I'm not a coffee snob by any stretch of the imagination, but I do have some requirements going into a cup. First, the coffee can't be weak. I hate watery coffee, and the thin taste literally makes me gag. Second, because I like dark coffee but I can't tolerate too much bitterness, there must be milk or cream to cut the edge. I prefer whole milk or fattier, but I absolutely dislike skim milk in coffee. It is just gross. I also prefer milk to creamers. Third, although I can forgo the sugar, especially if the coffee is very creamy, I do like my coffee to have some sweetness. Cà phê sữa nóng, or Vietnamese coffee, perfectly fits this exactly: a small amount of strong, dark coffee is brewed with a drip filter and mixed with sweetened condensed milk. Voilà, it's perfect and delicious.
Being in America where coffee machines are rampant, a Starbucks is on every corner, and it seems that every other person you meet is a barista, I have a slight disdain for instant coffee. This is reinforced because most instant coffees I have sipped range from pretty gross to absolutely disgusting. If desperate, I will pull out my jar of super cheap Nescafé and mix it with hot milk and sometimes a packet of Swiss Miss in order to make it palatable. It's pretty nasty stuff. Nescafé's giant crystals seem to have trouble dissolving completely in water that is not quite hot enough. This makes it clump to anything else you add to the cup, be it sugar or powdered creamer or Swiss Miss or whatever, so when you try to drink it, you get powdery chunks of bitter brown exploding on your tongue and making you regret buying that jar in desperation. The taste is reminiscent of the crap that you scrape off the bottom of a cooking pot when you accidentally leave rice on for like an hour too long, and no amount of sugar or milk can cover it up completely. It's very unpleasant.
So I was surprised when I went to Japan, where they are picky about every subtle nuance in flavor, that my whole family drinks Nescafé. I refused the first couple cups offered to me because the thought of slogging down crystallized brown junk in hot water was so unappealing to me. I did accept one morning, though, and I was pleasantly surprised. It looks different, for one thing. Nescafé in America is the same texture as Folgers crystals-- about the size of large sand granules. In Japan, they grind it into a fine powder, the same size as creamer powder. Added to the cup were Creap, a Morinaga brand creamer product made from milk instead of corn syrup, and organic raw sugar. I have to say that it had to be one of my favorite cups of coffee ever. I won't attempt to describe the flavors since I'm not hip on coffee lingo, but the cup lacked the bitterness that I hate about American coffee crystals, it didn't have a chemical sweet taste, and the cream tasted slightly buttery, much like Japanese milk itself. Needless to say, I drank a lot of Nescafé with Creap whenever it was available.
To my dismay, nobody in Austin or San Antonio sells Creap at any of the stores I have been to (a large Chinese/Vietnamese [sort of Pan-Asian] market, a Korean market, and two small Japanese grocery stores), so I figured I wouldn't be able to enjoy that taste for some time. Even if I can't get Japanese milk in America, it would have been nice to have had a product made from Japanese milk. Anyhow, my boyfriend had been eying instant coffee/cream mixes at the Pan-Asian explosion market, and I told him that, although it's Chinese in origin, Nescafé in Japan tastes hella different from American Nescafé. We went ahead and bought a box of "Nescafé 1+ 2" (which, on the back clearly explains that 1 + 2 = 1+2. Brilliant!).
I have to say that I was gobsmacked. It may be the hidden lead or asbestos in the drink powder, but when mixed into hot milk instead of water, it tastes remarkably similar to my first cup of Nescafé and Creap. I'm not sure if I am just imagining things or not, but it has a subtle smelly-milk flavor that I remember from Japan.
I conducted an inquiry via Google, and apparently there are 200 varieties of Nescafé around the world, including the coffee by itself and the 1 + 2 = 1+2 convenience packs. Nestlé, for obvious reasons, changes its products to suit local tastes. It makes adapt to sell your product, but sometimes I wonder if Americans actually prefer the products that are made available to them, or if they don't know any better so they've never have to form a preference for other things. There are many American foods that I love, but there are even more that just confuse me as to how anyone could like them at all, or feel comfortable putting that much salt, sugar, MSG, dyes, preservatives etc. into their bodies. Now I am ranting. Anyway, that whole Time collection of articles is pretty interesting-- read the whole "issue" or read about the different varieties of the same brand around the world.
Anyhow, Nescafé 1 + 2 at the Chinese grocery store. It tastes good in milk.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Monday, November 26, 2007
Fish Markets and Carnies
Starting to update the rest of my adventures, finally. I started my trip by writing somewhat detailed entries into a notebook, but lost the energy to do so. Luckily, since I took pictures, I am reminded of at least the more exciting parts of my visit.
On the first of November, Mom and I decided we should go to Tsukiji and get in on some of the fish market action that takes place there. Since the most exciting part-- the tuna auction-- is apparently closed to the public (and is at 5am anyway), we decided just to wander around the gigantic market and eat lunch afterward.
We left Fussa around 9 in the morning. Although our original itinerary said to get off the Chuo Line at Yotsuya Station and switch to the subway from there, Mom thought that it'd be better if we got off at Tokyo Station and jump on a line bound for Hatchoubori, and then from there take the Hibiya subway line to Tsukiji Station. I don't think we saved any time or money, but it was an experience, trekking down, down, down, and down farther still in Tokyo Station until we reached the Keiyo Line platform. From there it was only one stop to Hatchoubori, and from Hatchoubori it was only one stop on the Hibiya subway line to Tsukiji. It was a tiny station, and the bathroom was yucky. I wasn't surprised.
Around the corner from the station was the Tsukiji Hongwanji, a rather large and very South Asian-styled Buddhist temple. The architecture was fascinating, and the inside was even more ornate than the outside. It reeked of incense, and Mom and I at first thought we had stumbled upon the latter half of someone's funeral. When we exited, we noticed that volunteers were busily packing welcome bags for an appreciation ceremony to take place later for rich people who contributed large sums of money to a local dentistry college. We didn't feel bad after that point.
Mom wanted to check out a museum that supposedly had exhibits with information on the fish market. Luckily it was right next to the market and we didn't have to go out of our way to find it because it turned out to be a single room with books and pamphlets on fish and maps to guide you through the different vendors in the market. It was a little disappointing, but we went ahead to the market itself.
Tsukiji's fish market is huge. Imagine, if you will, the largest warehouse you have ever seen, and multiply it by like, 5 or something. I may be exaggerating, but it's pretty dang huge inside, and it houses dozens (hundreds maybe?) of vendors. We arrived a bit before noon, when the market had died down and all the fish mongers were packing up to leave. It was still busy, still full of tourists, and many vendors were still selling fish (amongst other, less fish-like denizens of the deep). The alarming thing, though, was that through the narrow corridors zoomed guys on bicycle-powered carts, three-wheel motorbikes, and heavy-duty motorized carts that were probably zipping by at 15 miles an hour on the wet, fishy floors. It's not a place for casual tourists with large backpacks overflowing with Naruto posters and rolling luggage-- it's a place of srs bznss where restaurateurs and grocery sellers buy their fresh fish for the day, or for Average Joe to get a good price on his tuna steak dinner. Etiquette prevails at the market, and Mom read on the Japanese site that you shouldn't haggle prices with the fish mongers, as it's seen as being disrespectful and rude, challenging the price that an experienced fisherman places on his catch. "Can you make this cheaper?" is equivalent to calling him a liar, and may get you booted out of his 3x5 space with many harsh words following you.
After dodging carts, puddles, and tuna carcasses, Mom and I decided that looking at thousands of dead fish on ice in various states of dismemberment made us hungry for the real thing. We headed to the restaurant area where, even hours after they had opened, there were lines flowing out the doors to get the freshest of the day's catch for lunch. We were surprised at how popular the non-fish places were. Bafflingly, katsudon and ramen shops had the same humongous lines. We shrugged, and waited for a random place to seat us. Luckily, we only waited about 20 minutes or so for a table. Not too bad, considering people claimed to have waited for hours to get a seat at Tsukiji restaurants.
We chose a place called うまい鮨勘 (Umai Sushikan), which literally means "Tasty Sushi Sense." We were sat on the sushi bar, which Mom disliked, but I enjoyed watching the chefs work their magic by quickly squeezing together the nigiri balls and slapping the freshly-sliced fish on top, all at breakneck speed, and all while calling out "Welcome!" and "Thank you!" and glancing down at tiny hand-written orders. I got a plate with some variety, from tuna and salmon to scallop and roe. The egg was cute. While I usually don't care much for egg, this one had "うまい鮨勘" stamped on the side. That was a nice touch. The miso soup, however, was something I did not enjoy even slightly. It was made with fish scraps and tasted exactly like hot ocean brine with thin bones and vegetable particles floating in it. Mom drank both our bowls. I couldn't stomach it.
Mom had left her denim jacket at the library the previous day, so I lent her a long-sleeved shirt to wear for the day. Apparently she really wanted to lose my shirt, too, because she left it in the restaurant. Luckily we realized it was gone minutes after leaving the place, so we ran back and retrieved it. We briefly visited a small shrine just outside the fish market area and headed to a hospital where they had a free observation deck on the 47th floor. It was extremely warm, but the view was great. Mom rested her feet for a while as I took lots of pictures out the windows. She asked a lady for directions to the nearest JR station, and out we headed.
We walked through Ginza on our way to the Yuurakucho station. Although it's a shopping mecca, I wasn't impressed by the street we walked along. It was mostly office buildings with young men in suits, squatting on the sidewalk while smoking and chatting on their cell phones-- an odd sight, indeed. Just before the station, I was distracted by a troupe of girls doing a traditional drum performance outside of a newly-opened pachinko hall. I stopped to take video of them-- it was impressive how much energy they had. My arm was getting tired just holding the camera, and here they were jumping up and down beating enormous drums strapped over their shoulders. Crazy.
We hopped on a line bound for Ueno, as Mom wanted to walk from there to Asakusa. We briefly stopped in Ameyoukocho, an alley full of small shops and street vendors peddling cheap wares, to ask for directions before taking the very long and somewhat painful walk to Asakusa. It took us almost an hour to get to the Kaminarimon, which is the gigantic red lantern that welcomes you to the street where all the vendors set up shop. The road we took to get there was lined with stores specializing in 仏壇 (butsudan), which are altars for deceased family members. It was extremely creepy, and it was obvious that that part of town was probably aging and full of a lot of old people on the verge of kicking the bucket.
When we finally reached Kaminarimon, evening was rapidly approaching and we only had maybe an hour or two of sunlight left. The first vendor we came across on Nakamise (the road where all the peddlers set up shop) was selling fresh-made red bean-filled ningyoyaki, which is a small cake made of flour and egg. molded into shapes. We bought two bags to take home to Obaachan and a bag of hot ones to eat while we walked. The people selling them were exceedingly brusque, which totally surprised us. All of the vendors were loud, rude, and pushy, and I couldn't help but be reminded of dirty carnies in America. I felt this whole street was a giant tourist trap, and Mom agreed. We kept snagging samples at the osembe shops, and Mom deliberated on whether or not to buy a bag. She ultimately decided against it, as they were quite expensive (as were all the other things on that street). The ningyo were cheap, at least.
We visited the temple at the end of Nakamise, called Sensoji. It's the oldest temple in Tokyo and is something like 1500 years old. Plenty of people were milling about, clothing statues, washing their hands at the entrance, tossing money into the offering bins and praying. Prayer rituals are serious business in Japan, and people had some elaborate arm gestures and bowing maneuvers carefully choreographed to achieve maximum levels of Buddha-pleasing. It was impressive.
As the sun began to dip down, Mom and I discussed what we would do for dinner, as we hadn't eaten since lunch many hours previously, and although we weren't starving we figured we should eat something. We wandered around Asakusa looking for a good deal on food, but decided that perhaps Shinjuku might offer something better. Instead of walking back to the JR station in Ueno we hopped on the subway and took it back to Ueno station where we got onto the Yamanote heading south where we expected to switch to the Chuo line back to Shinjuku (the reason being that Tokyo is the terminus for the Chuo line and we'd be guaranteed a seat). However, since we were able to get a seat on the Yamanote in Ueno, we rode it the whole way to Shinjuku, even though it was like taking a route that went around 3 sides of the square. We didn't mind, and welcomed the rest.
When we got into Shinjuku, it was packed with people, like usual. We went into Kabukicho to look for a restaurant and ended up wandering for almost an hour, unable to find any place that was both inexpensive and tasty-looking. We did see a trio consisting of a drummer, a saxophone player, and a guy holding a banner for a bar; they were playing "Izakaya," a kayoukyoku song about a man trying to pick up a girl at a plain, generic bar ("There's no pictures, no flowers, no music, no words, no jokes or anything to decorate this kind of bar"). It was cute. We also saw advertisements for host bars full of tanned, bleached, airbrushed young men who would be more than happy to let you buy them expensive alcohol and food to fulfill your sad, lonely office lady life.
We got lost looking for the Isetan, tempted by its purportedly abundant food basement, and although we found it, it was close to closing time, so we sampled milk and tofu, pickles and salad dressings, weighed the benefits versus the costs of some of their produce, and ultimately left with nothing. We caught the train at Shinjuku station and headed back to Fussa. When we arrived, we had enough time to peruse the deals at the Ozam before they closed for the night. There we picked up dinner-- fried oyster bento box, korokke, and gyoza, all at half-price. We enjoyed our dinner at home, and although it was late and we were tired, it was oh-so satisfying (and probably a lot better than anything we could have picked up for 4 times the price at a normal restaurant). It was a fun-filled day, and exhausting because of all the walking we did.
On the first of November, Mom and I decided we should go to Tsukiji and get in on some of the fish market action that takes place there. Since the most exciting part-- the tuna auction-- is apparently closed to the public (and is at 5am anyway), we decided just to wander around the gigantic market and eat lunch afterward.
We left Fussa around 9 in the morning. Although our original itinerary said to get off the Chuo Line at Yotsuya Station and switch to the subway from there, Mom thought that it'd be better if we got off at Tokyo Station and jump on a line bound for Hatchoubori, and then from there take the Hibiya subway line to Tsukiji Station. I don't think we saved any time or money, but it was an experience, trekking down, down, down, and down farther still in Tokyo Station until we reached the Keiyo Line platform. From there it was only one stop to Hatchoubori, and from Hatchoubori it was only one stop on the Hibiya subway line to Tsukiji. It was a tiny station, and the bathroom was yucky. I wasn't surprised.
Around the corner from the station was the Tsukiji Hongwanji, a rather large and very South Asian-styled Buddhist temple. The architecture was fascinating, and the inside was even more ornate than the outside. It reeked of incense, and Mom and I at first thought we had stumbled upon the latter half of someone's funeral. When we exited, we noticed that volunteers were busily packing welcome bags for an appreciation ceremony to take place later for rich people who contributed large sums of money to a local dentistry college. We didn't feel bad after that point.
Mom wanted to check out a museum that supposedly had exhibits with information on the fish market. Luckily it was right next to the market and we didn't have to go out of our way to find it because it turned out to be a single room with books and pamphlets on fish and maps to guide you through the different vendors in the market. It was a little disappointing, but we went ahead to the market itself.
Tsukiji's fish market is huge. Imagine, if you will, the largest warehouse you have ever seen, and multiply it by like, 5 or something. I may be exaggerating, but it's pretty dang huge inside, and it houses dozens (hundreds maybe?) of vendors. We arrived a bit before noon, when the market had died down and all the fish mongers were packing up to leave. It was still busy, still full of tourists, and many vendors were still selling fish (amongst other, less fish-like denizens of the deep). The alarming thing, though, was that through the narrow corridors zoomed guys on bicycle-powered carts, three-wheel motorbikes, and heavy-duty motorized carts that were probably zipping by at 15 miles an hour on the wet, fishy floors. It's not a place for casual tourists with large backpacks overflowing with Naruto posters and rolling luggage-- it's a place of srs bznss where restaurateurs and grocery sellers buy their fresh fish for the day, or for Average Joe to get a good price on his tuna steak dinner. Etiquette prevails at the market, and Mom read on the Japanese site that you shouldn't haggle prices with the fish mongers, as it's seen as being disrespectful and rude, challenging the price that an experienced fisherman places on his catch. "Can you make this cheaper?" is equivalent to calling him a liar, and may get you booted out of his 3x5 space with many harsh words following you.
After dodging carts, puddles, and tuna carcasses, Mom and I decided that looking at thousands of dead fish on ice in various states of dismemberment made us hungry for the real thing. We headed to the restaurant area where, even hours after they had opened, there were lines flowing out the doors to get the freshest of the day's catch for lunch. We were surprised at how popular the non-fish places were. Bafflingly, katsudon and ramen shops had the same humongous lines. We shrugged, and waited for a random place to seat us. Luckily, we only waited about 20 minutes or so for a table. Not too bad, considering people claimed to have waited for hours to get a seat at Tsukiji restaurants.
We chose a place called うまい鮨勘 (Umai Sushikan), which literally means "Tasty Sushi Sense." We were sat on the sushi bar, which Mom disliked, but I enjoyed watching the chefs work their magic by quickly squeezing together the nigiri balls and slapping the freshly-sliced fish on top, all at breakneck speed, and all while calling out "Welcome!" and "Thank you!" and glancing down at tiny hand-written orders. I got a plate with some variety, from tuna and salmon to scallop and roe. The egg was cute. While I usually don't care much for egg, this one had "うまい鮨勘" stamped on the side. That was a nice touch. The miso soup, however, was something I did not enjoy even slightly. It was made with fish scraps and tasted exactly like hot ocean brine with thin bones and vegetable particles floating in it. Mom drank both our bowls. I couldn't stomach it.
Mom had left her denim jacket at the library the previous day, so I lent her a long-sleeved shirt to wear for the day. Apparently she really wanted to lose my shirt, too, because she left it in the restaurant. Luckily we realized it was gone minutes after leaving the place, so we ran back and retrieved it. We briefly visited a small shrine just outside the fish market area and headed to a hospital where they had a free observation deck on the 47th floor. It was extremely warm, but the view was great. Mom rested her feet for a while as I took lots of pictures out the windows. She asked a lady for directions to the nearest JR station, and out we headed.
We walked through Ginza on our way to the Yuurakucho station. Although it's a shopping mecca, I wasn't impressed by the street we walked along. It was mostly office buildings with young men in suits, squatting on the sidewalk while smoking and chatting on their cell phones-- an odd sight, indeed. Just before the station, I was distracted by a troupe of girls doing a traditional drum performance outside of a newly-opened pachinko hall. I stopped to take video of them-- it was impressive how much energy they had. My arm was getting tired just holding the camera, and here they were jumping up and down beating enormous drums strapped over their shoulders. Crazy.
We hopped on a line bound for Ueno, as Mom wanted to walk from there to Asakusa. We briefly stopped in Ameyoukocho, an alley full of small shops and street vendors peddling cheap wares, to ask for directions before taking the very long and somewhat painful walk to Asakusa. It took us almost an hour to get to the Kaminarimon, which is the gigantic red lantern that welcomes you to the street where all the vendors set up shop. The road we took to get there was lined with stores specializing in 仏壇 (butsudan), which are altars for deceased family members. It was extremely creepy, and it was obvious that that part of town was probably aging and full of a lot of old people on the verge of kicking the bucket.
When we finally reached Kaminarimon, evening was rapidly approaching and we only had maybe an hour or two of sunlight left. The first vendor we came across on Nakamise (the road where all the peddlers set up shop) was selling fresh-made red bean-filled ningyoyaki, which is a small cake made of flour and egg. molded into shapes. We bought two bags to take home to Obaachan and a bag of hot ones to eat while we walked. The people selling them were exceedingly brusque, which totally surprised us. All of the vendors were loud, rude, and pushy, and I couldn't help but be reminded of dirty carnies in America. I felt this whole street was a giant tourist trap, and Mom agreed. We kept snagging samples at the osembe shops, and Mom deliberated on whether or not to buy a bag. She ultimately decided against it, as they were quite expensive (as were all the other things on that street). The ningyo were cheap, at least.
We visited the temple at the end of Nakamise, called Sensoji. It's the oldest temple in Tokyo and is something like 1500 years old. Plenty of people were milling about, clothing statues, washing their hands at the entrance, tossing money into the offering bins and praying. Prayer rituals are serious business in Japan, and people had some elaborate arm gestures and bowing maneuvers carefully choreographed to achieve maximum levels of Buddha-pleasing. It was impressive.
As the sun began to dip down, Mom and I discussed what we would do for dinner, as we hadn't eaten since lunch many hours previously, and although we weren't starving we figured we should eat something. We wandered around Asakusa looking for a good deal on food, but decided that perhaps Shinjuku might offer something better. Instead of walking back to the JR station in Ueno we hopped on the subway and took it back to Ueno station where we got onto the Yamanote heading south where we expected to switch to the Chuo line back to Shinjuku (the reason being that Tokyo is the terminus for the Chuo line and we'd be guaranteed a seat). However, since we were able to get a seat on the Yamanote in Ueno, we rode it the whole way to Shinjuku, even though it was like taking a route that went around 3 sides of the square. We didn't mind, and welcomed the rest.
When we got into Shinjuku, it was packed with people, like usual. We went into Kabukicho to look for a restaurant and ended up wandering for almost an hour, unable to find any place that was both inexpensive and tasty-looking. We did see a trio consisting of a drummer, a saxophone player, and a guy holding a banner for a bar; they were playing "Izakaya," a kayoukyoku song about a man trying to pick up a girl at a plain, generic bar ("There's no pictures, no flowers, no music, no words, no jokes or anything to decorate this kind of bar"). It was cute. We also saw advertisements for host bars full of tanned, bleached, airbrushed young men who would be more than happy to let you buy them expensive alcohol and food to fulfill your sad, lonely office lady life.
We got lost looking for the Isetan, tempted by its purportedly abundant food basement, and although we found it, it was close to closing time, so we sampled milk and tofu, pickles and salad dressings, weighed the benefits versus the costs of some of their produce, and ultimately left with nothing. We caught the train at Shinjuku station and headed back to Fussa. When we arrived, we had enough time to peruse the deals at the Ozam before they closed for the night. There we picked up dinner-- fried oyster bento box, korokke, and gyoza, all at half-price. We enjoyed our dinner at home, and although it was late and we were tired, it was oh-so satisfying (and probably a lot better than anything we could have picked up for 4 times the price at a normal restaurant). It was a fun-filled day, and exhausting because of all the walking we did.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Back in America
I arrived back home a week ago, and I realized that although I got little feedback on my blog, some people actually read it. So I'll update this week with more stories from my trip to Japan.
Being home for a week, I've had time to let it sink in how much I miss Japan and how much I ended up enjoying it. I honestly didn't think that I would like it as much as I did, and there are so many things that I miss or outright crave that are unavailable here.
First on my list are milk and bread. Regular old cow's milk and plain white bread, for some reason, are amazing foods in Japan. It must be what they feed the cows or the wheat they use in the bread, but there is nothing that comes remotely close in comparison in America. Milk in Japan has this-- I don't know-- aroma. I can't really describe it without making it sound gross, but it smells and tastes like something that came out of an animal. This is opposed to in the US where milk is so mass-manufactured and processed that it lacks any distinguishable smell and its taste is, to me, best described as dairy-flavored water. I have no idea what they feed the cows in Japan, but I can only guess it's something like butter, sugar, and magic because that is what it tastes like. You can also buy milk in absurdly high levels of milkfat-- 4.4%, which is probably very bad for you but tastes amazing. Another cool thing about Japanese milk is that, based on my and Mom's current levels of lactose intolerance (I, mildly; she, severely), it is very easy to digest. Mom would drink glasses of it and not be bothered even slightly. I can't read the box and Mom has a thing with not reading boxes (and not telling me what she reads on boxes), so I have no idea why that is so. After I came back to the US my first sip of milk made my tummy rumble.
Next to the milk is the bread. I do not know how they do it, but their white bread is so soft and light, but has a spongy texture to it, not unlike an angel food cake. If you were to press your finger into a loaf, it would pop right back into shape. When toasted, the outside forms what seems to be a protective crust that preserves the softness of the inside of the slice, so that you get both a pleasant crunch and a slight chewiness, as opposed to American white bread that becomes instantly hard and dry throughout the whole slice. The Japanese seem to prefer Texas toast-like slices which are, in terms of normal slices, the width of a slice-and-a-half to two slices. They make the best toast as their insides stay the most chewy. Thinner slices are better for sandwiches, and you can even buy boxes of pre-cut triangular wedges, sans crust. Despite the light taste of Japanese bread, the loaf itself is surprisingly heavy. Usually, bread is sold 4-8 slices at a time (4 gigantic mega Texas toast slices; 6 normal Texas toast slices; or 8 normal slices) and each bag seems fairly light. They also sell the whole, unsliced loaf, which is the size of a normal Wonder Bread loaf, but it weighs about 3-4 times as much. Physics eludes me-- I don't understand why that is.
Cucumbers are another thing I will miss. They're so incredibly different from the kind you find in grocery stores here. In Japan, cucumbers are long and skinny with a thick, bumpy, dark-green skin. Why I will miss them is because they have this amazing snap when you bite into one. Japanese cucumbers are extraordinarily crisp and highly addictive. I don't think there is any other way to describe them or anything else I can add. They're just great. American cucumbers seem so mushy and gross to me now.
Eggs. There is something about Japanese eggs-- the chickens that lay them, perhaps?-- that makes them have a delightful taste that regular grocery store eggs in America lack. Even if you never actually eat an egg, you may see one cooked. The yolk is a brilliant color, ranging from a dark, mustardy yellow to a deep brick orange, almost red, much like a setting sun (or the Japanese flag). I have never seen eggs that look quite like that before, as I'm used to the pale golden color of grocery store eggs. Japan has a lot of different chicken species, so I suspect that has something to do with the yolk colors, but still-- they're beautiful to look at. For me, though, the best part is the flavor. The most remarkable thing is that they have a taste at all. Eggs in America have been to me mostly about texture and what I can add to an egg to make it taste like, well, anything. Japanese egg yolks have a creamy texture and an almost gamey taste. It's difficult to describe, but like the milk, it tastes like something that came from (well, is) an animal.
I also miss food basements in department stores. As lame and 貧乏人 as that seems, I enjoyed going through the different departments and sampling tidbits of ultra-exclusive foods they had to offer. Mom and I shared a great experience at the Mitsukoshi department store in Nihombashi; we had all sorts of things from pickles and gyoza to bread, cheesecake, osembe, and tofu. A guy there even opened a champagne bottle for us to try. I guess I should feel a bit bad that I wasn't intending to buy anything at the time, but that doesn't mean that I've forgotten what I've eaten and one day I will come back to purchase something (or recommend other people to try some things).
Eating out was fun in Japan, but I have to say that the best food was cooked at home. 鯵の開き (aji no hiraki; "butterflied horse mackerel") is Mom's favorite food, and we had that grilled a few times while there. My favorite was a miso-based noodle soup, ほうとう (houtou), made with wide, flat udon noodles and chock-fulla vegetables like kabocha pumpkin, potatoes, nappa cabbage, spring onions, carrots, daikon, and mushrooms-- basically, whatever happens to be in the pantry. Mom kept telling me that it's a dish from Obaachan's country, the Yamanashi prefecture, where the legendary Takeda Shingen was said to have eaten it in his battle camps. Mom doesn't like it so much-- I thought it was brilliant. Hitoshiojichan made (extremely) delicious gyoza a couple times. Oden was probably the least healthy food, but one of the most delicious, as it's just a hot pot full of fried tofu, mochi in fried tofu bags, tofu, cabbage, spring onions, shirataki, konnyaku, mushrooms, and many different types of fish cakes. Oden night is a happy night. Its cousin,
お鍋 (nabe; "pot"), is a similar idea (actually, oden is in the nabe family, but anyway) and that, too was delicious. We had sukiyaki a couple times, although secretly I prefer oden.
I guess this entry has evolved from "general stuff I miss about Japan" to "food I miss from Japan." It's sad, but true-- I really miss the food more than anything else. I miss the myriad of choices the vending machines offered. I miss being able to choose between 10 different brands of milk coffee, and within each brand 10 varieties of milk coffee. I miss paying a dollar for a bottle of grape Calpico (it tastes like drinking a grape). I miss iced jasmine tea in a bottle. I miss seeing giant signs for oden at 7-11. I miss the tempura bars at grocery stores. I miss the 7pm price cut on bento boxes. I miss seeing $40 bunches of grapes or singular melons wrapped in foam nets for $30. I miss endless varieties of fresh fish and mushrooms. I miss the tofu aisle with the annoyingly repetitive video at Ozam. I miss delicious single-serving ice cream treats for 75 cents.
Ridiculous? Most definitely. But it's oh so true.
Being home for a week, I've had time to let it sink in how much I miss Japan and how much I ended up enjoying it. I honestly didn't think that I would like it as much as I did, and there are so many things that I miss or outright crave that are unavailable here.
First on my list are milk and bread. Regular old cow's milk and plain white bread, for some reason, are amazing foods in Japan. It must be what they feed the cows or the wheat they use in the bread, but there is nothing that comes remotely close in comparison in America. Milk in Japan has this-- I don't know-- aroma. I can't really describe it without making it sound gross, but it smells and tastes like something that came out of an animal. This is opposed to in the US where milk is so mass-manufactured and processed that it lacks any distinguishable smell and its taste is, to me, best described as dairy-flavored water. I have no idea what they feed the cows in Japan, but I can only guess it's something like butter, sugar, and magic because that is what it tastes like. You can also buy milk in absurdly high levels of milkfat-- 4.4%, which is probably very bad for you but tastes amazing. Another cool thing about Japanese milk is that, based on my and Mom's current levels of lactose intolerance (I, mildly; she, severely), it is very easy to digest. Mom would drink glasses of it and not be bothered even slightly. I can't read the box and Mom has a thing with not reading boxes (and not telling me what she reads on boxes), so I have no idea why that is so. After I came back to the US my first sip of milk made my tummy rumble.
Next to the milk is the bread. I do not know how they do it, but their white bread is so soft and light, but has a spongy texture to it, not unlike an angel food cake. If you were to press your finger into a loaf, it would pop right back into shape. When toasted, the outside forms what seems to be a protective crust that preserves the softness of the inside of the slice, so that you get both a pleasant crunch and a slight chewiness, as opposed to American white bread that becomes instantly hard and dry throughout the whole slice. The Japanese seem to prefer Texas toast-like slices which are, in terms of normal slices, the width of a slice-and-a-half to two slices. They make the best toast as their insides stay the most chewy. Thinner slices are better for sandwiches, and you can even buy boxes of pre-cut triangular wedges, sans crust. Despite the light taste of Japanese bread, the loaf itself is surprisingly heavy. Usually, bread is sold 4-8 slices at a time (4 gigantic mega Texas toast slices; 6 normal Texas toast slices; or 8 normal slices) and each bag seems fairly light. They also sell the whole, unsliced loaf, which is the size of a normal Wonder Bread loaf, but it weighs about 3-4 times as much. Physics eludes me-- I don't understand why that is.
Cucumbers are another thing I will miss. They're so incredibly different from the kind you find in grocery stores here. In Japan, cucumbers are long and skinny with a thick, bumpy, dark-green skin. Why I will miss them is because they have this amazing snap when you bite into one. Japanese cucumbers are extraordinarily crisp and highly addictive. I don't think there is any other way to describe them or anything else I can add. They're just great. American cucumbers seem so mushy and gross to me now.
Eggs. There is something about Japanese eggs-- the chickens that lay them, perhaps?-- that makes them have a delightful taste that regular grocery store eggs in America lack. Even if you never actually eat an egg, you may see one cooked. The yolk is a brilliant color, ranging from a dark, mustardy yellow to a deep brick orange, almost red, much like a setting sun (or the Japanese flag). I have never seen eggs that look quite like that before, as I'm used to the pale golden color of grocery store eggs. Japan has a lot of different chicken species, so I suspect that has something to do with the yolk colors, but still-- they're beautiful to look at. For me, though, the best part is the flavor. The most remarkable thing is that they have a taste at all. Eggs in America have been to me mostly about texture and what I can add to an egg to make it taste like, well, anything. Japanese egg yolks have a creamy texture and an almost gamey taste. It's difficult to describe, but like the milk, it tastes like something that came from (well, is) an animal.
I also miss food basements in department stores. As lame and 貧乏人 as that seems, I enjoyed going through the different departments and sampling tidbits of ultra-exclusive foods they had to offer. Mom and I shared a great experience at the Mitsukoshi department store in Nihombashi; we had all sorts of things from pickles and gyoza to bread, cheesecake, osembe, and tofu. A guy there even opened a champagne bottle for us to try. I guess I should feel a bit bad that I wasn't intending to buy anything at the time, but that doesn't mean that I've forgotten what I've eaten and one day I will come back to purchase something (or recommend other people to try some things).
Eating out was fun in Japan, but I have to say that the best food was cooked at home. 鯵の開き (aji no hiraki; "butterflied horse mackerel") is Mom's favorite food, and we had that grilled a few times while there. My favorite was a miso-based noodle soup, ほうとう (houtou), made with wide, flat udon noodles and chock-fulla vegetables like kabocha pumpkin, potatoes, nappa cabbage, spring onions, carrots, daikon, and mushrooms-- basically, whatever happens to be in the pantry. Mom kept telling me that it's a dish from Obaachan's country, the Yamanashi prefecture, where the legendary Takeda Shingen was said to have eaten it in his battle camps. Mom doesn't like it so much-- I thought it was brilliant. Hitoshiojichan made (extremely) delicious gyoza a couple times. Oden was probably the least healthy food, but one of the most delicious, as it's just a hot pot full of fried tofu, mochi in fried tofu bags, tofu, cabbage, spring onions, shirataki, konnyaku, mushrooms, and many different types of fish cakes. Oden night is a happy night. Its cousin,
お鍋 (nabe; "pot"), is a similar idea (actually, oden is in the nabe family, but anyway) and that, too was delicious. We had sukiyaki a couple times, although secretly I prefer oden.I guess this entry has evolved from "general stuff I miss about Japan" to "food I miss from Japan." It's sad, but true-- I really miss the food more than anything else. I miss the myriad of choices the vending machines offered. I miss being able to choose between 10 different brands of milk coffee, and within each brand 10 varieties of milk coffee. I miss paying a dollar for a bottle of grape Calpico (it tastes like drinking a grape). I miss iced jasmine tea in a bottle. I miss seeing giant signs for oden at 7-11. I miss the tempura bars at grocery stores. I miss the 7pm price cut on bento boxes. I miss seeing $40 bunches of grapes or singular melons wrapped in foam nets for $30. I miss endless varieties of fresh fish and mushrooms. I miss the tofu aisle with the annoyingly repetitive video at Ozam. I miss delicious single-serving ice cream treats for 75 cents.
Ridiculous? Most definitely. But it's oh so true.
Monday, November 5, 2007
上を向いて歩こう
Last week ranged between insufferably boring and fun and exciting. After a weekend of hanging out with friends, I woke up late this morning to a breakfast of rice, natto and miso soup. Mom and I went to Yokota to sign up for a tour of Kamakura and Enoshima, which we were disappointed to find out fell on the day that I was to go out with my friends for the last time before leaving Japan. Mom saw a silver lining-- she just saved $66.
We walked down to the side of the base close to Hamura where Mom pointed out all of the old and tiny (and decrepit) buildings that used to house Americans back in the day. She was surprised to see that they still stood and people lived in them. As we walked toward Higashi Fussa, Mom commented on the fact that where all these neighborhoods and tall buildings stood there used to be fields and a singular mulberry bush from which she would pick berries on her way to school. The one house that stood along the path where she walked was so huge to her eyes, as it was perched atop a wall of stone and towered above the fields; apparently it housed an assemblyman. A small cul-de-sac now exists there. The red light district she was forbidden to go near still stands, and even at 3:30 in the afternoon there were shady characters lurking about. We hurried along to do some grocery shopping before heading home.
The most exciting discovery of the day was that hotate was on sale today. It has become my single most favorite food in the world. Mom and I both agree that we can eat it every day.
We walked down to the side of the base close to Hamura where Mom pointed out all of the old and tiny (and decrepit) buildings that used to house Americans back in the day. She was surprised to see that they still stood and people lived in them. As we walked toward Higashi Fussa, Mom commented on the fact that where all these neighborhoods and tall buildings stood there used to be fields and a singular mulberry bush from which she would pick berries on her way to school. The one house that stood along the path where she walked was so huge to her eyes, as it was perched atop a wall of stone and towered above the fields; apparently it housed an assemblyman. A small cul-de-sac now exists there. The red light district she was forbidden to go near still stands, and even at 3:30 in the afternoon there were shady characters lurking about. We hurried along to do some grocery shopping before heading home.
The most exciting discovery of the day was that hotate was on sale today. It has become my single most favorite food in the world. Mom and I both agree that we can eat it every day.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Worse Than a Nerd
Mom and Hitoshiojichan are watching a TV show, and while I wasn't paying attention, I heard what sounded like Evangelion music. I turned to look, and images of Eva toys were flashed on the screen. I felt like a big nerd for recognizing it.
I felt even worse when I saw what the topic of discussion was-- 引き篭り, "hikikomori," or "acute social withdrawal," something that afflicts many otaku.
Oh my.
Updates tomorrow on my Saturday trek into the typhoon that hit Tokyo, starring Brian and Athena, guest-starring a malfunctioning umbrella, foot-staining black shoes, and a creepy head-butting old man. Was he drunk? Was he ill? Was he just a creepy head-butting old man? FIND OUT NEXT TIME.
I felt even worse when I saw what the topic of discussion was-- 引き篭り, "hikikomori," or "acute social withdrawal," something that afflicts many otaku.
Oh my.
Updates tomorrow on my Saturday trek into the typhoon that hit Tokyo, starring Brian and Athena, guest-starring a malfunctioning umbrella, foot-staining black shoes, and a creepy head-butting old man. Was he drunk? Was he ill? Was he just a creepy head-butting old man? FIND OUT NEXT TIME.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Don't Push the Red Button
I forgot to mention this little bit from my arrival back to Obaachan's on Saturday. From the lobby at Obaachan's apartment complex you have to use a keypad to call the apartment so they can unlock the door to get into the courtyard. When I did so, Mom answered the phone and said "Okay, I'll unlock it!" The door did not unlock, but rather an alarm began sounding. I heard some confused voices coming from the intercom that sounded like Obaachan telling Mom that she hit the wrong button, and the door was unlocked. The alarm continued to sound.
On the phone that connects to the lobby, there are three buttons: "Unlock," "Call Out," and a big red button that says "PUSH HARD." Naturally, Mom jammed on the only one with instructions clear enough that she could see without her glasses. "It said to push hard, so I did." I don't blame her as much as I blame the nondescript design of the phone, but it was amusing nonetheless.
I guess the alarm eventually stopped, and I imagine someone called at some point to inquire about the alarm. I am not entirely sure what happened next as I was bathing and sleeping within an hour of coming back.
On the phone that connects to the lobby, there are three buttons: "Unlock," "Call Out," and a big red button that says "PUSH HARD." Naturally, Mom jammed on the only one with instructions clear enough that she could see without her glasses. "It said to push hard, so I did." I don't blame her as much as I blame the nondescript design of the phone, but it was amusing nonetheless.
I guess the alarm eventually stopped, and I imagine someone called at some point to inquire about the alarm. I am not entirely sure what happened next as I was bathing and sleeping within an hour of coming back.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Wasted Day
I slept in until nearly 2:30 this afternoon, partly because I might have been tired after going for a run the previous evening, partly because I drank some coffee at around 10pm, partly because my right knee was sore and I had difficulty getting comfortable enough to sleep, and partly because the room I was sleeping in isn't very bright in the mornings so I am not bothered by the sun. It was quite annoying. I had no idea that I had slept that late. Nobody bothered to wake me up, so I blissfully traveled around Egypt in my dreams.
After a sanma and miso soup lunch, Mom and I trekked off to Yokota to run some errands. When we got back, it was already approaching 8 and Hitoshiojichan was cooking spaghetti for dinner. It was a little amusing to watch him and Obaachan eat it with chopsticks and slurp it up as they would any other noodle dish. Mom and I used forks. We were the odd ones.
Now that I wrote that, I am bothered as to why they are called "chopsticks," as that makes no sense to me. Wikipedia knows all, apparently, so 30 seconds after that thought I found this knowledge nugget:
The English word "chopstick" seems to have been derived from Chinese Pidgin English, a pidgin where "chop chop" meant quickly.
The Mandarin Chinese word for chopsticks is kuàizi (筷子) or kuài'er (筷儿/筷兒). 筷 is a semantic-phonetic (xíngshēng) compound with a phonetic part of "快", which means quick, and a semantic part, 竹, meaning bamboo.
My curiosity has been sated.
I did not mention that Gackt is on a samurai drama broadcast weekly here. It's weird. Mom says he looks foreign. I told her that he was born in Okinawa, which seemed to explain everything to her about his appearance. Beat Takeshi is also on some weird variety quiz shows. Mom says that he looks mean, and when I told her that I've only seen him in movies where he is either a Yakuza member or a sociopath, she nodded, knowingly. My limited knowledge of Japanese pop culture is less limited than hers, apparently.
I have decided that I need to start getting out more in these next couple weeks. I probably won't be getting out of the Tokyo area, but there are so many things to do that it doesn't even matter. Here are places that I've decided that need to visit:
Roppongi
Asakusa
Ueno
Akihabara (I didn't spend much time there last time)
Edogawa
Kanda
I also want to go back to Mt. Takao when it's a little cooler and the trees have turned colors. Suzukoobachan had a lovely calendar in her bathroom with a photo of Mt. Takao surrounded by beautiful orange and red trees. It's only about $6.40 round-trip, and I think it'd be worth it, especially to take a hike up the mountain trail for the fantastic view. And Ome is like $3.20, and there are neat things to see there, too. Maybe I should go tomorrow. I want to sightsee away from the city a little bit.
It's very late, and I didn't even realize it. I hope I don't oversleep tomorrow.
After a sanma and miso soup lunch, Mom and I trekked off to Yokota to run some errands. When we got back, it was already approaching 8 and Hitoshiojichan was cooking spaghetti for dinner. It was a little amusing to watch him and Obaachan eat it with chopsticks and slurp it up as they would any other noodle dish. Mom and I used forks. We were the odd ones.
Now that I wrote that, I am bothered as to why they are called "chopsticks," as that makes no sense to me. Wikipedia knows all, apparently, so 30 seconds after that thought I found this knowledge nugget:
The English word "chopstick" seems to have been derived from Chinese Pidgin English, a pidgin where "chop chop" meant quickly.
The Mandarin Chinese word for chopsticks is kuàizi (筷子) or kuài'er (筷儿/筷兒). 筷 is a semantic-phonetic (xíngshēng) compound with a phonetic part of "快", which means quick, and a semantic part, 竹, meaning bamboo.
My curiosity has been sated.
I did not mention that Gackt is on a samurai drama broadcast weekly here. It's weird. Mom says he looks foreign. I told her that he was born in Okinawa, which seemed to explain everything to her about his appearance. Beat Takeshi is also on some weird variety quiz shows. Mom says that he looks mean, and when I told her that I've only seen him in movies where he is either a Yakuza member or a sociopath, she nodded, knowingly. My limited knowledge of Japanese pop culture is less limited than hers, apparently.
I have decided that I need to start getting out more in these next couple weeks. I probably won't be getting out of the Tokyo area, but there are so many things to do that it doesn't even matter. Here are places that I've decided that need to visit:
Roppongi
Asakusa
Ueno
Akihabara (I didn't spend much time there last time)
Edogawa
Kanda
I also want to go back to Mt. Takao when it's a little cooler and the trees have turned colors. Suzukoobachan had a lovely calendar in her bathroom with a photo of Mt. Takao surrounded by beautiful orange and red trees. It's only about $6.40 round-trip, and I think it'd be worth it, especially to take a hike up the mountain trail for the fantastic view. And Ome is like $3.20, and there are neat things to see there, too. Maybe I should go tomorrow. I want to sightsee away from the city a little bit.
It's very late, and I didn't even realize it. I hope I don't oversleep tomorrow.
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