy vinaigrette. Later, I learned that the Koshi no Omachi Nama is only released once a year. Lucky me!

Strategy is certainly important, but there's something to be said for serendipity as well.

This Link is Not Dead

2010-07-02T11:49:00.002+09:00

I heard their muffled laughter as I tiptoed through the front door. Thick with alcohol and insinuation, it echoed heavily down the corridor, the sound of grown-ups having a party after the kids have been sent to bed.

“Well, well, look who it is,” James was paternally ensconced in his favorite chair nursing a Manhattan. “Where have you been, little girl?”

I tossed my keys on the table and shrugged. In my errant early twenties, I was notorious for disappearing at random. I might decide on a whim to go down to LA to check out art galleries -- only to find myself riding back to San Francisco with my then arch-enemy, SY -- or fly to New York for my birthday or drive to Arizona to see the Grand Canyon.

“How was it?” Rita’s teeth were purple from red wine.

“Hilarious and utterly exhausting,” I said.

“And yet you’ve managed to do your hair,” Devi noted.

“So…” Rita pressed.

“It was fun,” I slipped off my shoes and eased into the plush bucket chair by the bay window.

“And?” Devi raised an eyebrow over her wine glass. The tag-teaming Dutta sisters at work.

“Oh, you know,” I replied noncommittally, curling my feet underneath me.

“You’re being coy.”

“No.”

“Leave her be,” James brought the conversation to a decisive end. “You’ve got to let the stories percolate out of her. These things take time.”

“Percolate,” I laughed. Classic James."I love your diction."

“Now, somebody please get Melinda a drink,” he said.

It’s been quite a month. Since I last posted, I’ve gotten to know a few of the sake industry's new generation of brewers, tasted my way through a slew of shinshu, received a crash-course in Austrian wine at the VieVinum festival in Vienna, made some lovely new friends and connected with dear old ones on the continent, had an amazing Michelin-starred experience (twice), joined a book club, discovered my inner Tarahumara (well, kind of), and attempted to make my own butter.

I promise that the stories will percolate out of me in good time. Now, will somebody please get me a drink?

Festive Tokyo

2010-05-20T19:41:00.004+09:00

The foot traffic in and out of Harajuku station was astounding. At several points between the platform and the exit -- a distance of about 200 meters altogether -- I was trapped for minutes at a time in the kind of human gridlock that invariably elicits a sarcastic, clichéd “moo” from someone in the crowd. Outside of the station was more pandemonium. Flocks of teenagers dressed in their lacy, black gothic gear collided with pockets of foreigners in loosely fitting Thai fisherman’s pants, with reggae T-shirts and short-brimmed hats.

It was Sunday, the final day of the Thai Festival.

I’d gone once before, long ago, and it had been of course crowded. But attendance then had not yet reached this level of craziness. I heard someone say that this year was the biggest turnout ever, and I believed it.

My good friend David was in town, and we’d planned to meet up with six others -- a task easier said than done. Somehow, despite the fact that the sheer number of people with cell phones in Yoyogi Park meant that none of us could get a signal, we all managed to find each other.

“I want those fried spring rolls,” I said, pointing to the first sign I saw featuring fried food.

“Oh, already sold out, dayo,” Yoshiko’s face wilted into an expression of comic disappointment, the kind of thing you do to indicate to a child that you’re “sad.”

“Damn,” I cursed. “Is this line actually moving?” The boys had gone off to find beers, and I imagined them blithely sipping Singhas beneath a tree somewhere, while we waited for plates filled with rapidly shrinking possibilities -- chicken, chicken, or chicken.

Eventually, we managed to get our hands on some comestibles: bowls of gooey meat-filled mochi-like dumplings doused with soy sauce and vinegar; crispy chicken wings in a sticky, sweet sauce; grilled chicken with Thai spices; thin rice vermicelli noodles in a piquant red broth; eggplant and mushrooms in a puddle of green coconut curry. If only there had been someplace to sit.

“Well, I haven’t finished reading it yet, but dozo,” Tetsuo handed us each a sheet from his Nikkei newspaper, and down we plopped, right in the middle of a walkway, with our food, sipping Singhas beneath a tree as people walked past us. I felt like a child looking up at adults.

“This festival used to be totally gay,” Tetsuo observed.

David let out a short, staccato guffaw and asked, “How can you tell if a Japanese guy is gay?”

“That’s easy,” he replied. “Short hair, stocky, horizontal striped shirt…You know gacchiri-mucchiri? It means like ‘stocky.’ We say, ‘gacchi-mucchi.’”

I giggled with delight. I love Testuo because he always teaches me the most hilarious Japanese phrases.

“Sometimes, people also say ‘gacchi-pocchi,’ means kind of chubby. But when people say that about themselves,” he turned to me and raised a conspiratorial eyebrow, “they’re fat.”

For the rest of the afternoon, we ate, drank, and made merry. By the end of it, we all agreed that it had been a great time, albeit one that need not be repeated any time soon.

“That was fun,” said Kazu, “but maybe next time we should just go to a Thai restaurant, ne.”

But don’t let my words discourage you. A big food festival in Tokyo is something that everyone should experience at least once. If the rain stops this weekend, I’ll be tempted to check out the Hibiya Oktoberfest in Hibiya Park. Never mind that it’s May. Time means nothing in the face of whimsy, and after a few heady German beers, you’re likely to forget all about it.

You can also head back to Yoyogi Park for the Laos Festival, if you dare.

Fret not, sake fans, the city hasn’t forgotten you. There’s a tasting at the Foreign Correspondent’s Club in Yurakucho on May 23rd, from 4 - 6pm.

Whatever you do, make sure you eat and drink something nice. I know I will.

When Inspiration Doesn't Strike

2010-05-11T07:53:00.007+09:00

This past April, JP was accepted into a graduate program in socio-linguistics. It's a good thing, one of those logical career-building moves that will make him more attractive to potential employers and enable him to transition, if he so chooses, into other industries. The work will be stimulating and provide him with a direction to focus his energy. He will engage in academic discussions with a group of like-minded individuals. There's just one minor glitch: he's still somewhat unsure of what, exactly, socio-linguistics is.

I've heard that such confusion is not entirely uncommon among students in the field of socio-linguistics. Even so, the weight of this fact hit JP with full force last week when he received his first assignment -- a 4000-word paper on the topic of forensic grammar.

"How the hell am I going to write 4000 words about grammar?" he asked suddenly, shaking his head and drooping heavily as he gripped the white plastic safety rings on the train. "What am I going to say?"

"Well," I began, "seeing as you have yet to read any of your course material, there's no way you could know. I believe that the objective is to read the stuff first, and then generate ideas? Once you've actually started the class, it will all become clear."

My words of reassurance had little effect. He seemed stunned.

"Forensic grammar," he muttered blankly.

"Don't worry," I said. "Something will come to you as you go through the course work. Inspiration doesn't just fall from the sky."

I am, of course, a hypocrite.

I'd been sitting at the table for an hour, distractedly tapping my pen and waiting for apercus to appear, like magic (or rather, Godot), on the blank page before me. Nothing. An earthquake in northern Japan sent out tremors that shook the house, and still I sat.

I was supposed to be writing a food essay, a relatively easy assignment, but I'd fallen into a rut the size of the San Andreas Fault. In desperate need of inspiration, I started reading. I re-read stories by David Sedaris and David Rakoff to analyze elements of memoir writing. I picked up old issues of the New Yorker for examples of in-depth reporting. I re-read pieces by Lara Vapnyar to understand narrative arc, and how to build a human story around food.

Then, I started cooking.

Although I abhor waste in the kitchen, I've been a bit slack recently. Odd bits and pieces -- a cucumber here, slices of roast pork there -- had been languishing in the corners of my refrigerator and I took to using them up with zeal. I chopped up sprigs of watercress and a lonely stalk of celery and threw them into a tuna salad. I made a guacamole spread out of half an avocado, some cream cheese and a moribund lime. I fried slivers of garlic with salt-brined, five-spice-rubbed pork left over from dinner a few nights ago and tossed them with pasta, scallions, cilantro, and the last of the Vietnamese pickles I'd made last week. Oinuma-sensei had given us a sizable fresh bamboo shoot, so I boiled it (a time-consuming process that I'll explain later) and coated the slices, along with two grilled eggplants and half a red pepper, in an anchovy and garlic sauce. I roasted an orange pepper and made a quinoa salad with shrimp, avocado, dill, red onion, cucumber and olives. I worked methodically, enjoying the same feeling of satisfaction that a Type A person gets from cleaning out her closet.

As we sat down to dinner with a bottle of fresh and berry-kissed Les Terres du Sud Rose (what else could ever hope to contend with a spread like this?), an idea came to me at last. Funny how great ideas usually come to me after a few glasses of sake or wine.

Inspiration doesn't fall from the sky. It's always around us; you just have to look around to find it. But if all that fails, start drinking.

Prepare Your Palates: Ginjo Shinshu Festival 2010

2010-05-04T10:45:00.003+09:00

Just a quick reminder to everyone out there who's planning to attend the 2010 Ginjo Shinshu Sake Festival: It's just around the corner, scheduled for May 11, and there are exactly 2 days left to purchase advance tickets for Y2000 (Y2500 at the door).

For those unfamiliar with the event, it's one of the biggest sake tastings in Tokyo all year, and it's your best chance to sample the newly released shinshu spring brews.

So start sniffing those flowers and munching those fruits to prepare your palate, and get ready to face a serious crowd, especially at the evening session. The good news is that they do provide spit buckets, but the bad news is that there will be no food to speak of. Plan accordingly.

Starting June 1st, the organizers of the event, the Japan Gijnjo-shu Association, will host a series of special bar nights every weekend until the end of August at the Shimbashi branch of one of my favorite sake spots, Kuri. If these events are like the others I've attended, you'll be given a stamp card to chart your progress as you sip your way across Japan, and after about 20 stamps, you'll get a free drink. Daunting work, for sure, but you mustn't lose heart. I know for a fact that the free drink is an attainable goal.

Apologies for the long silence, but I promise to be back again soon with more tales of sake, wine and mayhem. In the meantime, take a look at my interview with the creators of the wine manga Kami no Shizuku (Les Gouttes de Dieu), or check out a shortlist of my favorite foods on CNNGO.

The Other Side of Kinshicho

2010-04-13T09:20:00.009+09:00

The neighborhood of Kinshicho has a somewhat unsavory reputation. It is perhaps best known for its abundance of “gaijin pubs” (aka seedy hostess bars staffed by foreign entertainers) and the conspicuous off-track betting facilities that flank the Marui department store, both of which attract a certain clientele.

“I wonder if that’s winning sake, or losing sake,” my friend Tetsuo said, pointing to a shady group of older men crowding around a soba stand advertising chuhais for Y160.

It was just after 4:30, and the races had ended for the afternoon.

“It’s hard to tell right now,” he said, and turned around to take another look, “but if I see them in a sushi shop, I know they won.”

“Oh god,” I laughed. “That is so funny and sad.”

“This reminds me of the time we went to see keirin racing,” JP said. “Everyone there looked vaguely homeless, and we saw this one guy reading the betting sheets through two pairs of glasses.”

“Improvised bifocals,” I nodded. “Whatever, you won 10,000 yen that day.”

“Total beginner’s luck. When the guy beside me saw that, he couldn’t take it.”

JP bared his teeth in mock fury and pantomimed the violent shredding of a betting slip. A man holding the racing pages shuffled by and disappeared into a pachinko parlor.

"Winning pachinko, or losing pachinko?" I asked. Tetsuo shrugged.

There’s more, however, to Kinshicho than its sleazy underbelly. The first thing that comes to mind is the fish shop Uotora, where you can buy a tray of small abalone for Y2000 (trust me, this is a bargain) and packs of fresh tuna for Y1000. The biggest attraction for us, though, was the chance to drink sake with our friends Tetsuo and Kazu on their home turf. They’re huge sake fans, and they took us to one of their favorite local watering holes, a tiny robata-yaki izakaya called Kaizoku.

It’s the kind of place that you might hesitate to walk into on your own, but the staff is terrifically friendly and the sake list, which changes monthly, is great. We took a chance on a sake none of us had ever tried before -- Jikon Muroka Nama Genshu from Mie, a robustly fruity Tokubestsu Junmai-shu -- and were not disappointed. You don’t really see lots of sake from Mie on lists in Tokyo, so it was quite a lucky find. My choices were all over the map, geographically: Kikuyoi from Shizuoka (fantastic with crunchy deep-fried nankotsu chicken cartilage karage, which is a thousand times tastier than it sounds), Suigei from Kochi (a natural with the katsuo sashimi), Ouroku and Gassan from Shimane (nice with the kinmedai himono), and Denshu from Aomori (the details get a bit fuzzy at this point). The boys made their way through the rest of the sake menu.

We later discovered that Kinshicho is also home to a pretty sweet jibiru beer bar called Yeast, where they serve Yona Yona Ale on tap. We were seated on mezzanine, where the atmosphere was somewhere between a speakeasy and an underground casino, with low ceilings, red carpet, white vinyl stools and mirrored glass tables. The only thing missing was the gambling, but there are plenty of places on the other side of the tracks for that.

Why Do I Have Spring Fever?

2010-04-07T09:20:00.003+09:00

The last time I attended a really big sake event in Tokyo about six months ago, an older woman, who had clearly had a little too much to drink, stomped on my left foot, through my open-toed sandals. It's always the little old ladies, who seem so innocuous, that are the most ferocious on the tasting floor.

The middle toenail on that foot turned completely black, and remained so for months. Unaccustomed to this particular podiatric phenomenon (I'd heard of black toenails but never thought that I would have one), I started to worry when it didn't go away.

"It's a toenail," JP said, waving away my concerns. "It takes time to grow out."

"But why is it still black?" It was as though I hadn't heard him.

"Stop worrying about it."

Eventually, I did stop worrying about it. Now, it looks pretty normal.

Just in time. It's spring, and the sake tastings are about to begin in earnest. So get your steel-toe boots ready.

April 20: The 2010 Spring Mekikikai will be held from 11-3 at the KKR Hotel in Takebashi. Entry is Y500, and, though the tasting is for industry professionals, regular folk can call to try and reserve a spot.

April 21: Tochigi's New Generation 2010 Tasting at Theater 1010 from 6pm. Tickets are Y3500 and can be purchased on e-plus.

May 9: Garyubai Tasting at the Hoku Topia event space from 1-3. Tickets are Y3500, call 054-366-0839.

May 11: The Big Daddy of spring tastings, the Ginjo Shinshu Festival, will be going on at the Diamond Hall in Yurakucho from 6pm. There's also an afternoon session. Tickets are Y2000 in advance, Y2500 at the door. Call 03-3378-1231 to book.

Happy Tasting!

Tempt Me with Tempura

2010-03-27T11:27:00.005+09:00

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

2010-03-20T08:33:00.007+09:00

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.

--------------------------------------------------

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

2010-03-18T10:47:00.011+09:00

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

2010-03-16T18:21:00.009+09:00

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

2010-03-15T07:26:00.003+09:00

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

2010-03-13T23:13:00.007+09:00

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

2010-03-12T21:18:00.006+09:00

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

2010-03-10T20:54:00.007+09:00

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

2010-03-10T07:46:00.002+09:00

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

2010-03-09T23:23:00.000+09:00

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

2010-03-08T13:32:00.002+09:00

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!

The Soul of Japan through the Drinking Glass

2010-01-27T21:44:00.004+09:00

It happens to the best of us. We go through our days, wrapped up in routines as comfortable as the sweats we used to wear in college. No facet of life is immune to stagnancy, be it work, romance, or drinking habits. Recently, I've noticed myself falling back on the usual suspects, brands that I know well and that are easy to come by -- Dassai, Kagatobi, Urakasumi, Kokuryu, you know the drill.

But it's a new year and I'm feeling the need to shake things up a bit, so I'm looking to some of my wine and sake-loving blogger friends for advice. This week, I hit my buddy Tony with the question, "What do you want to drink more of in 2010?" He's the author of the terrific blog The Soul of Japan (gotta love that name), a history buff with a taste for the finer things, like old school R&B, pie, and -- of course -- sake.

His answer? Arabashiri. But not just any old arabashiri...Head on over there to check it out for yourself.

Many thanks to Tony for humoring me, and for the use of this great photo!

Chichibu Keeps You Coming Back

2010-01-16T19:14:00.006+09:00

When people come to visit me in Japan, it always amazes me how much they travel around.

“We’re going up to Nagano, down to Shikoku, then we plan to hit Hiroshima, Osaka, and Kyoto before heading up to Niigata.”

“Wow, that’s a pretty full itinerary.”

“Yeah, have you ever been to Beppu?”

“Um, no.”

“Hokkaido?”

“I’d really like to someday, but…”

“Okinawa?”

“Uh…”

It’s kind of embarrassing, but in all the time I’ve lived here, I’ve seldom ventured outside of Tokyo’s 23 wards. To be honest, there are even parts of the city I’ve never explored. Part of the problem is sheer laziness, so last year I resolved to get out and see more of the country. It’s an ongoing endeavor but I’ve made some decent progress so far. It started in March with my stint as a kurabito at Daimon Shuzo in Osaka. Since then, research for my sake articles in the Japan Times has taken me to Shizuoka for an interview with Aoshima-san of Kikuyoi, then out to Ibaraki to call on Yamauchi-san of Wataribune. Plus, I’ve been out to Chichibu four times since August.

That’s right, Chichibu.

The first time my friend Hanae mentioned this sleepy little town in Saitama, I thought she was having a sneezing fit.

“I’m having and exhibition in Chichibu,” she said.

“Where?” I crinkled my nose.

“Chichibu!”

“Oh, bless you,” I muttered. “Where?”

After one more Laurel-and-Hardy-esque exchange, it became clear that she was talking about the name of a city. I’d never heard of it, but everyone else seemed to know it. Suddenly, I began to see and hear about Chichibu everywhere; it was like learning a new vocabulary word.

“Yeah, Chichibu. Penelope loved it there, she used to go like once a month…something to do with ceramics.”

“It’s great for hiking, such a wonderful area.”

“Chichibu? People go crazy for that place.”

“It’s famous for the shibazakura. Don’t you know?”

The comments piqued my curiosity and spurred me to check things out for myself. My first visit was in the summer for the Kawase Matsuri, where troops of men carry an elaborate mikoshi on their shoulders into the river. I returned to dig deeper into the mystery that is Chichibu last autumn and again to witness the spectacular Yo Matsuri last month.

Every year, thousands of people descend on Chichibu for Yo Matsuri; they come to see the giant illuminated floats and fireworks displays. Hanae and I arrived on the first day of the festival, for a scaled-back version of the parade enjoyed predominantly by the town’s inhabitants. It was a jubilantly clear afternoon, and, after depositing our bags at Fuu-chan’s, we were treated to some of the most gracious hospitality I’ve ever experienced. At one time, walking into a stranger’s home and receiving food and drink was considered normal, but it’s a custom that’s vanished from most of the developed world. It’s crazy to see that it still exists in a place just an hour outside of Tokyo. From noon onwards, we were invited to toast with cups of sake and offered plates of homemade pickles, savory Japanese crepes, sweet tofu pouches stuffed with rice, and steaming bowls of kenchin-jiru with udon noodles.

The next day, I was on a mission to have lunch at Koike a soba shop I had been dying to try since my first trip to Chichibu. Every other time I’d been there, the restaurant had been closed, but this time I lucked out. We were seated right away, and, after a little deliberation, I settled on the ten-zaru soba. My expectations were high, but Koike did not disappoint. The homemade noodles were firm to the bite and springy, while the tempura -- a medley of fat shiitake mushrooms, tender broccoli florets, slender green beans, bracingly bitter fukinoto butterbur buds, and plump shrimp tails -- was light and delicately crisp. To accompany these tasty fried morsels, I chose a fruity but substantial Junmai Ginjo Genshu from Chichibu Nishiki. The sake had a sweet, melon-pear impact that melted into a round, ricey finish; to my surprise, it paired particularly well with the broccoli. I promised myself that next time I would try the set of three kinds of soba.

We were slightly less lucky with the weather, however. Although the first day had been gorgeous, heavy rain threatened to cancel the whole event. But the people of Chichibu pressed on with astounding determination despite the storm, and we watched nervously as teams of men and women wearing only thin hapi coats maneuvered the lumbering floats around corners and under electrical wires. In the end, the rain lightened up enough to allow us to glimpse some of the magnificent fireworks, but by the time we'd boarded our train back to Tokyo, we were soaked.

"I wish we could have stayed to see the climax of the parade," Hanae sighed.

"Me, too, but it's freezing," I shivered in my seat.

We turned our heads and looked at each other.

"Well, there's always next year."

Barrel Fever

2010-01-09T15:27:00.003+09:00

In late November, I found myself frantically searching for a bottle of barrel-aged taruzake. I checked several stores and was met with the same answer: Try back at the end of December. After failing five times, I managed to get my hands on the last bottle of Doukan Taruzake from Shiga prefecture that had been hiding at the back of the refrigerator in my local sake shop. It had no label because the sake had arrived in a large wooden cask and the staff had bottled it themselves.

“You’re lucky,” said the clerk, an elderly lady with thin wire-rimmed glasses and sly, sleepy eyes. “All the taruzake’s gone by now. You should…”

“I know,” I interrupted. “Try back at the end of December.”

Those familiar with taruzake, the pungent cedar-laced brew that often divides people neatly into love-it-or-hate-it camps, may wonder why I’d gone to all the trouble. Ordinarily, I would never go out of my way for the stuff, but I needed a bottle to serve at a Taste of Culture program on osechi-ryori with Elizabeth Andoh. Osechi-ryori refers to the range of intense and frequently cloying foods -- sticky-sweet black beans, candied fish, chestnuts mashed with sweet potatoes and sugar -- traditionally eaten during the New Year holiday, dishes so heavily seasoned you can keep them unrefrigerated for a week or more. Most sake wouldn’t stand a chance against the flavors of osechi, but taruzake is a force to be reckoned with in its own right. Besides, it’s the thing to drink at New Year’s.

I’m not exactly certain how taruzake came to be associated with New Year’s, but I assume that it has something to do with the religious significance attached to nihonshu since early times, and the fact that the sake used for offerings used to come in wooden barrels. In preparation for o-shogatsu, giant casks full of sake are still delivered to shrines all over Japan and stacked near the entrance in wall-like formation, like speakers at a rock festival. That sake is intended for the gods alone, while mortals can either special-order the sake in small barrels, or pick up a bottle from their local shop.

Back in the day, all sake was taruzake. It had been brewed and later stored in wooden tanks for centuries before the invention of enamel-lined metal. Naturally, the wood imparted a strong aroma and flavor to the sake. As technology progressed and breweries began to switch to stainless steel tanks beginning in 1923, more attention was devoted to creating sake with a more sophisticated flavor. Taruzake is hardly subtle; where other sakes suggest and insinuate, taruzake proclaims. Vociferously.

It’s not that I dislike taruzake. In fact, I think it can be charmingly refreshing if you’re in the right mood, kind of like Retsina with less of a bite. It’s a fun departure from the norm, a taste of nostalgia for a time not our own. It is, however, far less popular than other varieties of sake, which explains why it can be difficult to find at stores after New Year’s (although some old-school izakayas sell it all the time).

On the afternoon of the 1st, JP and I honored tradition and toasted to 2010 with a small bottle of Bukou Masumune Taruzake, a dry but rich honjozo heavily scented with the astringent aroma of fresh pine. As far as taruzake goes, it was pretty good, but I must confess that I much prefer the brewery’s other products. The label reads, “Chichibu jizake (local sake),” and that’s no exaggeration -- over 90% of the sake produced at Bukou Masumune never makes it out of Chichibu, which is unfortunate. Their sake is full-bodied and chewy, with a marvelous depth of flavor. The brewery is located right in the middle of town, and you can sample some of their sakes for free.

If you still haven’t had your New Year’s sip of taruzake, there’s still plenty of time. The bottles are on display everywhere right now, from specialty sake shops to grocery stores. Just make sure you don’t wait til November.

So It's the Week after Christmas, and What Have You Done?

2009-12-31T10:49:00.002+09:00

“Are you absolutely sure?” I asked. “Shouldn’t we talk about it?”

“No, no,” JP said, shaking his head and gently waving his hand, as though brushing sediment from a windowpane. “It’ll be better this way. Trust me.”

“You’re right, everything will be fine…” My voice trailed off, and then I caught myself. “You do realize that we’re talking about taking our laundry to the drier.”

JP clutched his left side and collapsed in a slow, silent wheeze.

“A momentous decision!” I guffawed.

Such was the extent of our holiday-induced laziness. The two days leading up to Christmas -- and the five days after it -- had stretched out in honey-toned languor, a legato adagio of leisurely meals accented by the tinkle of toasting glasses and trills of laughter. Work was routinely and summarily ignored; chores were left flagrantly half-finished.

Though I felt guilty for indulging in that dangerous cocktail of gluttony and sloth, I reminded myself that Christmas and New Year’s only come around once a year and, if you’re lucky enough to be able to celebrate for eight days, there’s no reason not to.

We’ve been doubly lucky. Every day has been a veritable fruit day, starting with a trip to Tsukishima for monjayaki -- gooey, savory pancakes fried on a hot plate at your table. I can’t remember if it was my first or second encounter with monjayaki, but it was certainly the tastiest. I’ll admit that I was wary of the combination of mentaiko fish roe, chewy mochi rice cakes and (of all things) cheese, but it was actually pretty good. From Tsukishima we wandered through Tsukada, the birthplace of the sugary, soy-steeped morsels of fish called Tsukuda-ni that JP loves to eat with plain white rice. On the tenth night of Christmas, we ended up having sweet, creamy Nagasaki oysters on the half-shell with a crisp glass of Fallen Angel Sauvignon Blanc, followed by two decadent glasses of Charles Melton Nine Popes, a voluptuous blend of Shiraz, Grenache, and Mouvedre.

Our Christmas Eve dinner at Gilio was one of the best yet -- a fluffy pillow of fresh Hokkaido crab salad, simple sea bass carpaccio, pasta with eggplant and homemade sausage, a rare filet of venison smothered with oyster mushrooms. Lots of wine. Multiple desserts. You could practically taste the chef’s good mood in every bite.

Christmas was spent opening presents, sipping Clicquot with caviar, and munching on potato chips all day. At night, we had a quiet family dinner at home. I’m not a big fan of turkey, so we made a lean beef tenderloin roast with all quartet of proper sides -- creamed spinach, maple-roasted carrots, black-eyed peas cooked with bacon and anise, and crunchy seared nagaimo (to add a touch of Japanese flavor)-- and washed it all down with a seductively perfumed Lawson’s Dry Hills 2006 Pinot Noir that reminded me of cherry pie and a warm place in front of the fire. Misha celebrated with a surf n’ turf plate of boiled chicken and tuna sashimi.

The festivities continued down in Hayama, where our friends Mark and Miki treated us to a grand British feast. I had more than my fair share of his wickedly rich lemon pie, and the smoky Talisker scotch he brings out on special occasions.

On we roll, like stuffed pork dumplings, toward the New Year and a new decade. The one productive result of so much lazing about has been re-evaluation of my goals. Perhaps to the surprise of several friends and family members, I have a few, among them finally cracking the writing markets I’ve been daydreaming about for the past year. Writing daily and keeping up the blog. I’m also thinking that it’s time to start working toward a higher WSET certificate and visiting more sake breweries.

I hope your holidays have been as delicious, if not as lazy, as mine. Happy New Year to everyone, may 2010 bring you all the best!

Breakfast of Champions

2009-12-11T14:18:00.003+09:00

It was a whimsically warm autumn morning. The sky was the placid blue of a Magritte painting, and the leaves were flecked with rust. Even at 8am, the park near my house was abuzz with activity. A group of senior citizens marched in place and drew giant circles in the air with their hands. School children hunting butterflies wielded their nets unsteadily as they tottered across the grass. Families strolled beneath the trees. I was out for a jog and, as I finished my sixth lap around the field, I heard the unmistakable sound of a beer can being popped open.

In Tokyo, it can be hard to know whether someone is homeless or just badly dressed. This was a familiarly ambiguous situation. Beneath a gazebo sat two older men, similarly clad in sneakers and blue windbreakers, clinking cans of happo-shu.

“Kanpai!” they chuckled, slapping each other on the back.

I noticed that one of them was missing a front tooth.

Trying not to stare, I jogged on and said to myself, “There but for the grace of God…go I.”

The following morning, it happened again. I headed to the park for my run at 7:30 sharp, and there, in the middle of the field, were three college-aged kids on their hands and knees, digging through the grass. They were searching for four-leafed clovers and stopped at intervals to light a cigarette or take a swig from one of the open cans of chu-hai near their bags.

I told JP about it when I got home.

“Oh dear,” he said, “they’ve confused Halloween with St. Patrick’s Day.”

“But don’t you think it’s strange that so many people are drinking in the park? In the morning, I mean?”

JP raised his eyebrows like a librarian and looked at me.

I crossed my left arm in front of my chest and massaged my temples with my right hand. “Good lord,” I sighed, “did somebody snatch my soul and turn me into a prude?”

For some reason, the idea of drinking in the morning just doesn’t have the same appeal that it did when I was, say, nineteen. Sure, I like a mimosa with brunch on the weekends, but I hardly ever hit the sauce before noon (tastings don’t count). Fondly though I recall Decatur Street at dawn and tumbling out of the Dragon’s Den, with its bordello-red walls and ceiling-high gothic mirrors, in a black-and-white vintage mini-dress and crimson Converse hi-tops, with my tattered crew of high school friends intent on locating another round of Bloody Marys; I am more than content to put those days behind me.

That’s not to say that my breakfast choices these days are strictly conventional. I’ve become quite the fan of raw fish in its various incarnations - sushi, sashimi, and donburi - and the best place for this morning treat is without a doubt Tsukiji.

While exploring the Tsukiji Outer Market earlier this fall, a couple of friends and I stumbled upon an attractive little sushi nook called Uogashi Senryo, a hole-in-the-wall hidden behind a dried fish store, where I ordered the special of the day: Kaisen Hitsumabushi. The dish, a kind of chirashizushi, tossed with various morsels of raw fish, topped with creamy uni sea urchin and a scatter of ruby red ikura salmon roe, was too beautiful to resist. The friendly sushi chef informed us that there is a particular way to eat hitsumabushi. Let’s hope I can remember the what’s involved…

1. Mix your wasabi with soy sauce and pour it over the entire dish.
2. Gently mix the rice, and place 1/3 in your bowl.
3. Eat, and then fold the accompanying pickled vegetables into the remaining rice. Mix vigorously, and separate the rice into 2 unequal halves.
4. Eat the large half. Savor each bite, and taunt tablemates who have opted not to order the hitsumabushi.
5. When the sushi chef brings out a pot of hot dashi, pour it over the last portion of your rice and eat it like a soup.

The dish was not only delicious, it was also great fun to eat. I loved the sense of process approaching ritual that goes into consuming it.

As it was still only 10am, I had tea with my hitsumabushi but I couldn’t help thinking that it would have gone nicely with a clean, dry sake like Jozen Mizunogotoshi Junmai Ginjo Hiyaoroshi. This subtle brew from Niigata has solid structure and a lively freshness. Even though I said that I’m off drinking in the AM, perhaps I could be persuaded to bend the rules every now and again, under the right circumstances.

Falling in Love (Again) with Sake

2009-11-30T11:27:00.003+09:00

The weather's been on a crazy emotional roller-coaster ride. We'd had a pretty chilly cold snap a couple of weeks ago. Then, after days of walking around without jackets this week, we've been plunged into frigid temperatures without warning. It's hard to even know what season it is. But despite the somewhat inconvenient bouts of meteorological confusion, autumn is still my favorite time of the year.

Here in Japan, gourmets find much to love during fall – persimmons, mushrooms, and an array of fish are at the height of flavor this season. Sake lovers, too, have reason to rejoice. Traditionally, sake is brewed in the winter and pressed in the spring. While spring’s shinshu, literally “new sake,” has its own particular charms, connoisseurs know that autumn is the time when sake really shines. Shinshu delights with its exuberance and youthful enthusiasm, but it often has a brash, unsettled character. After the sake has had some time to rest – generally six months to a year – the flavors begin to deepen and develop complexity, in much the same way as they do in wine.

A uniquely autumnal treat is hiyaoroshi, a variety of semi-unpasteurized sake that comes out between September and November. Sake is usually pasteurized twice, once after pressing, and once again before shipping. This is done to halt the activity of heat-sensitive enzymes and to kill off microorganisms, which can lead to undesirable flavors and aromas. Pasteurized sake is more stable, with a longer shelf life, and more even-keeled in terms of overall character. Unpasteurized sake, on the other hand, has a bold freshness and brio that holds great appeal for many. Completely unpasteurized sake is called hon-nama or nama-nama. Sake that is pasteurized only once after pressing is called nama-zume, and sake pasteurized only once before shipping is called nama-chozo. Hiyaoroshi – the word comes from the characters for “cool” and “take down”— is fall’s special brand of nama-zume, released just as the temperatures begin to cool down.

The sake is also sometimes referred to as aki-agari. The expression, which derives from the words for autumn and completion, reflects the idea that the sake is “ready” in the fall, after a period of maturation.

This style retains some of the fresh green aromas, zippy acidity, and playful fruit flavors of namazake, but brief exposure to heat lends it more stability and also smoothes out some of the rough edges. Though styles vary from brewery to brewery, hiyaoroshi tends to have a lively crispness that puts one in mind of a brisk autumn morning, or chilly fall evening. Naturally, this kind of sake is best enjoyed with seasonal dishes.

Like all varieties of unpasteurized sake, hiyaoroshi must be stored in the refrigerator to ensure that the potentially damaging enzymes and microorganisms remain dormant. Unpasteurized sake can change very quickly and very drastically. Although drinking sake that has “gone bad” will not harm you physically, you’re likely to find it highly unpleasant.

At one of my sake tastings with Elizabeth Andoh earlier this month, we tried a few different varieties of hiyaoroshi. I'd chosen three that I thought would pair nicely with Elizabeth's autumnal menu of soy and ginger-simmered sea bream shigureni, edible chrysanthemum and persimmon salad, and mixed mushroom pilaf. For the fish, I went with Gozenshu Nine Junmai-shu Hiyaoroshi from Okayama. A crisp and dry sake made from Omachi, it had good breadth and tinges of herbal bitterness that complemented the earthy flavors of the fish. With the piquant-sweet salad, I recommended the Joukigen Junmai Nama Hiyaoroshi from Ishikawa. This sake had a fresh, light impact, good acidity and a well-developed center of umami, and was actually one of my favorites in the line-up. But the most popular sake turned out to be the fruity and refined Yuki no Bosha Junmai Ginjo Hiyaoroshi from Akita. I put this with both the salad and the mushrooms, and it fared nicely with both.

With December only one day away, I suppose that we're nearing the end of fall. But there's still plenty of time to enjoy some tasty hiyaoroshi. In fact, I've got a bottle of Urakasumi Junmai-shu Hiyaoroshi chilling in the fridge as we speak...

Oodles of Noodles

2009-11-20T10:41:00.001+09:00

Like so many revolutions, the rise sanuki udon began with a book. Sanuki udon, Shikoku’s special brand of thick wheat noodles, had long been revered by udon connoisseurs in western Japan, but the release of Osorubeki Sanuki Udon (The Astounding Sanuki Udon) sparked a craze that spread like wildfire across the country. Written by Shikoku Gakuin University professor Tao Kazutoshi, the book provides detailed information on the noodle shops of Kagawa prefecture – no small feat, given that the area boasts over 800 – and has inspired a wave of udon pilgrimages to the area.

Udon noodles are made from a deceptively simple mixture of flour, water, and salt. Thanks to its geography, Shikoku enjoys an abundance of seawater, which was originally used in the recipe. First, warm salt water is slowly drizzled around the perimeter of a mound of flour. After forming a ball with the fingers, the dough is kneaded, and anyone who has tried making udon can confirm that it is a full-body experience. Traditional udon makers use the heels of their feet to stomp the dough, working in a circular motion to ensure an even consistency – I’ve actually done this once and it takes time, say twenty years, to get the hang of it. Next, the dough is rolled out by hand, cut into thin strips, and boiled. The noodles are served either hot or cold, floating in hot broth, or with a dipping sauce, and garnished with sliced scallions and grated ginger.

What makes Sanuki udon special is their texture, both chewy and silky at the same time. Perfectly prepared udon noodles should offer both the firm bite of al dente pasta and the pliant density of mochi, or rice cakes. These characteristics were at first thought to derive from the wheat, which was grown locally until an unusually wet summer in the 1970s wiped out crops across the entire prefecture. These days, the wheat for udon is mostly imported from Australia, and most experts now agree that the particular techniques and recipes used in Shikoku are largely responsible for the appeal of Sanuki udon.

Slick, slurpable, and immensely satisfying, sanuki udon is viewed not as gourmet fare but as hearty fast food. In Shikoku, a bowl can be had for as little as Y100. In Tokyo, soba has traditionally dominated this sphere. Since 2003, however, a number of restaurants specializing in Sanuki udon have cropped up, offering generous portions of handmade noodles and all the fixings for well under Y1000 per person.

At Tokyo Mentsudan in Shinjuku, a line snaking outside the door typically begins forming before noon. One of the first to bring real Kagawa-style udon dining to the capital, the shop makes their noodles fresh daily, while packages of dried noodles can also be purchased to take home. At the front of the shop, you can watch the noodle makers at work, as they roll, cut and cook the udon in huge vats of boiling water. The main dining space is a wide, open room that resembles a summer camp cafeteria. At lunchtime, the pace is hectic and quintessentially Japanese.

A large sign at the entrance explains the procedure in Japanese and English – choose from around a dozen varieties of udon, place your order (sho – small, or dai – large), and then carry your tray to the self-service counter. Oden items, such as simmered daikon radish and fish cake, and an abundance of fried snacks like iwashi (sardine) and nasu (eggplant) tempura are available from Y100 per piece. The fact that they also serve some pretty good sake is another big plus. On a recent visit, I noticed one of my favorite Saitama producers, Shinkame, as well as trusted names like Hatsumago on the list.

Sorry for the long silence, but I’ll be back again soon with a word or two on hiyaoroshi and the seasonal brews I’m digging right now.

Tokyo Mentsudan
Nishi Shinjuku 7-9-15 Daikan Plaza Business Kiyota 1F
5389-1077

Sip Sake at the Source

2009-10-24T16:01:00.006+09:00

The other day, while sipping on a glass of etherial Wataribune Daiginjo at Fuchu Homare Shuzo in Ibaraki prefecture, my good friend Rick remarked, "There's something so special about drinking sake at the place it was made."

I couldn't agree more. A visit to a sake brewery is about more than the sake itself, although that's undoubtedly the biggest incentive for going. If you're lucky enough to go during the brewing season, you'll gain valuable insight into how it's made and see firsthand just how much human labor goes into sake production. Beyond that -- and even more importantly -- you'll get to know the people that bring this good stuff into the world.

Here in Japan, we're lucky to be able to travel to sake breweries with relative ease. I've been to probably a dozen, and even worked at one, but there are hundreds I'd love to check out some day. Physically inhabiting the space where a sake you love comes from is a vastly different experience than reading about it. You get an intimate understanding of the geography of the land and the history of the brewery; you become immersed in the sights, smells, and textures of the place.

I've always thought it was rather a shame that there's no sake tourism industry in Japan. Many breweries are themselves handsome buildings, set in bucolic surroundings, and a trip almost certainly involves sampling some local delicacies.

That's why I was so excited to hear about the new Sake Tours being offered by my good friend Etsuko Nakamura and my sake sensei John Gauntner. Earlier this month, John made this announcement in his October newsletter:

Sake Tourism has begun!

Want to visit sake breweries in Japan? Now you can!

I am pleased to announce the starting of the Sake World Sake Brewery
Tours program. Now, anyone can access the inner workings of the sake
world. Visit Japan, start off with a bit of formal sake education by
yours truly, then you are off to see several sake breweries while
under the care of an experienced sake-savvy interpreter. Events
include sake-centered meals and other cultural sight-seeing options -
and even a bit of free time. This brewing season, there are two tours
planned:

Tour I: February 23 to 27 in the Kansai (Osaka/Kyoto/Kobe) area
Tour II: March 15 to 19 in the San-in (Shimane and Tottori) area

For more information, pricing and reservations please go to
www.saketours.com. Participation is extremely limited this season for
the two tours that are scheduled.

This is a terrific chance for anyone who is interested in taking a hands-on approach to sake education, as well as for foodies looking for a taste of real, regional Japan. So start booking that flight...

And look out for my article featuring Fuchu Homare next week in the Japan Times!

Do Right Woman, Do Wrong Woman

2009-10-14T07:44:00.003+09:00

“You fell asleep chewing,” JP said. The reproach in his voice was evident.

“Arrrrrgghhhhhh!” I screamed into my pillow and kicked my feet. “Ta-monster!”

“You kept asking,” he giggled, “how I was going to develop my menu.”

I curled up like a slug that had been sprinkled with salt and retreated further into my covers.

I’d had, to put it politely, one too many. As the realization dawned on me, I prayed that this wouldn’t turn into one of the seven deadly hangovers.

The problem, as I saw it, was my friends. Tamami (the scorpion), Sugita and Vivi were notorious for their super-human drinking powers. To make matters worse, we were going to Gilio, and Chef-san is no teetotaler. I’d met the crew for lunch at 12:30. Six bottles of wine and a few glasses of grappa later, I somehow managed to stumble home.

“Oh, god,” I slurred, reaching for my water, “I have to pick up trash tomorrow.”

Just my luck to wind up in such a state the day before the Fujisawa Beach Cleanup.

My friend Alana had told me about the event earlier this summer, and it was all for a very good cause. She and her husband Michel are the founders of Soleil Provence, a French language and cultural center on the beach in Kugenuma. Working with the Japan Environmental Action Network, they had decided to host an event inspired by International Coast Day that would raise awareness about marine debris. The volunteers would comb the beach for garbage, which would then be sorted and counted. The purpose of the project is to collect data that will go toward an assessment of coastal debris across the globe. Their first fundraiser in July was a big success, and they plan to do it again every year, twice a year.

I wanted to do good, I really did. But part of me was hoping for a typhoon.

On Sunday morning, the sun was shining, and the skies were blue. Mercifully, I awoke hangover-free and made my way down to Shonan, where I caught up with my environmentally conscious friend the Shroz. The turnout was great -- over 100 people -- and we took to the beach with gloves and plastic bags.

At first glance, the shore seemed relatively clean. There were few salient items, but a closer look revealed tiny bits of plastic, broken glass and hundreds of cigarette butts. JEAN estimates that 25 percent of the coastal debris in Japan is comprised of cigarette filters. One of the main things they’re trying to monitor for, however, is the presence of industrial plastic. These minuscule particles are virtually indistinguishable from grains of sand, but they're highly toxic.

Although we were only out there for 30 minutes, we collected enough trash to cover a small blue tarp. According to JEAN’s calculations, that amounts to roughly 42 kg of trash.

They say that a good deed is its own reward, but Soleil Provence went a step further and set out a fantastic spread of goodies for all of the volunteers -- goats cheese-stuffed pastries, sweet onion tartlets, olives and croissants. To sweeten the deal even more, Vranken Japan generously brought bottles of bubbly, along with some very drinkable Pink Flamingo rose and red.

There’s no better way to spend a sunny afternoon than nibbling away at meat pies filled with lomo and sipping a cool glass of Heidseick-Monopole Rose Champagne. This rose is always delicious -- a playful berry-laden number with citrusy crispness -- and it tasted even better after a morning of civic duty. I'd been bad, it's true, but in the end I did pretty good.

Three Cheers for Sake Day

2009-10-02T10:08:00.007+09:00

I giggled, I snickered and even cringed just a little at first, but yesterday's Sake Walk was a big success and a lot of fun. I'd been running late and, when I arrived at Mizutanibashi Park, I was surprised to find a band of people, right fists raised, carrying bright yellow and red banners emblazoned with the words, "October 1st is Nihonshu no Hi." Everyone wore matching yellow singlets bearing the same phrase. I was confused. The scene was reminiscent of a political -- namely, communist -- demonstration, and I was still not sure if I'd come to the right place when the police escorts started to move the parade along.

"Everyone, form four lines!"

We were officially on our way. A few moments later, someone ran up to me and handed me a bib, which I accidentally put on backwards.

"Your sign is inside-out," the man beside me pointed out.

"Ah, yes," I stammered, "it is. Thank you."

And then the chanting began.

"Jyugatsu tsuitachi ha, nihonshu no hi desu!"

October 1st is Sake Day!

"Nihonshu de, kampai shimashou!"

Let's celebrate with sake!

"Ruuru wo mamotte, nihonshu wo tanoshimimashou!"

Only the Japanese could come up with a slogan as stirring as this: Let's enjoy sake by drinking responsibly and observing the rules! That is so classic.

But seriously, there was a very good turnout and a lot of enthusiasm. The after party and tasting organized by Wajowaraku Sake Academy at the Shinmaru Building was terrific. After greetings from legendary sake book author Jiro Shinoda, all the participants toasted with brews from Kamoshibito Kuheiji, Hitakami, and Nambu Bijin. The tasting was small and featured top producers like Jyuyondai, Gorin and Denshu. There were also snacks of horse sashimi and namerou (a spicy dish of horse meat minced with miso and herbs), addictively delicious cucumber pickles and other fresh veggies. All for free.

From now until October 12th, the restaurants on the seventh floor of the Shinmaru Building will doing a special sake "happy hour" promotion in the evenings from 6:00. It's a terrific deal - a flight of three sakes for Y500.

If you want to get more serious about tasting, this is the month to do it. There are events going on nearly every day. Here are a couple to whet your palate.

Pop into the National Azabu Supermarket this weekend for a little free tasting at the Nara and Jizake Fair.

For only Y500, you can taste a ton of sake at the Saitama Sake Tasting on the 6th. Just watch out for the drunken older men.

One of my favorites every year is the Shimane Sake Tasting on the 12th.

On the 13th, there's a small fall tasting from 12:00-4:00 at the KKR Hotel in Takebashi (11F). Not really sure what it's about, but at Y500, I can risk checking it out.

There are many, many more. Head on over to Tokyofoodcast for listings and don't forget - ruuru wo mamotte, nihonshu wo tanoshimimashou!

Two Rooms Keeps It Stylishly Simple

2009-09-27T12:04:00.008+09:00

“If you had a restaurant, what would you name it?” JP asked, giving his wine a swift, professional-looking swirl.

“That’s a tough question.” I shook the clams in my pan and sprinkled them with salt before turning around to face him.

“Not for any particular reason, but I think Olga and Peter is a pretty good name.”

“You’d name your high-end restaurant after your parents?”

“Lots of high-end places are people’s names.” He clutched his glass defensively and curled his torso in on itself like a rolly polly.

“Yes, but usually just one name, like only Olga or only Peter. Anyway, there’s already a Peter,” I turned back to my clams.

“Okay, what’s your idea, then?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I kind of like Koi,” I replied, chewing thoughtfully on a strand of linguine. “It sounds crisp.”

“Hmm, people might expect Japanese food.”

“True. But it also sounds vaguely African, no?”

“I think simple is best. Salt. Beige. Two Rooms.” He stood up to pour another glass of wine, signaling an end to our conversation with dad-like decisiveness.

When I first heard of Two Rooms, I was skeptical. The name sounded uninspired, even a bit silly. It indicated the layout but little else, and I feared that the restaurant would be blandly trendy.

The designers certainly deserve props. The space is fabulously open, with wrap-around views of the city. The smart interior, done in black, white and dark wood, gives off the kind of contemporary, cosmopolitan vibe you might expect at one of Tokyo’s many design-conscious hotels. That’s not surprising, considering that the management team comes from the New York Grill and the Oak Door.

Adjacent to the main dining area is the bar, which houses an impressive 1800-bottle wine collection. But the ornament on the hood of this architectural Cadillac is the cocktail terrace, a wooden deck that extends artfully over a mirror-flat pond of water. It’s stylishly outfitted with boxy, boat-sized rattan sofas and matching tables - patio luxe for the 21st century jet set. If ever there was a proper context for passion fruit mojitos, this is it.

The food’s not shabby, either. The chef makes clever use of fresh domestic meat, fish and produce. The market lunch sets are a good value, and JP and I were both torn between the fish and the pork. Being married becomes a great advantage when confronted with two delicious-sounding options. Naturally, we went with one of each -- plus a couple of oysters on the half-shell.

JP’s appetizer of poached Sanriku scallops, topped with a salsa of Hokkaido corn and shallots over hummus was eye-openingly tasty. I would never have thought of putting those things together, but the smokiness of the hummus highlighted the natural sweetness of the corn and scallops nicely.

Although I’d been looking forward to the soft-boiled Datte eggs with truffle salt and Inca potatoes, the dish lacked overall impact. The potatoes, also boiled, provided the composition with little textural variation. Everything had a similar mushy consistency. I would like to have seen the potatoes made into crunchy latkes for some contrast.

My main dish of suzuki sea bass, served with creamy Meridith goat cheese, tomato puree, thinly shaved strips of fennel and black olive pesto; was artfully presented. The inventive combination of goat cheese, tomato and fennel harmonized well with the delicate fish. The olive pesto, however, was entirely unnecessary. It dominated the flavors, casting an aggressive piquancy over the entire dish. It also obliterated our wine, a steely and poised Tenuta Mount Nelson Marlborough ’07 Sauvignon Blanc.

JP had no complaints about his char-grilled Yamayuri pork with yuzu-kosho sour cream, which came with a juicy sliced zucchini and generous slabs of bacon. Generally speaking, I’m kind of opposed to the idea of bacon and pork on the same plate (unless we’re talking sausage), but this worked. The dish was simultaneously decadent and simple. I enjoyed it enough to steal the idea for our aborted dinner party.

The service was competent and professional, if a tad slow. Although the dining room was only half full, we waited for several minutes before receiving our menus, and my wine glass stood empty a few times (a big no-no). Our oyster starters took their time leaving the kitchen, but the pace picked up mid-meal.

Did I like it? Yes. Did I love it? No. Would I come back? You bet. The terrace beckons, and, while I’ve never been much of a raspberry martini girl, I’d be willing to give it a try.

Sake Walk with Me

2009-09-21T10:32:00.004+09:00

If you're old enough to catch that reference to Twin Peaks, you're definitely old enough to drink, and that makes you eligible to sign up for the upcoming Sake Walk in Ginza! October 1st is Nihonshu no Hi, and, to celebrate, sake fans in Tokyo will be taking to the streets. Etsuko of Tokyofoodcast is organizing a sake meetup around the event.

Now, I've walked 10k to raise money for AIDS research, 12k to support breast cancer awareness, and for sake, I'm willing to go the distance: a whopping 2 kilometers! Come on, you have to love this. Hardly a walk-a-thon but that's just how we sake fans roll - or more precisely - stumble. Even if you don't feel like doing the walk, you can still come out for the free (yes, free!) sake tasting at the Marunouchi House afterward. See details below and contact Etsuko to join the party.

Announcing a new Meetup for The Tokyo Sake Meetup Group!

Sake-no-hi or October 1 is just around the corner. It's the day to appreciate nihonshu. So, hope everyone have a glass or two.

There's a organized walk through the heart of Ginza to raise the awareness and promote the special day. If you can spear a few hours in the afternoon, please join the group for the walk.

I will be at the walk on that day and plan to stop by at Marunouchi for another event. If you can join the walk, please contact me by 9/24. The organizer has get a permit for the event from police.

Event: Nihonshu-no-hi Walk in Ginza
Date: October 1, 2009 Thursday
Time: 1:30 pm registration
2:00 pm -3:00 pm event starts in Ginza
Route: The group will walk about 2 km from Ginza to Hibiya Park
Organized by: Wajowaraku, association of sake brewers and shops, with sake enthusiasts in Tokyo
RSVP by: 9/24 to Et-chan

If you are in the Marunouchi/Ginza area on sake-no-hi, please stop by at the sake promotional event at Marunouchi House on the 7th floor of Shinmarunouchi Bldg.
Event: Sake Park
Time: 4 pm - 10 pm
Location: Marunouchi House (www.marunouchi-house.com) at Shinmarunouchi Bldg.
What: Enjoy sake by participating in the tasting quiz, trying different temperature and paring with food.
Fee: Free

Guess Who's Not Coming to Dinner

2009-09-13T11:53:00.003+09:00

I can say with some confidence that I’m a good hostess. 12-person dinners were a common occurrence at every place I lived in San Francisco, and it still surprises me that so many people came to the sushi parties I threw in that dump on Divisadero. The bathroom alone should have been enough to scare them off, and even I wouldn’t have trusted myself to prepare raw fish in that kitchen. Luckily, no stomachs were harmed.

Once, when I’d announced that I’d be making a vat of red beans and rice, 20 people showed up. Being Chinese-American, I’m usually hyper-cautious when it comes to making sure that people have enough to eat, but this had caught me unawares. Even after scraping the bottom of the pot, I didn’t have enough for the last guest. I had no choice but to offer him my half-eaten plate of beans, which, unbelievably, he accepted. That was the first and only time a person has literally taken the food from my mouth, but I took it in stride and did what any self-respecting hostess would do: I just poured myself another glass of wine, raided the fridge and started making smoked salmon and cheese crostini.

Hosting dinner parties has always come naturally for me, but it’s not easy for everyone. I have attended parties where I’ve been asked, upon arrival, to prepare whole dishes. I have watched a male host offer my husband a beer but leave my glass empty. I have waited three hours for food, without being given a single thing to nibble on or a drink to nurse. I have strained to make conversation in a cold and silent room. I have been poisoned.

To throw a successful party, you don’t have to be a great cook or have fancy digs. What you do need, however, is preparation.

We’d planned to have dinner with Oskari and Saya on Saturday, and because coordinating the schedules of four busy people in Tokyo can be a trick, we’d set this date back in August. I was smack in the middle of two hectic weeks so wanted to do as much ahead of time as possible. By Friday night, we’d bought all the food, made the soupe au pistou, blitzed the anchovy dressing, and had pork shoulder marinating in brine. Saturday morning was spent giving our apartment a much-needed cleaning, before I ran out to pick up a bottle of Les Hauts de Poupille Rose. Beers were chilling in the fridge, vegetables were on the grill, and I was whipping together a dip of avocado, blue cheese and fromage frais, when JP called out from the other room.

“I think you’re getting a text,” he said.

I glanced at my cell phone. “It’s the Finn,” I chuckled. “No!”

“What?”

“Oskari’s got the flu and can’t make it!”

“You’re kidding me. It’s like 3:00.” We stared at each other in disbelief. I looked at all the food on the table and shook my head.

“Well,” I shrugged, “I know him and he’s not a flake. He was probably just being optimistic this morning.”

“True, it’s better for him to stay home, especially if he has swine flu,” JP nodded.

“Nobody said anything about swine flu. Why would you curse him like that?”

“Well, we made all this food…” JP started. “But you’re right, we’d be furious if he made us sick.”

“Plus, we really needed to clean the house.”

“Now we can have a quiet dinner alone. And be lazy. Wanna beer?”

“Why not?” I smiled. This was not such a bad thing after all.

We spent the rest of the afternoon drinking and watching episodes of Hell’s Kitchen (my secret vice) in our pajamas. Dinner was laughably large. After a bowl of vegetable soup with home made pesto, we moved on to a salad of grilled mushrooms, peppers, eggplant and zucchini tossed with a bright anchovy-lemon dressing and feta. Both of these dishes fared very well with the Rose; it was forthrightly cheerful with fresh strawberry and raspberry flavors, pomegranate acidity and a touch of sweetness.

We were both nearing fullness, but we couldn’t neglect our roast pork with spicy yuzu-kosho sour cream (an idea I’d filched from Two Rooms) and green beans with crispy pancetta. Again, the wine was a star, and the sweetness offset the bite of the yuzu-kosho nicely.

JP raised his glass, “To Oskari’s health.”

“May he recover soon,” I added.

“And to a tasty dinner at home alone.”

Sorry, no pix this time - guess you'll all just have to come over for dinner sometime.

Off to See a Guy about Some Sake

2009-09-08T21:43:00.005+09:00

Robert-Gilles will probably kill me, but I missed the big Shizuoka sake tasting on Sunday. Very bummed about that but I was otherwise engaged (and sadly a bit hungover but that is another story).

But for anyone who can make it, the Yamada Nishiki Summit (yes, that's right) is going down tomorrow.

Lots of stuff is coming up in October, including (forgive my laziness) the Kanto Jizake Tasting:

第十回関東地区龍力を楽しむ会

日時　　１０月７日(水)　１７時～
会場　　グランドアーク半蔵門　　
会費　　１２０００円
問　合　　㈱本田商店内　龍力を楽しむ会
担当　久原・岡本
079-273-0151

A big SSI event on 10/8 at the Hotel Metropolitan Edmont for Y5500 per person.

And one of my favorite tastings of the year, the fall ginjoshu event.

If you can't make it to any of these, don't fret none. There are plenty of places to get the goods. And at some of them you can even sip before you buy.

This, incidentally, is a special shout-out to the sake friends in town this month who have asked me for shop info. Enjoy and have a great trip!

Where's that chokko?

Hasegawa Sakaten

This stylish sake enclave in Omotesando Hills features a small standing bar where patrons can taste brews on the weekly changing menu starting at Y300 per 50ml glass. Their friendly and knowledgeable staff will help you pick the perfect bottle, and some staff members can assist you in English. The newest location, in the basement of Tokyo Station’s Gransta shopping area, is a great place to wait for that next shinkansen bullet train – they even have bar stools.

Jingumae 4-12-14, Omotesando Hills 3F
5785-0833

Fukumitsuya

The interior of Fukumitsuya more closely resembles a gallery than a sake store, but the shop represents a brewery in Kanazawa that dates back to 1625. Everything, from the sake bottles to the delicate glassware, is attractively displayed and tastefully backlit. A bar runs along the left side of the shop, where you can order sizable pours from Y600 off the English menu.

Ginza 5-5-8
3569-2291

Meishu Center

At the other end of chic in Hamamatsucho, the tasting bar here provides a terrific chance for sake buffs to nerd out. What the Meishi Center lacks in style, it more than makes up for in the quality and breadth of sake available. They will even set up a blind tasting for you. No English spoken.

Hamamatsucho 2-3
5405-4441

Suzuki Mikawa Sake

This little shop in Akasaka features a nice selection of sake from several producers representing the new generation of young brewers. Most of the bottles are available for informal tasting – the staff will give you a small plastic cup and leave you to it. English service is limited.

Shinkawaya

A hidden gem in Gaienmae, this place has everything you would want in a local shop – great sake, good prices, and helpful, laid-back service. They hold tasting events every season, so check with the staff for details.

Jingumae 2-4-1
3401-4462

Cool Neighborhood Joints

Sakaya Kurihara

Feast your eyes on the excellent selection at this small shop in Hiroo. You’ll even be able to read the shelf-talkers – most include brief explanations in English.

Moto-Azabu 3-6-7
3408-5378

Mitsuya

The folks at Mitsuya have crammed their tiny shop full of great sake from all over the country. Once a month, you can join their benkyoukai tasting events, which feature a different brewery each time (in Japanese only). Ask the staff for more information.

Nishi-Ogikubo Minami 2-28-15
3334-7447

Aji no Machidaya

This cool and quirky shop boasts and impressive collection of one-cup sakes, in addition to the amazing variety available in 720ml and 1.8L bottles.

Kamitakada 1-49-12
3389-4551

Iseyuu

An incongruously hip shop in down-to-earth Saginomiya, Iseyuu features a small but well-chosen selection with some interesting and hard-to-find brews.

Saginomiya 3-35-3
3330-0434

August Means One Thing

2009-08-27T14:26:00.005+09:00

Praise the lord, Tokyoites have had a reprieve. The last few days have been nothing short of miraculous, and we’ve been relishing the warm afternoons and deliciously cool nights. Before this, the weather had been typical of August in Japan: utterly miserable. In the face of merciless sun and cruel, cruel humidity, I want nothing more than to wilt under our inefficient air conditioner, but the Japanese have a different slant on what I think of as the meanest month of the year. Just as the temperatures climb to 40 and the humidity reaches 90%, the J’s take to the outdoors with their charcoal grills.

Don’t get me wrong. I love a good barbeque, I really do. And Japanese barbeques are a lot of fun, once you get over the feeling that you might faint. First, you start with a sinful amount of meat – beef, pork, sausages, and possibly some innards. Then, you throw in a little something from the sea, commonly squid plus some shellfish. By this point, you’ve stuffed yourself silly and are approaching remorse, but the barbeque isn’t over until you’ve had yakisoba. All Japanese barbeques, without exception, end this way. Naturally, you compare your party’s yakisoba to that of those around you. Some people go to great lengths to turn out fancy versions with homemade sauce and an array of colorful ingredients, while others are just amateurs working from frozen packages.

However, the single defining characteristic of a Japanese barbeque is the unbearable heat. On an appropriately hot day a couple of weeks ago, we joined our friends Eguchi-san and Ai-Young for a day trip to Akigawa and Hossawa Falls, about and hour and a half outside of central Tokyo. We took our place among the revelers crowded along the rocky riverbed and fired up the grill. Eguchi-san had brought the salt and pepper, and with these simple seasonings, we cooked up some surprisingly tasty treats – pork liver, chicken kidneys, slices of beef, pork belly and squid – and finished on a high note.

“Our yakisoba looks way better than theirs.” JP pointed to a group of young, red-faced guys beside us.

“They have no idea what they’re doing.” I shook my head. “Ours is awesome.”

Eguchi watched as the boys dumped a pile of limp noodles over humorously large chunks of meat. “Sad,” he said, turning back to the griddle.

We’d brought wine, but our grilled goodies would have been better with some sake, in particular solidly flavored brews like Wakatake Onikoroshi Junmai Ginjo and Sawanoi Kioke. The folks as Sake Social had sent me these to sample, but alas I drank them before the barbeque. The Onikoroshi has wonderful depth and umami richness coupled with acidity that gives it impressive flexibility. It can dance with what Beau Timkin calls the United Nations of flavors and feelings that accompanies outdoor summer dining. This Junmai Ginjo has an incredible balance that can stand up to the entire flavor spectrum that comes out of the picnic basket. The Sawanoi Kioke is a smoky taruzake with serious complexity that pairs well with deep, rich flavors but also drinks great on its own. This is what I’ll reach for the next time I have yakisoba.

After our riverside feast, we were sunburned and sticky with sweat, but the walk up to Hossawa Falls revived us. The path was lush with greenery, the air on the mountain soft and cool. It was just what we needed…a spot of respite before the next barbeque.

When Dealing with a Whole Watermelon

2009-08-19T10:46:00.003+09:00

I’d never thought of a watermelon as a formidable foe before but, as they say, there’s a first time for everything. The truth is that I’d never had to cut one up myself. Even though I grew up eating watermelon in Louisiana, the dirty work had always been done by someone else: namely my mother. Later that job fell to an anonymous entity at my local supermarket, while I spent the summers munching merrily on fat, pink slices that came wrapped in cling film. It’s funny how, once you become an adult, you realize all the simple things you never learned to do, like deboning a chicken or hemming pants.

After a lovely barbeque at the Oinumas’ peaceful countryside home in Kanagawa, they sent us home with a bushel of eggplants, a bag of tomatoes, handfuls of okra, and a surprisingly heavy watermelon – all grown on the fields surrounding their handsome Showa-era estate. Back at my apartment in Tokyo, I contemplated the fruit’s smooth, striped surface as it sat on the kitchen counter. The melon was perfectly round, with a stem curling out of the top like a wayward tuft of hair, and bore a striking resemblance to Oinuma-sensei himself. It looked so vulnerable, and the weight of the cleaver disconcerted me slightly.

Wincing, I plunged the knife into the center, and the melon split open. It happened suddenly, and I hadn’t anticipated the force with which the two halves would break apart. One side rolled off of the counter and landed on the floor with a juicy splat. I shrieked and Misha looked at me accusingly.

“Murderer,” he whispered.

“Misha, please,” I retorted. “It wasn’t my fault.”

He continued following me with his eyes.

I salvaged what I could and scooped the shattered melon flesh into the trash. My attention then turned to the next challenge: the seeds. When celebrity chefs use watermelon in recipes, they always seem to have immaculate, seedless varieties on hand. In nature, however, these don’t really exist. After what seemed like an extraordinarily long time, I managed to remove most of the hard bits, but I began to suspect that organic watermelons actually contained a higher ratio of seed to flesh.

By the time JP returned, I was still picking away at the little black flecks.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“I had an accident.”

“What happened?” He raised his eyebrows.

“I dropped half of the watermelon,” I confessed.

“My clean floor!” he wailed, cupping his face with both hands like the boy from Home Alone.

I sighed and continued picking.

Half an hour later, the salad was ready. The combination of sweet watermelon, salty feta cheese, piquant red onion, and lime juice felt supremely refreshing at the end of another miserably hot day. The arugula added a kick of zesty bitterness. This simple salad is a fine match for a light sake like Yuki no Bosha Junmai Ginjo, an easy-drinking brew that offers generous fruit and bright flavors overlaying a structure of firm acidity. Sake Social was kind enough to send me a bottle, along with pairing suggestions by sake samurai Beau Timkin. Beau recommends the Yuki no Bosha with fresh fruit, salads, cheeses and gentle cold pastas. I’ve always found his advice to be spot-on, and this was no exception.

In theory, this meal requires about ten minutes of preparation time. I reckon it took me over an hour, given that I had to clean the mess off the floor. Still, it was well worth the effort and I’ve learned a thing or two – when dealing with a whole watermelon, act swiftly and give it a wide berth.

The Organic Sake Challenge

2009-08-06T16:33:00.004+09:00

Well, my friends, it’s been a while but I’m back. Although I’ve taken a little break from blogging, I’ve been managing to keep myself busy by commenting obsessively on my friend Karin’s awesome site Smythologies. I’ve always said that Karin was my smartest friend, and if you check out her blog, you’ll understand why.

A recent piece I wrote for the Japan Times about sake made with organic rice has engendered a fair amount of discussion. Several people have sent emails asking about the flavor of these kinder, gentler, more environmentally friendly brews and whether or not you can taste the difference. On this point, the experts are divided. My sake sensei, John Gauntner, says no, and some producers of organic sake, such as Takasawa-san of Kikusui, concur. Aoshima-san at Kikuyoi and Niida-san at Kinpou, however, both insist that organic rice yields sake that is more complex, with greater depth and strength of character. While I’m reluctant to generalize, I have to say that – in the case of sake made by these two producers, at least – I have to agree.

As part of my research, I traveled down to Shizuoka to interview Aoshima-san and was treated to a horizontal tasting. I sampled this year’s organic Kikuyoi Matsushita-mai Junmai Ginjo and Junmai Daigingo alongside their non-organic counterparts. It’s significant to note that these sakes were the same in every respect – the same Yamada Nishiki rice strain, milled to the same percentage – apart from the fact that the Matushita line was organic. It was truly surprising. In all honesty, I hadn’t expected to notice a difference, but there it was – a subtly modulated grace coupled with attractive sturdiness. Take a look at my notes:

Matsushita-mai Junmai Daiginjo – Heady tropical fruits on the nose, touch of pineapple, echoed on the palate. Very dry throughout with a clean finish. Exhibits a kind of determination.

Kikuyoi Junmai Daiginjo – Quieter nose, sharper focus. Sophisticated but stronger sense of alcohol.

Matsushita-mai Ginjo – Very fruity, almost candy-like nose, green flavors on the palate, followed by bitter notes. Full body, with tight acidity running through the center. Dry finish.

Kikuyoi Junmai Ginjo – Light and fruity, sweet-ish impact but dry overall, with a soft, mild bitterness at the finish. Quite smooth.

Aoshima-san compares the difference between organic and non-organic sake to that of a kid raised in the country versus a child from the city. The country boy grows up to be strong and healthy, if lacking at times in manners; on the other hand, the city-slicker, though sophisticated and refined, ends up being a little weak. Though the organic sakes take a bit of extra time to settle down, they tend to keep better and last longer.

I have to emphasize that this is the only time I’ve done a side-by-side comparison, so I can’t say that the same holds true for all sake. I’m not sure if there is a non-organic version of the Tamagawa Kouno Tori Kimoto, but the organic one is pretty provocative stuff. It’s full on and hits - as opposed to falls on, or flows over - your tongue with bone-dry, masculine force. All of the Odayaka, Shizenshu, and Tamura sake I’ve tried from Kinpou has been organic, so I have no way of knowing if they’re better or worse than their non-organic stuff. What I do know is that their Odayaka Tokubetsu Junmai-shu is one of my all-time favorites. Super-mellow and finely textured, with a gentle sweetness coloring a dry, ricey background, it’s a brew you can find me drinking all year round (as long as I can find it – my local often sells out). In fact, both JP and I like Odayaka so much that we went to Fukushima a couple of years ago to make sake at Kinpou with Etsuko and Ted.

While I doubt that I’ll necessarily go out of my way to buy organic, munouyaku, or shizen sake, I suspect that I won’t really have to: more of these products seems to be popping up every year. Funnily enough, I’m also discovering that some of the sakes I like already fit the bill. Who knew that Hououbiden Wakamizu Junmai Ginjo Muroka Nama was organic? Life’s just full of little surprises.

Love's Labors Found

2009-07-14T16:59:00.005+09:00

When I was a child, I delighted in writing poetry. As a matter of fact, I was fairly prolific between the ages of 12 and 17. My poems were short, unrhymed, and – as is generally the case with adolescent poetry – sometimes embarrassingly emotive. I took my cues from Cummings, Pound and Williams, with a bit of Morrisey thrown in for maudlin measure. They were my first lessons in complex language, a way to get my teeth around words and explore their evocative contours. Poetry is a form of inner dialogue made public that allows you to compress time and inhabit wicked thoughts.

I shared these little compositions with everyone – friends, teachers, pen pals; I entered competitions and published in school journals. I was careful, however, to keep them from my parents, who labored to unearth autobiographical subtext in each line.

“What does this mean?” they'd ask, clearly worried.

“Nothing, it’s just an image.”

“Why were you standing so close to a fire? I don't want you going to any parties where there are fires.”

“I’m not standing by any fire. The character is standing by the fire.”

“Where was this party? Was Devi there, too? Does Mrs. Dutta know about this?”

Silent consternation.

I was too young to understand postmodernist theory so couldn’t counter with the death of the author and “I” as a construct. Even if I had, it probably wouldn’t have stopped them from saying things like, “Why can’t you write something happy?” to which I would respond with my usual roll of the eyes.

When you are 15, there are many, many things you do not wish to discuss with your parents. Your personal writing is definitely in the top 5.

My fledgling career as a poet ended long ago, some time between college and adulthood, but a story about modern love poems on NPR inspired me to give it another go.

A Sensible Conclusion

I’m just pragmatic about these things
And I am
But I’d be lying if I said
I didn’t miss you
Sometimes
These things don’t work out
You know
It’s not you
Really, it’s me
This is stupid
Let’s be friends again and laugh
Just like old times
For old times’ sake
Let’s raise our glasses
I’m so glad for you
I’m so glad for me
But I’d be lying if I said
It was easy
Being with you
Was cautious madness
Heady confusion
Like loss
Or maybe something like love
I’ll have another Jameson on the rocks
Make that a double
But still
We must be pragmatic about these things
And we are.

I was pleased with the result, although it did confirm that penning cheerful verses is not one of my great talents. Love is a fickle, messy topic, and that’s probably why I write about wine and sake instead. They fill your glass with goodness and don’t leave you feeling sad when they’re gone. The relationships are far less equivocal.

This thought occurred to me as I sipped on one of my new favorite summer whites, Sattlerhof Steirische Klassik ’07 Sauvignon Blanc from Austria.

While I hesitate to use the word “love,” I have discovered a fondness for Austrian wines recently. Sorry, Claire. These light and easy-drinking gems are helping me survive this painfully hot summer. The Sattlerhof was pert and refreshing, brimming with aromas of grapefruit, passion fruit, and verbena. Striking a fine balance between the (at times) aggressively fruity pep of New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc and the austerity of white Bordeaux, it had bracing acidity that softened toward the finish and a lovely resonance.

We drank this with a dish of tender squid, green beans, and broccoli sautéed with garlic, parsley, and a splash of white wine. As I’d expected, the pairing was fantastic, harmonious and uncomplicated, the way that love should be but usually isn’t.

Uncovering Sake's Hidden Stories

2009-07-07T17:56:00.004+09:00

I like secrets as much as, if not slightly more than, the next guy, so it didn’t take much convincing to get me to read John Gauntner’s new e-book, Sake’s Hidden Stories. Although it wasn’t the juicy, tell-all memoir I hope he’ll pen one day, this collection of essays offers a glimpse of a world that is closed to most of us, particularly non-speakers of Japanese. It tells stories of strong wills, iconoclasts, and errant sons who return home to carry on the work of generations. In our fast-paced modern society, where individualism reigns supreme, the words honor, duty, and tradition seem like anachronistic concepts; yet, these are the very forces that have kept the sake industry alive.

Part of what attracted me, and my fellow nihon-shu bloggers Tim, Etsuko, and Robert-Gilles; to sake was the spirit and enthusiasm of the folks who make it. However, much of the sake literature out there – at least in English – focuses mainly on the products themselves. It’s refreshing to finally find a book that introduces the people behind the brand. A sake insider for more than a decade, Mr. Gauntner is the perfect man for the job. He takes us with him up the gravelly roads and through the cool, dark rooms of centuries-old buildings. Some of the anecdotes describe his first meetings with the brewery owners and staff, and readers feel his surprise and, in many cases, awe.

After meeting the former president of Tairin Brewery in Gifu, Gauntner asks how he was able to control the milling of the rice, which was done at that time on a primitive machine.

The older gentleman answered very simply and humbly, "Well, I listen to it." You listen to it? Huh?

He walked over to one end of the small machine and lifted up – of all things – a stethoscope that hung neatly over a pipe. "Well, Yeah. I use this, and I listen to it. I have been doing this in this way for so many years that I can easily tell by the sound of the rice spinning inside how much has been milled away."

Amazing. Most modern seimaiki are automated so the operator has to do nothing, just put in the rice, set the controls, and wait. But for decades this gentleman has been listening to the sound of the rice as it rolled around inside the cylindrical drum, and by using only his senses, polished with years of experience, he can be so accurate that they could make the fine sake Tairin is known for. By using a stethoscope. Simply wild.

The book contains a fair amount of technical information, and, although the first section is devoted to sake basics, true novices may find it difficult to take everything in. The author was a former engineer and his fascination with machinery is evident. For those with a firm foundation of sake knowledge, however, the book is a terrific resource providing in-depth details of production.

Still, everyone can relate to he characters themselves (and, in the sake world, there are plenty of them). When he meets the purple-track-suit-wearing Nakao-san, president and toji of Tsuyu Masamune in Osaka, Gauntner wonders how he learned to make sake.

"Ah, but that's another long story," he begins, raising his teacup as if toasting the idea for emphasis. He sets it down on the low table between us before continuing. "You see, I never wanted to be in this business. Originally I was not going to take over the brewery here. I wanted to be a phys ed instructor."

That’s not the only surprise the kuramoto has in store for him.

In another departure from precedent, Nakao-san has begun to hold the occasional rap concert inside his brewery for the local community rap fans. "It's kind of tight, but we have barely enough space. The band is down there, people dance up there, on that platform, just in front of the tanks. It's kinda cool, actually.

These kinds of delightful details make Sake’s Hidden Stories a lot of fun to read, and you’ll definitely feel like an insider by the end of the book. In fact, you may end up itching to take to the sake road yourself. I certainly did!

Back on that Horse

2009-07-05T07:59:00.005+09:00

Well, friends, I gave it a shot but didn't manage to land the Murphy Goode dream job. Drat. Can't win 'em all. But thanks thanks thanks to everyone out there who showed their support! My video got hundreds of votes, and I really felt the love.

Sorry I've been so quiet recently. Between the mad scramble to get my application in to Murphy Goode and some new projects at work, I just haven't been able to keep up. I even forgot to celebrate my blog's 3rd birthday. Can you believe it? How times flies. We made a belated toast with a glass of Ducastaing Armagnac given to us by our favorite Italian chef for JP's birthday. Please note the diverting bottle.

I should mention that, once you get over the hilarity of pouring a drink from a condom-shaped baby bottle (talk about Freudian overtones), the Armagnac is quite good. Very grapey and rich.

Ain't none of us gettin' any younger, but at least we can make an ironic return to childhood.

Cheers and check back soon for more adventures in sake and wine!

Wish Me Goode Luck

2009-06-20T22:52:00.003+09:00

Hello.

This is not an impersonal, shameless plea for attention or anything like that. Certainly, you know that I would never stoop to abject begging. But if you happen to have 60 spare seconds and an ounce of love in your heart, you'll watch my video application for A Really Goode Job and vote for me! Please!

Thanks so much to all the folks who've sent well wishes and good vibes via email. Your support is much appreciated!

For Murphy Goode-ness Sake

2009-06-18T12:08:00.005+09:00

I’ve been harboring a secret ambition. Crazy as it seems, I’ve decided to apply for the Murphy-Goode dream job. Yes, there are thousands of applicants. No, I do not possess magical brainwashing powers. Be that as it may, I feel particularly qualified for this position, and I’m just going to go for it.

It all started a few weeks ago when my good friend Devi sent me an email about the campaign. I didn’t take it seriously, but she urged me to apply. The more I talked to people about it, the more it seemed like a possibility. The only catch was the one-minute video prerequisite. I had no ideas, and standing in front of the camera listing my job experience seemed irrepressibly dull. What could I do to demonstrate my credentials and allow my personality to come through at the same time?

“I think you should show yourself making sake. That would make you stand out.”

“Um, how about images surrounding sake? Sakadama, o-choko, stuff like that. I mean, everyone will be drinking wine in theirs.”

“You could interview yourself, ask yourself the questions you think they’d want to know. You could even dress us in different outfits!”

------------------------
“They told you to do what?” JP asked.

“Oh, you know, it’d be like Formidable Opponent, and one of me would be wearing glasses or something like that.” I grimaced. That approach might work for Stephen Colbert, but it’s not my style.

JP made two circles with his fingers and placed them over his eyes, like a child pretending to be Batman. He turned toward me and did his best impersonation of Tim Russert. “So, Melinda, tell me why we should give you this job.”

I did the same thing with my hands and answered in a high, warbly voice, “I…like…wine. Now give me the money.”

“Only one of us is supposed to wear the glasses!” JP said, hands still covering his eyes.

“Oh right,” I giggled. It was too funny.
------------------------

At that point, I was close to giving up. Then, I got another email from Devi with an idea, the crux of which hinged on me drinking wine in a public restroom.

“It’s okay because it’s wine! Not hooch or Mad Dog!” she enthused.

The idea was hilarious, although a tad unseemly for this situation. There had to be another way to be another way of conveying my sense of humor that didn’t involve a toilet.

That afternoon, I had a flash of inspiration, but I still needed help. So I did what I do best: I harnessed the creative powers of my friends and convinced them to work all day for free. The whole thing came together in a few days, and we were ready to roll.

Conditions were against us. We had little time and space to work, and God himself seemed to disapprove. The afternoon sun was obliterated by a fierce thunderstorm that robbed us of natural light. Still, we pushed through and got it done - with the help of 3 bottles of wine and some sake. My “cast” and “crew” were amazing.

Now, there’s no turning back. I’ve just submitted my application, and I need your support. Please vote for me and, if you like the video, spread the word!

A million thanks to Adam Bishop, Hanae Tanaka, Tamami Sasaki, Minako Okamoto, JP and Misha!

New Zealand Wines Take Tokyo by Storm

2009-06-09T11:37:00.009+09:00

Here in Japan, New Zealand wine has become synonymous with vivacious, fruit-driven Sauvignon Blanc. As such, I’d expected to see armies of these wines at last week’s New Zealand wine fair. They were there, all right, standing at full, crisp attention, but I was pleasantly surprised to find, scattered among the troops, a large number of wines made from Pinot Gris and other varieties. After talking to winery representatives, I learned that more and more producers are expanding their portfolios beyond the ubiquitous Sauvignon Blanc grape.

Around the world, Pinot Gris still enjoys less popularity than Pinot Grigio, its lighter, more acidic Italian incarnation. We don’t come across it that often in Tokyo, although I suspect it would be received quite favorably here. The dominant style in New Zealand is smooth-textured and off-dry, with a neat thread of acidity running throughout. I have to confess that, after sampling around 20 very pungent Sauvignon
Blancs from Marlborough – all with intense, vibrant grapefruit on the nose and passion fruit on the palate laced with searing acidity – I was grateful to encounter some of that soothing Pinot Gris.

Riesling and Gewurztraminer also made strong showings. Many of the Rieslings demonstrated abundant floral aromas and bold white grape (think Welch’s) and Muscat flavors. The Gewurztraminers brimmed with roses and spice, but I was pleased to note that several seemed actually quite drinkable, being neither overly sweet nor flabby.

There were lots of great whites, far too many to list, but here are a few of the ones that grabbed my attention.

Misha’s Vineyard “The Gallery” Gewurztraminer ’08 – delicate floral aromas followed by rose petals and a trace of mineral on the palate, full impact but light texture with good balance and a slightly sweet finish. Gentle.

Anthem Pinot Gris Central Otago ’07 – smooth, with just a touch of honey sweetness. Mannerly, but in a good way.

Waimea Pinot Gris ’08 – hints of pear, nice body, with a rolling sweetness toward the finish.

Peregrine Pinot Gris Central Otago ’08 – striking pear flavors backed by refreshing acidity. Light and lovely.

Tinpot Hut Pinot Gris Marlborough ’08 – subtle, with hints of apple, pear, and baked treats.

Staete Landt Sauvignon Blanc Marlborough ’07 – smoky, Poully-Fume-esque mineral undertones, with nice balance.

Pegasus Bay Sauvignon Blanc/Semillion Waipara ’08 – intriguing, musky and earthy aromas give way to bright fruit and lively acidity. Pleasant weight and mouthfeel.

Of course, it would be unfair not to mention the red wines. Lush Pinot Noir is one of New Zealand’s great gifts to the world, but I also discovered some outstanding Cabernet blends and Syrahs.

Ata Rangi Pinot Noir Marlborough ’06 – sprightly, almost spritzy impact with firm acidity and light body. Noticeable tannins and a touch of leather in the finish. Serious but far from fusty.

Schubert Block B Pinot Noir Wairarapa ’07 – fruity and round, but surprisingly dry with supple structure.

Gladstone Pinot Noir Wairarapa ’06 – Fruit-forward and fleshy with soft tannins and good acidity.

Misha’s Vineyard “The Audition” Pinot Noir ’07 – unfiltered, playful and fruity, with new oak nuance, exotic scents of sandalwood and spice.

Temata Coleraine Cabernet Sauvignon/Merlot Hawke’s Bay ’06 and ’07 – both really delicious, the Cab-based one tastes like Christmas, while the Merlot-based one shows terrific hints of cedar.

Man O’War Syrah Waiheke Island ’08 – one of my favorites all day, the kind of wine you’d kiss on the first date. Solid tannic bones with lots of muscle and smoky depth. A touch of Viognier gives it that extra-special something. It’s mighty-mighty.

The turnout at this event was fantastic. I had a lot of fun, although evidently not as much as the woman beside me at the Jeroboam booth.

“Subarashii!” she squealed, pointing to a bottle of Craggy Range Pinot Noir.

She was flushed and her eyes bounced excitedly behind her glasses.

“Are you with the press?” she asked.

“Um, sort of,” I smiled.

“Which of these do you like?”

“This one’s not bad,” I nodded in the direction of Dog Point.

“Sure, but this one is…is…” she shook her head and waved her hands, “subarashii!”

“Oh, yes,” I smiled, holding out my glass for a taste, “I’ve had that before and it’s very nice.”

The rep eyed me warily and poured a miserly centimeter of wine into my glass.

“But I’m not drunk!” I wanted to protest. “I don’t even know that lady!”

Instead, I moved on. Moments later, at the Clos Henri booth, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“Kore mo subarashii!”

That was my cue to leave. But I’ll be looking forward to sampling more great New Zealand wines next year!

I've Eaten Here: Les Creations de Narisawa

2009-06-02T11:45:00.002+09:00

When Gordon Ramsay delivers this line on Kitchen Nightmares, it's invariably shouted - at full, angry volume - in order to excoriate restaurateurs for the sanitary conditions in their kitchens. But I'm appropriating this phrase for the opposite reason, to indicate that I am very happy to have dined at this restaurant.

This is, or so I hope, the first installment of a series of reports on my experiences with haute cuisine in Tokyo. And what better place to start than Les Creations de Narisawa, the only restaurant in Japan to make it onto the San Pellegrino list of top 50 restaurants in the world?

While you're at it, take a sneaky peek at my decadent meal at A Ta Gueule. If you're not drooling by the end of the article, I haven't done my job properly.

If you're in Tokyo and would like to receive a free glass of Hennessy Fine Champagne VSOP Cognac, print out this coupon and take it straight to the Riedel Wine Boutique in Aoyama!

I Surivived the Nagano Sake Messe!

2009-05-26T09:13:00.003+09:00

The Nagano Sake Messe is one of my favorite tasting events every year, although it can also be the most taxing. Between the 600 sake and the seemingly thousands of tasters, it’s a bit of sensory overload. Still, I always have a great time. One of the most striking things is how friendly and approachable the Nagano brewers are.

Entrance to the event costs a mere Y2000, but with the downloadable coupon, you only have to pay Y1500. This year, though, there was another special discount that allowed people dressed in traditional Japanese gear to get in for Y1000. I’d thought it was a novel idea, but I didn’t really expect to see anyone go through with it. However, a surprising number of people - both men and women – turned out in yukata or kimono.

“You should do that next year,” JP suggested.

“Oh, no. I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“It would diminish my credibility.”

Laughter.

“Well,” I crossed my arms tightly across my chest. “It’s difficult to spit in a kimono, at any rate.”

There was a lot of good sake this year. Because I’d managed to stay for roughly hours, I was able to taste a fair amount of it. At this tasting, too, I thought the sake was lighter overall. There were prominent herbaceous notes and noticeable astringency in much of the Miyama Nishiki sake that I tried (last year, I picked up on more bitter notes and the sake had a softer quality). I also saw more sake made with Hitogokochi.

There are really too many good ones to list, but here are just a few of the sakes that I enjoyed.

Sakunohana Junmai Ginjo Nama Natsu-gentei – full, rounded impact, smooth but light texture. Made with yeast #18.

Takashige Karakuchi Nama Genshu Aged Yamahai. - What can I say? This was so up my alley, a real mouthful, with chewy sweetness and an oily texture.

Takashige Miyamanishiki Kimoto – Whoops, didn’t note the grade, but this baby was super-rich, packed with generous butterscotch flavors.

Mizuo Junmai Ginjo – peppery, woodsy, with bitter notes in the finish. Nice and dry.

Kawanakajima Maruboshi Mai Miyama Nishiki Ginjo – This had good range. It was dry overall, but with a bright, acidic attack (and I must use the word attack here) and juicy bubble-fruit (don’t ask) on the palate, with soft bitterness in the finish.

I was also really impressed by several products from Matsuo.

Matsuo White Label Junmai-shu had a quiet nose and billowing umami, with hints of salted banana taffy on the palate. The Shinanodaichi Tokubetsu Junmai-shu was rich and savory, with mellow flavors of bamboo. The Matsubotan Junmai Daiginjo was packed with sweet-edged umami richness that ended in a clean finish. I also tried it slightly warmed, and it was terrific. All of these were made with 100% Miyama Nishiki and aged in the bottle.

You’ll have to excuse me. For some inexplicable reason, I’m in a Pollyanna-Sunshine good mood today. Will be back with more biting sarcasm next week, but til then, happy drinking!

Shinshu on my Mind

2009-05-19T07:24:00.004+09:00

What a week! I've been plodding through a steady stream of deadlines this month, and my brain is constantly churning. I feel like I've hardly had a moment to relax. Such is the plight of modern life, especially if you live in a big city like Tokyo and have an internet connection.

Moreover, I've finally succumbed to Twitter, which has opened up new and exciting avenues for procrastination.

That said, I'd promised to let you know some of my top picks from last week's Shinshu festival, so here goes.

Denshu Kononishi Junmai Daiginjo - a wine-like, fragrant bouquet followed by chewy lactic notes and firm acidity on the palate. I could see this pairing well with a number of dishes.

Nambu Bijin Miyama Nishiki Junmai Ginjo - lively, with flavors of red licorice and a touch of mineral gravitas in the finish.

Kariho Junmai Ginjo - made with yeast #15, really juicy impact and light texture with smoky, ricey flavors.

Eikofuji Junmai Ginjo Shinken - grainy texture, but dry and clean, with some soft bitter noted in the finish.

Kudoki Jozu Junmai Daiginjo Super - made with Kairyo Shinko rice, smooth, rolling, soft and complex, very fruity. True to Kudoki Jozu's style.

Dewazakura Yukimanman Daiginjo Daikoshu - aged five years, this daiginjo was round and deep, with well-integrated bitteress in the background. The closest sake can come to being avuncular.

Suehiro Gensai Daiginjo - Solid impact, richly layered midpalate and a surprisingly sweet finish.

Suehiro Mai Daiginjo - made with kyonohana rice, good depth, mellow with a touch of honey. I heard this sake is a perennial favorite among the ladies, and I can see why. Actually, I really liked the entire Suehiro line-up this year. The president told me that their Ken Daiginjo was served at a Grammy afterparty.

Azuma Rikishi also caught my attention, and I quite liked their Jumai Daiginjo Nakadori Muroka Nama Genshu. Made with gohyakumangoku rice, it had a generous midpalate with hints of marshmallow surrounding a fruity center, but it still managed to be dry overall. Their aged Uroko was also great, very broad and complex.

Yukidoke Junmai Ginjo aged Genshu was juicy juicy and very likable.

Homare Kirin Junmai Daiginjo Choutanrei - as expected, dry as a bone, but with a toasted rice flavors imparting richness.

Taiyozakuri Daiginjo - really surprising, a complex mix of tropical fruits on the nose; peppermint, fruit, and ricey notes on the palate; and light, dry texture followed by a soft finish.

Fukucho Junmai Daiginjo Nakagumi Yamada Nishiki - an opening salvo of fruity exuberance. Melon, Japanese pear, and hints of stone fruits laced with smoky nuance and a mild sweetness.

Tenzan Hotarugawa Daiginjo - elegant and complex, with a smooth, light texture and nice depth.

If I'd had the chance to get through all of the sake that day, I'm sure this list would be longer. Now that that's out of the way, though, I can turn my attention to the Nagano sake messe today - with 600 sakes to sample, I'll need every ounce of concentration I can muster.

On another note, my new sake friend Greg took leave of us to make his life as a kurabito up in Nagano. It's such a bold move. Then again, I suppose it won't be a huge leap from microbiology. Best of luck, Greg!

Sake, Por Favor

2009-05-13T12:51:00.003+09:00

Sake education is on the rise, with fans talking nihonshu from Boston to Beijing. Now, there's a new voice to add to the discussion, and it has a Castilian accent. Our Spanish-speaking friends can read all about sake basics, history, production, and tasting techniques in a recently published book called Sake by Antonio Campins Chaler. Muy bueno!

In the Thick of It: Spring Sake Tastings

2009-05-12T16:32:00.005+09:00

You really start to wonder what the day has in store for you when the only seat left on the train is between two people sniffling and wearing white masks. On the one hand, you’re happy to have a place to sit, on the other, you’d rather not catch swine flu. But if you’re feeling unwell yourself and have a long ride ahead, you just have to go for it and pray that they have allergies.

I always feel stupid waking up with a hangover, but yesterday I cursed myself with particular ferocity. I’d had the Shinshu Festival marked on my calendar for at least a month and had been looking forward to sampling the spring releases from the 60-odd breweries in the Ginjo Kyoukai, including a number of contest gold-medalists. It’s one of the busiest tastings of the year, and, to get through it, you must be prepared mentally as well as physically.

I was not in good shape. You would think I'd have learned my lesson after attending 2 distributor tastings on an empty stomach last month - no fun. That time, I’d gone with John Gauntner and basically ended up eating his dust for four hours. The man's hard enough to keep up with when you're in tip-top tasting condition.

As I contemplated the task before me, a dull ache settled in my temples. I am, however, a professional – at least that’s what I keep telling myself – and eventually mustered up the courage to face the hundreds of sakes I knew would be waiting for me. Realizing that there was no way I’d be able to get though it all, I quickly assessed the room and made note of the most crowded booths:

Denshu (so popular that they ran out of their tobin within the first 45 minutes! I didn’t even get to try it.)
Mansaku no Hana
Tenju (wildly popular among the, erm, senior contingent at the event)
Kudoki Jozu
Suehiro
Azuma Rikushi
Yukidoke (at the other extreme, popular with the younger people at the tasting)
Kirin
Chiyomusubi
Fukucho

I split my attention between breweries I was already fairly familiar with and breweries I didn’t know well, but decided to hold off on the sake from producers I’d sampled recently.

As expected, I only managed to cover a little more than half of the booths in the allotted two hours, but the sake was good. Overall, I noticed a great deal of emphasis on rice varieties and their unique characteristics. Many strains were local, highly area-specific, and the brewers were taking the time to point that fact out. The weight and texture of most of the sake was lighter and more subtle than a couple of years ago, and I encountered fewer full-on fruit bombs.

One happy surprise was that there seemed to be more young people at the tasting. Another surprise was that someone actually stopped me to ask which sakes I’d liked best – and took notes. I was genuinely taken aback. Never mind that I'd spent most of the time wandering the tasting floor like a wraith, muttering, “Keep it together, keep it together” like an angry mantra; somehow, I fooled one person.

Check back soon to see my top picks! For those of you who don't already know, the huge Nagano Sake Messe is happening on May 19th. Download the coupon o their website for a Y500 discount, and get there as early as humanly possible.

Green Thumbs Up

2009-05-06T08:06:00.002+09:00

It’s Golden Week in Japan, and I’ve been tending my garden. When I say “garden,” I really mean “window box and four pots on the balcony,” and by “tending,” I mean “watering.” Even so, my little plant fam is thriving, save one sad cilantro experiment. Blessed with the gene that enables me to appreciate the idiosyncratic aroma of fresh coriander, I am a huge fan. A couple of months ago, JP and I decided to try growing our own, and the results amazed us. Within a few weeks, our cilantro was robust and flourishing, with sturdy purple stalks and an abundance of lush green leaves that we harvested a couple of times. Last week, however, our bushy plant began withering away. The leaves had turned yellow and a spidery, translucent film covered the soil. Because I know next to nothing about plants and am too lazy to search on the internet, I emailed my friend Mark, who sent me this terrific advice. I swear the man should have his own column – Dear Abby for gardening tyros.

Hi Melinda,

Glad to be of horticultural assistance. The translucent film sounds
like slug or snail trails. The first thing is to look underneath the
pot for the buggers. Another possibility is over-watering. If the soil
is always very damp, the plant will go yellow and the roots will rot.
How much sun does it get? It is good to get the soil warm and dry for
one day - but not too dry or it will just die! Actually, cilantro is
very hard to grow, and only lasts a month or two as a mature plant.
Has it seeded yet? After it seeds, it will die.

So now you start to see the real wonder of the food on our plate. 7
billion people all being kept alive by the most delicate of ecological
interactions. And what do they say? The world has two weeks of food in
reserve?

Anyway, at this time of the year, coriander grows very fast, so I'd
just start again!

Who knew? I’d always thought of cilantro as a hardy weed - a survivor - and I’d taken the flowers as a sign of health. At any rate, I’m keen to begin afresh and am preparing the soil for a second planting. In the meantime, my arugula is coming along rather nicely. Soon, some of its succulent leaves will find their way into a salad bowl.

Naturally, when I look at my herb garden, my mind runs through possible pairing options. Both cilantro and arugula can be tricky, but there are at least a few good matches out there.

My first recommendation is Montes Cherub Rose of Syrah. This medium-bodied, deep ruby rose has plenty of personality to stand up to strong flavors. The wine has great balance, just the right amount of acidity, sweetness, and charm to make it versatile. We loved it the other night with salmon stir-fried with yellow peppers, black mushrooms, and handfuls of fresh coriander. I could also imagine it pairing with the white asparagus topped with grilled haloumi and arugula salad that we had at Cujorl a couple of months ago.

As the weather warms up, I find myself cruising the white wine aisles more often and more seriously. Come August, there won’t be a bottle of red in the house, but I’ll probably stock up on Gatao Vinho Verde. With its low alcohol content, razor-sharp acidity, and gentle effervescence, it really helps cool you off. Cevice loaded with cilantro is a natural companion. This food-friendly wine gives you lots of leeway, though - shrimp salad and arugula canapés; soba noodles tossed with fresh herbs and a soy-sesame oil dressing; tuna salad with apples, olives, and herbs; salt-cod fritters on a bed of arugula.

On a side note, I’m starting to think that any Portuguese wine can work with cilantro, particularly when combined with orange (and meat). Last week, we had pork and bean stew, infused with orange and covered with cilantro, and it was magic with reds from both Alentejo and Dao. One I remember is the Esporao Alentejo Reserva 2005. This wine is full-bodied and smooth, with generous dark berry fruit at the fore and unique flavors of smoky wood, sandalwood, and – although this sounds unflattering – sawdust coming through on the palate.

If you’re pairing with light dishes in particular, you can’t go wrong with sake. Masumi’s Junmai Ginjo Arabashiri is lovely this year, full of character. The somewhat quiet nose is followed by a sweet impact wrapped in acidity – it reminded me a little of Smarties – and a soft, slightly bitter finish. It has light body and a touch of that fresh, arabashiri zing. One thing that makes this sake interesting is the wave-like, reaching quality it has on the midpalate; it’s a feeling of incipience, like the flavors are just emerging and waiting for you to seek them out. I can think of lots of things to go with this - Vietnamese rice paper rolls, cold somen noodles with cucumbers and fresh herbs, prosciutto and arugula salad dressed with lemon, to name of few.

Good luck to any other budding gardeners out there. If you start thinking of alcohol the next time you water your plants, I will feel certain that I’ve done my job.

Going to Meet the Michelin Man

2009-04-27T13:54:00.003+09:00

Coolly charming and impeccably styled, Jean-Luc Naret cut a dashing figure in his crisp, black suit and white shirt. He looked, as my friend Yuchin would say, expensive, but sartorial perfection is probably mandatory for the director of the Michelin guides. I, on the other hand, looked like a slob. Sneaker-shod, bearing a disconcerting resemblance to Whoopi Goldberg in a loose knit dress and leggings, I began to worry that the days spent working at home in my pajamas had warped my sense of style.

I’d been asked to interview him about the upcoming Kyoto/Osaka guide for the Japan Times. Mr. Naret has the habit of smiling at the end of his sentences, though this did little to put me at ease. Throughout our 30-minute chat, I remained nervous, much more concerned about my sweaty hands (a cruel scourge that has plagued me since childhood – I still wince at the memory of piano recitals) than the assignment I’d been given. Even so, that didn’t stop me from shamelessly angling for a job.

“How…” I began, questioning the appropriateness of the words to follow, “does one go about becoming a Michelin inspector?”

The director raised one eyebrow imperceptibly. “Well, obviously, we don’t advertise,” he said. “We’re looking for people who are passionate about food with an eye for detail. We get a lot of writers.”

“I’m a writer!” I stopped myself from saying.

“We never take people who have been working as food critics or chefs,” he continued.

“I’m not a food critic, I just write about bars!” I muffled the interjection.

Mr. Naret, who had been sitting perfectly still for 20 minutes, shifted slightly in his seat, as though afflicted by mild gastric discomfort.

“A new way of getting the right people is usually to get people as sommeliers, who’ve already been trained in other countries, who’ve already got the palate and can identify the different textures and flavors.”

I nodded, far too enthusiastically. Mr. Naret shifted again.

“What we do is take them to lunch, and at the end of the lunch, we ask them to tell us their experience in two pages,” he said.

“I could do that!” I shouted with my eyes, leaning forward in my seat like the annoying kid who knows all the answers in class.

Mr. Naret was gracious not to acknowledge my hidden agenda by laughing in my face. It was, to be fair, frankly ridiculous. But for a moment, I wondered if it might not be too late for me to change professions. We all need dreams, don’t we?

What's in a Stereotype?

2009-04-22T10:45:00.002+09:00

Say what you will about Nobuyuki Matsuhisa. Lauded by fans as the man who brought Japanese cuisine to the rest of the world and reviled by detractors as a sell-out, he's a divisive figure among foodies. But he must be doing something right - his fusion-fueled empire now spans 11 countries. Ironically, the one place where Nobu isn’t so hot is his native Japan. I thought of this as I watched him give his presentation during the Tokyo Taste food summit.

Clearly nervous and sweating profusely, Nobu demonstrated some of his signature dishes : “new style” sashimi, fish in wasabi-butter sauce, sashimi salad. Like fellow expatriate Tetsuya Wakuda, he mumbled something about being more used to giving these kinds of presentations in English. I felt for him, even more so when the woman who’d volunteered to sample his food started picking at it.

“What do you think of the new style sashimi?” he asked.

“Oh, it’s very delicious,” she tried hard to sound enthusiastic, “but…cilantro….is…difficult for me.”

I wanted to throw her off the stage.

Later, though, I couldn’t help feeling a twinge of annoyance when Nobu explained that he uses a lot of soy sauce, wasabi, and garlic because foreign people really like those strong flavors.

“Now you’re painting with a broad brush,” I huffed to myself. “As though foreign palates are so dull they can only discern aggressive flavors, like we’re all Australian Shiraz and chili, all the time.” I crossed and uncrossed my legs irritably.

Still, as he swirled a knob of butter and garlic in his pan with a mixture of wasabi, soy sauce, and dashi, I couldn’t resist the aroma. It was narcotic, and it made me hate the lady on the stage even more.

The memory of this experience inspired me to recreate the sauce at home the other night. I used it with salmon, and the result was delicious. JP and I enjoyed this little experiment with a bottle of Taninoi Yuki no Tage namazake that my adorable friend Rachel smuggled out of Niigata.

Taninoi is a tiny brewery, and the conservative kuramoto refuses to export his sake – even outside of the prefecture! His logic is that other people won’t fully appreciate it, so it’s not worth the cost and bother of advertising and shipping. I should also note here that the president also doesn’t allow women in the brewery. Even in the famously old-fashioned sake world, this is pretty rare.

Although I can’t say that I agree with the kuramoto’s views, I can tell you that the sake is lovely. Bursting with fresh aromas of anise and fruit that hint at sweetness, the sake is really clean and finishes without a trace of stickiness. It’s a high-alcohol number, so we each added an ice cube to our cups, which made it much lighter and milder on impact. After a few days, though, it mellowed out beautifully and became smooth and supple, a terrific match for the fennel and crispy proscuitto salad we had last night.

I hope that Taninoi’s president changes his mind and starts spreading some of his sake around. Mine is one unsophisticated foreign palate that likes it very much.

Cause Celebre

2009-04-10T10:08:00.003+09:00

I would never describe myself as the star-struck type. Celebrities fail to arouse in me the pulse-quickening excitement and stupefying awe that they do in other people. Only once in my life have I ever requested an autograph, from Alan Ginsberg shortly before his death, and I don’t even have it anymore: when I asked him to sign something for me, he asked if he could sign my stomach. The ink has since faded.

Having said that, though, I have to confess that I nearly choked upon hearing that David Sedaris had spent three months in Japan while working on his book, When You Are Engulfed in Flames.

“Why didn’t he call me?” I wondered. Lost for a moment in delusion, I was genuinely puzzled.

Of course, I have no reason to assume that David Sedaris would know who the hell I am, much less get in touch with me, but I couldn’t help feeling hurt. For some inexplicable reason, I have a strong attachment to this particular author. After all, haven’t people been comparing my writing style to his for years? So what if those people were just my friends from Berkeley. When I learned that someone had been calling himself the David Sedaris of wine writing, I was livid; that was a role I’d tacitly claimed as my own long ago.

I’d probably been sulking over the Sedaris snub for days by the time I caught up with my friend Sophie for a drink at Kuri. When we met in front of the Sony Plaza, she turned to me and said, “Did you know that David Sedaris was here working on his book?”

“Yeah, I’d heard that,” I answered, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Don’t tell anyone, but when I found out, I thought, ‘Oh, what a shame, we could have gone for a drink!’” Her eyes grew wide, and she made an exaggerated gesture, like someone taking a stab at a trivia question. “Can you believe it? I actually thought that!”

“Oh girl, I thought the same thing,” I said, putting my hand on her arm. I was relieved. Not only had we both been affected by the Sedaris fantasy, Sophie had gone one step further and imagined him calling her for a drink. This opened up new possibilities to obsess over. On our way to the bar, all I could think of was where to take him.

“Well, surely, he’d like to try sake,” I thought, “So I could bring him here, too, and set up a tasting for him.”

As soon as the thought occurred to me, a shadow of doubt crossed my mind. If we were at a sake bar, I’d probably geek out and bore him stiff. No, no, better to stick with wine.

“Okay, New York Bar might be good,” I deliberated, considering the Lost in Translation reference. Would he find that clichéd? “If he’s a real connoisseur, perhaps I should take him to Elevage.”

But Elevage is so quiet, and I wasn’t even sure if he drank wine. I knew he liked champagne, but…

“Ah! He likes Scotch!” I remembered. “We can go to Helmsdale!”

Not entirely satisfied with my new choice, I decided that someplace kitschy might appeal to his quirky sense of aesthetics.

“Piano Bar in Nonbei Yokocho? How about Tomorrow in Golden Gai?”

Once we sat down, though, I came back to reality. Sophie and I immediately ordered two tasting flights and launched into a juicy gossip session. By the time we’d clinked glasses for the sixth time, I’d come to terms with the fact that I’d probably never sit in this bar with David Sedaris, and that was fine. It would likely end up being an hour of painful small talk, or turn into an interview about his career.

“Who needs David Sedaris,” I slurred.

“What?” Sophie giggled.

“Oh, nothing,” I mumbled, “Cheers, honey.”

Blossoms Dearie

2009-04-07T10:12:00.005+09:00

For a few brief days every spring, people of all ages, across all economic brackets, turn out in droves to revel under the cherry trees. For reasons buried deep in the Japanese psyche, the fleeting appearance of the cherry blossoms carries tremendous cultural significance. O-hanami, or cherry blossom viewing, represents both the celebration and mourning of beauty’s transience, concepts that run closely parallel to the drink-fuelled merriment and subsequent hangovers that tend to accompany these parties.

For those of us in Tokyo, precious little time remains to catch the blossoms at their poignant best, just at the petals begin to blanket the ground. The sakura will grace us with their pale pink iridescence for one or two days more.

Recently, several wine retailers have been capitalizing on the hanami craze and shrewdly pushing sparkling roses. Indeed, a perfect afternoon under the cherry trees might include a chilled bottle of strawberry-soft Moet et Chandon Rose, or a delicate Perrier Jouet Rose Fleur de Champagne, which comes in a fittingly floral bottle.

But, honestly speaking, there’s no need to spend a wad of cash on booze for your hanami. These occasions rarely end in poetic meditations on life, death, and beauty; they’re more about cutting loose and having a good time with friends. Sadly and all too often, this translates into over-consumption of cheap beer - or worse, happo-shu, a beer-like abomination made with little or no malt. Just because the group of salarymen beside you is getting trashed on crap, though, doesn’t mean you have to. Here are my picks for more civilized blossom viewing.

Bodega Norton Extra Brut from Argentina is a clean, dry sparkler with good body and a slightly sweet finish. Fresh and unfussy, it’s great with classic picnic dishes like fried chicken and potato salad. This was the first bottle we opened at my friend Danielle’s hanami do last Sunday.

Les Terres du Sud Rose, a Grenache and Cinsault blend made exclusively for Japanese importer The Vine by Louis Barroul of St. Cosme, offers aromas and flavors of juicy red berries overlaying a dry, crisp midpalate. It’s versatile, with fresh acidity, and marries with a wide range of foods. Try it with veggie sticks and roasted red pepper hummus, sweet soy glazed chicken meatballs, or a grilled vegetable salad tossed with anchovy dressing and lemon zest.

Rikyubai Kasumi Junmai Ginjo is a fabulously food-friendly usunigori, or lightly cloudy, unpasteurized sake from Daimon Shuzo. This refreshingly dry, finely textured usunigori insinuates melon and Japanese pear on the palate and pairs very well with aromatic herbs and dishes with a hint of spiciness – seared katsuo (bonito) scattered with bright shiso and scallions, smoked salmon and cream cheese canapés with fresh dill, Thai green papaya salad.

Happy Hanami, everyone! But by all means, watch out for those hangovers.

Wine and Sake for the Times

2009-04-02T10:43:00.004+09:00

Although the cherry blossoms are blooming beneath skies of wispy blue, winter has yet to relinquish its hold on the city. The sun is shining, but a chilly damp hangs in the air and the wind is positively spiteful. While my eyes tell me it's spring, at night, I'm still opting for warming stews and soups over pasta primavera.

My taste in drinks, too, has not yet crossed the vernal equinox. Upon returning from Kansai the other night, we made short work of a bottle of Cusomano Noa, a hefty blend of Nero d'Avola, Cabernet Sauvignon, and Merlot, while gnawing on some roast lamb chops at our favorite local Italian. This heavily extracted Sicilian unleashes ripe berry and black plum notes on the palate, along with sweet spices and jammy texture. No spring flower, this.

The day before yesterday, I gave JP the task of choosing a wine (he finds this nerve-racking) to go with our dinner, linguine with pancetta and clams. His choice of Vina Santa Maria's Equuus '05 was a surprise. A modern Spanish blend of Tempranillo, Cab Sauv, and Syrah, the Equus had a puckering, tannic attack, and I was a little worried that it wouldn't go. But, in the end the fruit won out - black and red berries rose to the fore, with a hint of earthiness - and it actually paired nicely. Perhaps it was all that pancetta.

Last night, we stumbled upon a version of Amanoto's Umashine that had been milled to 80%. I'm quite familiar with the Amanoto product line, Umashine in particular, but I'd never seen this Muroka (non-charcoal filtered) junmai-shu before. Ever since the regulations requiring that junmai-shu be milled to at least 70% changed a few years ago, people have been speculating that quality would suffer. I can't really remember the last time I tried a sake with a seimaibuai of more than 70%, but I had complete faith in Amanoto. And at only Y1000, there was no reason not to give it a go. Like most people around the world, I'm not immune to the effects of the financial crisis, but I have no intention of becoming a teetotaler.

We drank this at room temperature and it was, as I'd suspected it would be, really tasty. Full-bodied and richly layered, the Umashine starts with a sweet, fruity attack that unfurls on the midpalate to reveal a ricey character that persists throughout the finish. I could really see the thread of continuity, its relationship to its more highly-milled cousin. It went nicely with our pureed kabocha and miso soup sweetened with honey; the toasted grain flavors of the sake echoed the nuttiness of the pumpkin. It was also surprisingly good with our salad of raw udo and broccolini dressed in a spicy mustard vinaigrette, as well as the intensely salty pickles I'd brought back from Kyoto. All in all, it was the perfect accompaniment...to the meal, the thunderstorm outside, and Act II of Die Walkure.

A Fond Farewell

2009-03-31T11:17:00.003+09:00

Uei-san

Under his white cap, Ryosuke Uei’s floppy black hair falls thickly over his ears. He has the tiny wrinkles around his eyes of a young man who laughs a lot. As kashira, the brew master’s right-hand man, he oversees the daily activities around the brewery and performs tests to check the progress of the moromi. This job carries a great deal of responsibility - particularly for a 26 year old - but Uei-san has proven himself to be more than capable.

“Do you ever feel…lonely, being the youngest on staff?” I asked one day. He’d told me earlier that the other brewers were 61, 65, and 75 – quite a big difference.

“Never,” he said. “We have a good time together. Everyone is so fun, Makine-san especially. He’s a cool older guy. And the boss, too.”

Daimon-san had confessed to me that, initially, he’d been hesitant to hire someone in his twenties for such an important position.

“But I felt very strongly something special about him,” he said, “so I said, ‘Okay, let’s try it.’”

It certainly seems that he made the right decision.

Makine-san

Before the last day, Makine-san half-jokingly challenged me to a drink-off.

I found this very cute, and considered taking him up on it. Upon second thought, however, I declined. Based on what he’d told Greg and me during the week, I knew that the man could put it away.

Makine-san is one of those people (like my good friend Tamami, another serious drinker) that I refer to as sasori, or scorpion – small but deadly.

Arai-san

Arai-san has been practicing his English all week. He’s actually rather good, considering that the last time he studied it was in high school. It turns out that he can speak a little Chinese as well.

He tried hard to explain even the most difficult things in English, until at last something caught him completely off guard. While washing the rice one day, we noticed Osakri chomping a mouthful of uncooked rice.

Arai-san’s eyes flew open as rushed over.

“You don’t…” he started, shaking his head and waving his hands repeatedly, “eat rice.”

Then, he turned to me and spoke in Japanese.

“Osakari, he says that if you eat the rice raw like that, you’ll get really bad diarrhea.”

Funny hand motions were made, and the point was taken.

Daimon-san

Daimon-san, who is in charge of the polishing machine, is active and surprisingly strong for a septuagenarian.

“I went to pick takenoko this morning,” Daimon-san told me.

“Oh, really?” I asked, “Where does is grow?”

“On the hill nearby,” he answered, “they’re really coming up now.”

He grinned and made a teepee with his hands, pantomiming the pointy heads of the bamboo shoots as they broke through the ground.

“We’re going to use them at the Mukune-tei restaurant this April.” He grinned again; the gap from two missing bottom teeth made his smile even more endearing.

Later, he showed me a bag of flowers that he’d just picked.

“Peach blossoms,” he said.

Each little pink flower was perfectly intact, with drops of moisture clinging its delicate petals.

“Peach blossoms,” he said, cupping one in his extended right hand.

I smiled.

------------------------------

Well, it's time to get back to real life. No more lifting 10kg bags of rice, scraping kasu (and almost killing my buddy Makine-san), or making koji for me - at least for a while. I'm so glad to return to crazy ol' Tokyo, Hubby, Misha, and wine...but how could I not miss these guys?

Getting a Feel for Rice

2009-03-31T11:16:00.001+09:00

I've come to understand what my fellow intern Harris Salat meant when he said that he's enjoying the feeling of working with rice. The tactile range is tremendous, from the cool silkiness of just-washed sakamai to the prickly hardness of rice straight from the cooling machine.

After a couple of days of working with the koji rice, I'm starting to appreciate some of its nuances.

"It's too moist," I said.

"I think so, too," Patricia agreed. A tinge of worry flitted across her brow as she examined a handful.

Uei-san confirmed our suspicions, "There's still too much moisture. We'll have to wait 20 minutes or so before tane-kiri."

"Oh, no," I thought, feeling responsible.

"It's not you," Daimon-san consoled me. "This is caused by the rice steaming. Each time is different, so we must adjust."

"Yes," I said, "I think I'm starting to get a feel for it."

"That's good," he laughed. "Now you can be koji sensei!"

The Koji Kid

2009-03-25T16:30:00.006+09:00

It wasn't the first time that I'd set foot in a muro, or koji-making room; nor was it the first time for me to touch koji rice. But I'd never gotten so up close and personal with it before.

Patricia and I had been given the responsibility of "cracking the rice" after it had cooled briefly, a process known as momi-agari. Using our hands, we roughly separated the rice clumps, allowing the grains to cool down and dry out before koji mold is sprinkled over the surface.

"These days, many ladies are in the sake business," Daimon-san told us as he demonstrated the comb-like action our fingers were to perform, "and that's great. You know, before, ladies often performed this kind of koji work."

"Why's that?" Standing on my tip toes, I leaned in to reach the center of the table.

"This job needs patience and care. Sometimes, we men don't have such patience. It is said that taking care of koji is like..."

"Taking care of a child," I said.

Daimon-san stopped for a moment, looked me in the eye, and pointed with his index finger. "Exactly. We must check the koji constantly...Handle the rice gently, like touching a baby."

We repeated this process once every hour. Over the course of the day, the rice changed dramatically, growing firmer, drier, and glossier with each treatment. As we turned the rice for the last time, I could hear the faintly plosive sound of the grains breaking up. It felt hard and a little bit sticky, like tiny pebbles dipped in vinyl.

Daimon-san returned to the koji room carrying a small, round container filled with koji mold powder. A greenish cloud followed him as he moved down the long rice bed, giving him a look that was half beekeeper, half shaman.

Once the koji spores had been adequately distributed, we heaped the rice into a great pile at one end of the table. Then, we wrapped it up in cloth to prevent the moisture from escaping.

"It looks like a baby in swaddling clothes," someone remarked.

Daimon-san glanced at me and nodded briefly, as if to say, "You see?"

Schlemiel, Schlemazel

2009-03-25T09:46:00.006+09:00

"Hey, remember that I Love Lucy, when she's working in the chocolate factory?"

"Totally, that's gonna be us. It'll be a Laverne and Shirley moment."

We had on the hairnets, all we were missing were the aprons and gloves. I could do a Milwaukee accent if pressed, and Harris practically had one already.

We'd been sent to man the labeling machine. It's a pretty straightforward business, just loading the bottles onto a short conveyor belt and then placing them in carts once the label has been applied. For most of the morning, Harris and I worked in contemplative silence.

"This is quite peaceful, really," I commented.

"Oh, yeah, it's beautiful here."

"I mean this particular job. It's nice to be doing work that doesn't require tons of thinking for a change, isn't it?"

"Right." It was clear that Harris had gotten into a rhythm and I could hear the sound of his mind wandering softly away.

We were helping Makina-san in the shipping department, in the building behind the brewery. I'd heard that, traditionally, women were assigned the task of bottling and labeling, although I'm not exactly sure why. In addition to Makina-san, there are a few ladies who work in the shipping department - the only women at the brewery - and I suspect that he's rather pleased with the arrangement. Makina-san has a charmingly elfin demeanor and a twinkle in his eye. Fluent in keigo and particularly fond of the word "okay", he's a self-professed heavy drinker who loves to have a laugh. Good fun.

The afternoon was spent making boxes (attach a sticker to the upper right-hand corner, fold up and tape the bottom of the box, assemble the insert, then place inside), along with inserts that go inside of them. Making hundreds of boxes and hundreds of inserts takes a lot of time and a fair amount of patience.

"Glamorous work," Greg joked.

At the risk of sounding naive and bourgeois, I have to say that it really hadn't occurred to me that someone actually sat there for hours making boxes before me, and would continue to do so after I'm gone. Glamorous it is not, but if that stuff doesn't get done, the sake can't go anywhere.

A Mile in Their Shoes

2009-03-22T09:07:00.005+09:00

As a freelancer, I wear many hats - writer, sake and wine educator, desperate housewife. And now the time has come to don yet another. Tomorrow, I will trade in my black fur hat and square-toe Mary Janes for a hair net-lined, white cap and white plastic booties, the de rigueur attire of sake brewery workers in Japan. That's right, as part of the first international sake internship program at Daimon Shuzo, I am going to work as a kurabito.

It's only temporary - the program lasts for a week - but it is not without a measure trepidation that I embark on this journey. It's scary and slightly mad, but it's sure to be a great challenge. The days will be hard, involving two things I'm unaccustomed to: physical labor and teamwork. Still, I'm extremely excited.

To think that I'll learn how to brew sake in a week is fatuous, but this experience will most certainly deepen my understanding and appreciation of nihonshu. Wish me luck and check out the Mukune blog here.

Speak My Language

2009-03-19T11:54:00.009+09:00

"The place is called Cu-yor-l." I took care to enunciate slowly and deliberately.

"What's that again?" Adam cupped his hand lightly around his right ear and leaned forward.

"Cu-YOOR-l," I repeated, starting to feel foolish.

"I'm sorry, I just can't understand what you're saying." He shook his head.

I wrote it down.

Try as I might, I never seem to pronounce Cujorl correctly. The funny thing is that Japanese people have no problem with it. Oddly enough, the juxtaposition of the letters 'r' and 'l' - famously treacherous phonetic pitfalls for, let's face it, most Japanese - is precisely what trips me up. For some reason, whenever I say it, I end up sounding like an Albanian farmer declaring a blood feud.

Luckily, pronouncing the name is the only difficulty I have in recommending this restaurant. I certainly can't complain about the food. With her dimples and pixie cut hairstyle, Cujorl's head chef, Masayo Funakoshi, could easily be mistaken for a student, but her youthful appearance belies formidable experience. Chef Funakoshi has worked her way around the world in some serious kitchens – Union Square and WD50 in New York City, Astrance in Paris, and Flavors Of in Jakarta. Here, she finds inspiration in fresh, local ingredients and draws upon her diverse background to create dishes with international flair.

Already, much has been made of the Mushroom Cappuccino with Milk and Sugar?, and I'm happy to report that it's as tasty as it is witty. The earthy mushroom soup was served in a coffee cup, alongside airy cubes of porcini meringue and a small pot of milk. The dark intensity of the broth was keenly tempered by the delicate sweetness of the meringue. In the Fluffy Venison Ragu, a neat mound of deer meat tartare was crowned with a quail’s egg yolk, accompanied by weightless shika senbei crackers and a dab of vibrant shiso pesto. Although the venison lacked the gamey depth we’d been expecting, the dish as a whole was thoughtfully composed and offered a pleasant balance of contrasting textures.

The pasta dishes made clever use of Japanese ingredients and were equally delicious. Perfectly chewy orechiette was tossed with sun dried tomatoes and a mélange of mildly bitter mountain vegetables. Spaghetti in a tomato-based horse ragu was a delightful surprise - the horsemeat was remarkably tender and subtly flavored.

Like the pastas, the simply plated mains veered more toward the traditional in style, but small touches lent a contemporary feel. A maitake mushroom tapenade accented with smoky hacho miso complemented the Japanese beef, grilled over grape vines, perched atop a smooth celeriac puree. The Five Minutes Smoked Pigeon – smoked, literally, for five minutes before grilling – was juicy and infused with flavor.

The wines, too, were no shabby affair. The list well chosen and fairly priced. Both our pasta dishes paired nicely with a bottle of Rubino Rosso (sorry to be imprecise, but it's actually made by the sommelier's cousin and not listed on the menu), a robust organic Sangiovese blend from Tuscany. The wine was earthy with firm acidity, offering hints of dried flowers and a dusty finish. With our mains, we enjoyed the Fattoria La Rivolta Terra di Rivolta ’03, an unusual organic Aglianico with bright acidity and intriguing notes of red berries and Maraschino cherry, ending in a smoky finish. The rich, fruity, but slightly herbaceous Tanca Farra Sella & Mosca Alghero '04 was great with our cheese plate. A blend of Cannonau and Cabernet Sauvignon, the wine was solidly structured with all the ripe, convivial charm of the wines from Sardinia.

Rumor has it that, in a Sigur-Ross fit of inspiration, the owners of Cujorl came up with the name. Everyone wonders what it's supposed to mean, but I'm not really bothered: the terrific food and wine speak for themselves.

Cujorl
22-8 Sakuragaoka-cho, Shibuya-ku
03-5784-5818

Eat, Drink, and Do Good Deeds

2009-03-16T15:16:00.003+09:00

We all drink for various reasons, some more legitimate than others. I'm always thankful when an opportunity to drink for a good cause presents itself. On Saturday, March 21st, the SOS Foundation will host a special sake event at Birth in Nishi Azabu. featuring 12 rare limited-edition sakes from around the country. Sake makers from Hakurei, Kamikokoro, and Haurshika, along with dashing young sake sommelier Masa Yamamoto, will be there to speak with guests and answer questions. All proceeds will go to the SOS Miracle Foundation, an organization providing aid and education to underprivileged children in the Philippines. So go ahead, do your part, and pick up that o-chokko.

To reserve a ticket (Y6500), contact Janica Sims at janicamarie@yahoo.com, or call 090-9386-7446.