The windows of my apartment are open, all my produce is in the refrigerator and I am sitting in my living room, sans down jacket, rather comfortably. Could it be early spring? Could another school year be drawing close to an end? I find myself at a crossroads of seasonal transition. Sure, this may mean the end of nights curled up under all of my blankets trying to stay warm, but what about the evenings spent with good friends, all of us basking in the warmth of a communal nabe (hotpot), sitting under the kotatsu (heated table). It is at this time of year when I find myself reflecting on the heart-warming image of the scrawny little junior high first years of last April finally coming in to their own, filling out their uniforms and heading on to second year. At the same time it is very hard to see the third years-with whom I finally established a relationship-graduate and go off to high school. This feeling is so reminiscent of my days as a counselor at Camp Solomon Schechter watching my campers dreading the arrival of the next Greyhound bus, the one that would take their precious friends away. For any teacher, though, there is one thing we can count on, in times where we wish we could always have this class and also when we cannot imagine how we got stuck with another, to lift our spirits, to help us stand taller at the front of the class and charge on: another batch of students is always on its way.
It has recently come to my attention that some of my food pictures have become inappropriate to look at in the workplace of some of my readers. Yes, this may seem strange considering that not one of my pictures contains any profane material. However, those pictures that were considered “uncontrollable drool-inducing” (an indirect quote from a faithful reader) have directly led to keyboard malfunctions, whose costs were bore by the unfortunate and still hungry reader.
Coincidentally, March was a month full of gastronomic gatherings of all sorts: the dinner table of my and my friend’s house; school-organized events; private cooking classes; as well as macho bonfires. It is with my absolute pleasure that I bring to you a photo essay showcasing the fruits of many hours in the kitchen, each moment enjoyed and every bite savored.
There is nothing that I have enjoyed more than going over to my fellow foody-friend Badillo’s house to put together a nice meal. A few weeks ago, inspired by a dish I saw in a movie and another Badillo had seen online, I went to Badillo’s house in Izumi to put our heads together and get to business.
Poached egg on a bed of sautéed spinach and red onion; sesame encrusted Saba (mackerel); and butter brown rice.
As if my appetite for cooking wasn’t satiated enough, the next morning Badillo and I woke up and went to the community centre to have a cooking class with his Saturday Eikaiwa (English conversation class). I was so excited to see Badillo’s class again, not to mention don my apron and create some good, honest food together.
Butterfly and pound out your chicken breast; I might add that every single member of Badillo’s class came to the kitchen that day with their own knives, honed just as well as their skills, which were far from novice. Every blade was so well cared for and sharp. I was thoroughly impressed and most intrigued by this mini-discovery.
Heat the oil until it shimmers; that day we used canola oil for its high smoke point, neutral flavour and because it contains no saturated fats, a valuable ingredient one should not be without.
Dredge, what I would later learn to be まぶす (mabusu) in Japanese, in flour (lightly, please, and don’t forget to shake off the extra) and seared on both sides for 2-3 minutes. Finish in the oven for a few extra minutes for an even crispier texture on the outside. The browning of food inspires “Ooo”s and “Aaa”s in cooks. This phenomenon, I found, has no boundaries: it was a cacophonous kitchen that Saturday.
Ten minutes at a rolling boil, toss with olive oil, salt, pepper and rosemary and roast in the oven for 25 minutes.
This is Hideo, a soft-spoken gentleman with great sartorial sense, cutting into his finished product.
The group
The menu of the day was oven roasted potatoes; pan-seared chicken breast; and sautéed mixed vegetables; Badillo had taught this same lesson at three different high schools, which made Saturday his fourth and final time teaching this class, and therefore eating the food, that week.
There is a wonderful produce store about 100 meters from my doorstep. Over the past year and a half I have become a faithful customer and as a result now have the pleasure of making small talk with the owners and employees and getting waves from the delivery truck driver whenever I see him on his route. Last week may have seen the last batch of these savory brown beauties, so I made sure grab a good heap before spring. These were only 300 yen, about $3.50 USD. Shiitake.
The week following Badillo’s cooking class in Izumi, I was invited by the vice-principal of one of my favourite junior high schools to join the first grade students and parents for a home economics end of the year dinner party. Armed with my knife, apron and camera, I enjoyed a night standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the head chef of Grand View Akune Hotel and the mothers of the 10-student first grade class. The girls stayed in the kitchen and did most of the washing and preparation of ingredients while the boys played sports outside, periodically poking their heads into the kitchen to ask what was taking so long.
It was at the end of fabricating all the dishes of the night that I made another mini-discovery in the world of Japanese cookery and dining: all of the counter space and dishes will be cleaned, washed and put away properly before commencing with the start of the meal. (This also happened at Badillo’s class) If the memory of my childhood serves me correctly I always remember doing sink after sink of dishes post meal. Which is the better way? Being able to eat leisurely, without any worry of when or who will do the dishes, or enjoying the crispy crunch of the karaage (fried chicken) and the piping chikuzen-ni (chicken, konnyaku, carrot, potato, dried shiitake, snap peas and lotus root braised in dashi, sake, soy sauce and sugar) moments after being pulled from the heat?
Okonomiyaki (literally translated, as you like it or favourite) is sometimes referred to as the Japanese pancake or pizza. The basic okonomiyaki with include shredded cabbage, thin slices of meat, pickled ginger, chicken egg and a binding batter similar to that of pancakes. It is enjoyed all across the country and there are actually regional rivalries over taste as well as cooking technique. Above all, though, okonomiyaki is loved as something one can in enjoy in a variety of restaurants as well as in the comfort of one’s own home. Let’s look at the pros and cons of each situation:
Restaurant pros: no dishes; most of the times delicious; sometimes unique toppings and or fillings can be enjoyed, a perfect example being my favourite okonomiyaki in Akune, which has braised beef and loads of green onion; the excellent sear of a real teppanyaki (cast iron surface, like a big griddle); and, of course, ice-cold beer from a tap.
Home pros: cost efficient; complete control of ingredients and portions (the other night I made okonomiyaki with white onion, green onion, pickeled ginger, tsuke-age (fish cakes) and fermented red chili paste (I still managed to eat too much)); you can change the channel on the television; you can talk as loud as you want; you can drink your favourite beer; and most important of all, you can collapse after your meal into a prolonged mega-satiated comatose that some call the itus.
Restaurant cons: expensive; limited control over ingredients and portion size; sleeping is prohibited; teppanyaki and drinking often lead to mysterious criss-cross-patterned burns on your forearms; you need to find a way home after the meal; and extremely cold beer can lead to brain freeze.
Home cons: dishes; getting overconfident because you know you are in a comfortable place, eating too much and never recovering from the itus until it’s too late; and the occasional and unfortunate case of experimenting with the wrong combination of ingredients, which can lead to indigestion (i.e. leave it up to the professional cooks who do it for a living).
給食, kyushoku. School lunch. There are no lunch ladies in Akune. At least there are not any around at school anymore. No, now the only lunch ladies-and gentlemen, one of whom happens to be one of my mountain climbing comrades-in the city work at the Akune School Lunch Centre (ASLC). The fine cooks at the ASLC feed all of Akune’s elementary and junior high schools, everyday. Everyday, the students, teachers and administration are delivered hot rice (and bread once a week), cold milk, a small side dish and a warm soup for lunch. That is a lot of rice, tons of dishes and double the chopsticks. I am thankful everyday for the invaluable service the ASLC pays to the school district. I am even more thankful that I get to eat with the kids. Last week I had the rare pleasure of eating at Ozaki Elementary, a small school with a fabulous staff and extremely bright student body, nestled in the mountains of Akune. The school’s staff and students (literally, grades one through six, all of the teachers, administration, including the principal) eat lunch together in the same room everyday. I was taken right back to the Chadar Ochel (dining hall) at camp. I was in kyushoku heaven.
Badillo heard stories of the Captain long before meeting him for the first time. Their first encounter was brief so I thought it would be a good idea to rendezvous again and spend some quality time at the 焚火バー, takibi or bonfire bar, in the Captain’s backyard. I have had many an episode at the takibi bar and only thought it appropriate to bring Badillo along this time. We all drank in good spirits, fired up some manly meals and glared long gazes into the deep glow of the takibi.
Deep conversations
When the steam stops coming out from the sides, it’s ready. These are best potatoes you will ever taste.
We took the top of the gigantic Dutch oven and placed it on top of some bricks and grilled chicken, shiitake and shishamo, a type of smelt.
Last night I was in Izumi again, creating and loving every bite: steamed broccoli; roasted carrot soup; and grilled salmon.
I would like to leave you with this Japanese proverb:
芋の煮えたもご存じない, imono nietamo gozonjinai.
To not know even when potatoes are done.
This frank saying is used to poke fun at people who are immature. They should use a Dutch oven.
