Blue Lotus

Kurazushi

With both of us craving sushi but neither of us having enough yen to afford a meal at our regular kaitenzushi (conveyor belt sushi) place, we decided to give Kurazushi another try. Kurazushi is one of the most popular kaitenzushi chains in the country, due to its muten (no additives) claims, family-friendly atmosphere and low price: each plate of sushi is 100 yen.

We first tried Kurazushi several years ago after friends and students raved about it, and found it so awful it made us question their sanity. It was just wrong, in nearly every way a sushi restaurant can be wrong, and another visit a few weeks later (a student dragged me along) confirmed it.

The sushi doing the rounds on the conveyor belt looked old and unappetizing, which is usually not a big problem as we prefer to order directly from the chefs anyway. But at this place there were no chefs: the sushi was made by sushi robots in another room and sent out the dining room on the conveyor belt. To make an order you had to communicate with someone, possibly human, in the back room through a crappy microphone speaker thingy, with sound quality comparable to that of a Taco Bell drive-through speaker (only three times louder). The order would come down the belt a good 10 minutes later, sitting on a special red platform to identify it as a special order but with no indication of whose special order it was (I accidentally grabbed another table's order twice). The sushi itself wasn't so bad, but not good either, and the menu leaned heavily towards kid-friendly toppings that were cooked and mayonnaise-laden, like teriyaki chicken and corn salad. The bill was calculated, as is the norm, by the number of plates. But rather than have an actual human tally them up for you, the table was equipped with a little plate chute down which you slid the plates one by one, and a computer would spit out the bill at the end of the meal. The plate chute was dirty on the outside and I could only imagine how bad it was deep inside--not the kind of thoughts you want to have while eating. To make matters worse, every fifth plate down the chute would trigger an electric gumball machine at the table to play some very loud slot machine music and spit out an unsolicited plastic toy.

I could go on, but I think I've made my point--it was an awful place, with bad food and an atmosphere as pleasant as a pachinko parlour. But this time was different. We went to a different location that had opened near us a few years ago and was always busy (we've always been puzzled about that and wondered if maybe this place was different, so had actually been meaning to give it another try for some time).

The place was much nicer than the other location, with a spacious clean interior and not nearly as much noise. The customers were all types, including families, groups of young folk, couples and lone diners. The other place had been almost exclusively mothers and young children, and we took this mixed crowd as a good sign. We were prepared to order one plate each and bolt if we didn't like it, but we ended up not only staying, but ordering 26 plates between us, a new record.

We didn't even need to order for the first several plates, as the sushi on the conveyor belt looked fresh and represented a good variety. My first plate was iwashi (sardine, pictured above), and it was every bit as good as at our regular place, at about half the price (it was basically an entire fish for 100 yen).

 

When we were ready to order, we found the speaker system had been replaced by a small computer screen and were able to easily order from a computerized menu. You choose your sushi, then enter the number of plates, then choose if you want wasabi or not. In the picture above, Hideaki is ordering one plate of chuutoro (tuna belly)  with no wasabi (he doesn't like the stuff). The screen clearly says that his order is for hitokan (one piece)--since all plates are the same price, sushi with more expensive toppings will come with only one piece rather than the usual two.

The menu itself has pictures but they're a bit small and hard to make out, and the other steps are all in Japanese. So ordering might not be so easy for those who can't read Japanese, but it's a definite improvement over the old system.

When the order came we knew it was ours because our screen beeped and told us our order was there--just as it was coming by on the belt. Those robots have amazing timing. Note that Hideaki's toro has come on a kiddy plate, as anyone who can't handle wasabi is assumed to be a child.

There was still the same deal with every fifth plate giving you a chance to win junk, with the screen lighting up with pachinko-style animation and music. But the pachinko hijinks are considerably less noisy, and we won two toys:

I'm not thrilled about having unwanted plastic junk forced on me, but each one came with a coupon so I'm not too upset about it. The coupons are only good for weekdays at that particular location, so I'm not sure if we'll ever actually use them, but who knows. I may yet work up the courage to actually eat in a kaitenzushi restaurant alone.

Still, I wish they'd spare the toys and spend the money saved on proper soy sauce plates. To keep costs down there are no little plates for soy sauce or pickled ginger, so you have to turn your used plates into holders for both. Either that or pour a tiny bit of soy sauce directly on your sushi. A minor quibble, but kind of a hassle. I'm also not sure what to make of their claims to use no additives--are there really no additives in any of the ingredients, or just a select few? And are other kaitenzushi places dousing their wares with chemicals? I can't help but suspect that these claims are the same as slapping a "cholesterol-free" label on a carton of orange juice.

 

Above are two plates of gunkan-maki, one with poached quail eggs and chopped aji (horse mackerel) and the other with cucumber and shirasu (baby sardines).

Above, shime-saba (vinegar-dressed mackerel) and yaki-harasu (seared salmon belly).

The 26 plates we ordered seems like a lot, but many were just one piece, and the pieces themselves are quite small. I don't mind this at all, as I prefer smaller sushi--it's easier to eat and you can taste it better.

The 26 plates we ordered seems like a lot, but many were just one piece, and the pieces themselves are quite small. I don't mind this at all, as I prefer smaller sushi--it's easier to eat and you can taste it better. It was certainly enough food to stuff ourselves, and the grand total came to 2730 yen, quite a bit less than our usual kaitenzushi restaurant.

So we no longer hate Kurazushi. The sushi is not the best in the world, but it's good and definitely an excellent value. I imagine that the experience varies from location to location, and I'll never again go back to the old place, but I can see us becoming regulars at this one.

Kurazushi (Japanese page), Oizumi Interchange Shop
03-5933-3710
5-16-4 Oizumicho, Nerima-ku, Tokyo
Open daily 11 to 11
Other locations throughout Honshu, full list here

Bukkake udon

I'm always reluctant to post about a style of noodles called bukkake, because whenever I do I get comments and emails asking if I've made some kind of spelling mistake, and kindly explaining what bukkake "really" means.

Well let me pre-empt that this time: bukkake means to pour, throw or splash liquid onto something, and is most often used to describe a style of udon (wheat noodles). Bukkake udon is a shallow bowl of cold udon, splashed with a small amount of mentsuyu (soy-based noodle broth) and a few toppings. I knowwhat the other meaning is, thank you very much, and thanks to the wonders of the internets so does the entire rest of the world. Except, of course, the average Japanese person, to whom bukkake means nothing more than a quick bowl of noodles. So get your minds of the gutter, folks. No emails, rude comments, helpful explanations, jokes, giggling, or other tomfoolery will be tolerated.

Now, with that off my chest (sorry), here's a recent dinner:

Bukkake udon topped with ground sesame seeds, katsuobushi (smoked bonito flakes), wakame seaweed, umeboshi(salt-pickled ume), and shichimi(seven spice mix); walnut, wakame, spinach and mizuna salad dressed with ponzu and olive oil; maguro-kake tofu: cold tofu with a topping of chopped tuna sashimi dressed with soy sauce, sesame oil, sesame seeds and shiso(perilla). On the left is zaru udon(cold udon on a basket with dipping sauce) for Hideaki, who wanted something simple.

Bukkake udon is easy to make so is highly recommended for those new to Japanese cuisine. Here's how it's done:

The noodles are boiled as per package directions (I always shave a few minutes off the recommended cooking time as I like my udon chewy), drained, and rubbed with both hands while soaking in cold water. This last step is called momi-arai(literally "rub-washing") and gives the udon a firm chewy texture and also fully removes excess starch, making the noodles slippery rather than sticky.

The drained noodles are added to a bowl and splashed with mentsuyu--bottled is fine, either full strength or diluted with water. Dashi-joyu(soy sauce with dashi) can also be used.

Then the toppings are added: other than those listed above, you can use thinly sliced negi(long onion); thinly sliced shiso; tenkasu (little balls of fried tempura batter); a raw egg yolk, a whole raw quail egg, or an onsen tamago (hot spring-poached egg); nattou(fermented soy beans); grated ginger; grated daikon; or pretty much anything you can imagine. Try different combinations to find one you like (other than the one above, I really like negi, egg yolk and tenkasu). Just try not to add too much stuff at once, as the udon should be the main focus of the dish.

Ribs

I gave blood today, for the first time in five years (not counting my failed attempt a few years ago). As usual it took them forever to find a vein, but in the end they called in the head nurse and she was able to work magic. I managed to get through the whole thing without fainting, but I did feel a bit weak afterward so I made myself a hearty dinner to restore my energy.

Soy-glazed ribs, asparagus dressed with ponzu, corn and new potatoes. I followed this Chinese barbequed baby back ribs recipe from Epicurious, and it turned out fairly well. It promised tender ribs with just an hour of baking in the oven, and while the meat didn't end up with that lovely falling-off-the-bones texture it was sufficiently tasty. A cook who is short a couple cups of blood shouldn't be expected to come up with a perfect meal, so I think I did pretty well.

Oh, by the way that's a can of Yona Yona Ale, a nice beer from a microbrewery in Karuizawa, Nagano. It went straight to my head and I probably shouldn't have drunk it so soon after donating blood, but my husband picked it for me on his way home from work and I figured that not drinking it would be rude or something. We like to give little souvenirs to each other once in a while, and I'd hate to discourage him from doing his part.

Making ume jam

I liked the ume jam my student made so much that, knowing it wouldn't last very long, I decided to make some of my own. I couldn't find a recipe in English and the Japanese recipes and instructions I found online all varied quite a bit, which had me a bit confused. Normally I wouldn't worry so much because jam is a relatively simple thing to make, but ume (Japanese apricot, the fruit of Prunus mume) is bitter and toxic in its raw form and needs certain preparations to make it safe and tasty.

So I winged it, and what follows is not the ultimate ume jam recipe--this is more of a proto-recipe, and is in desperate need of refinement. But since the season's ume are nearly gone (and I'm out of jam jars and lids) it will have to do for this year. Hopefully my lovely readers will have some helpful tips and next year I'll get it right.

 

I used one kilogram of yellow ume and 500 grams of granulated sugar. I washed the ume and soaked it in salt water for three hours, then rinsed it, drained it and removed the stem remnants. Unlike with making umeshuI didn't have to worry about getting the ume completely dry.

The ume were added to my Le Crueset pot (any enamel, glass or stainless steel pot would work) and covered with cold water, then brought slowly to the boil.

 

The ume began to soften and the skin started to break as the water heated up, and as soon as it boiled the fruit was drained.

 

I had planned on giving the ume two boils but I realized that the fruit was so soft that another boil would have disintegrated them. So I decided they'd had enough and transfered them to a bowl to mash them (not wanting to damage my pot with the metal potato masher).

 

I gave the fruit a good mashing with a potato masher, which helped loosen the pits but didn't completely separate them. Ume are clingstones, so in this way they are closer to plums than apricots. Maybe I should check some plum jam recipes for tips about removing the pits.

 

Stuck as to how to proceed, I poured the ume into sieve and tried to push the pulp through with a wooden spoon. This helped separate the pulp from the pits, but what came out the other end was too smooth--I like a chunkier jam.

 

So for the rest of the pulp, I simply squeezed the flesh from the pits with my hands. Probably not the best way to do it, and it made quite a mess, but it did get the job done.

And here is the half chunky, half smooth pulp. It looked good already so I had a little taste, but it was unbelievably sour. Definitely a sour plum flavour, so I and understand a little why ume are often called plums in English.

The sugar was added and the heat turned on. I started out with 300 grams of sugar but after a taste ended up using the whole 500 gram bag. People who like a sweet jam would want to use more, maybe a full kilogram for a very sweet result.

 

I brought it slowly to a boil and then simmered it for 15 minutes, stirring constantly. 10 would probably have been sufficient but since I'd only given the ume one boiling I wanted to be extra careful.

 

It made a bit of foam, which was removed with a ladle. I got tired of that so in the end I just added a small pat of butter, which made the foam completely disappear.

 

Meanwhile, I had jars and lids boiling in two pots. They were all from home, having once contained strawberry, cherry and other jams made with my family on visits back home. The lids presented a bit of a conundrum, as I know you are not supposed to reuse them. But mason jars with double lids don't exist in Japan, and while jam making is popular here it's not done with long-term storage or safety in mind.

In fact, home-made jam in Japan is closer to what we'd call compote or refrigerator jam back home, with a soft, runny, ungelled texture. Little sugar is used (most Japanese have an aversion to overly sweet flavours), the cooking time is short, and the jam is poured into whatever containers are available, usually not sterilized. It kept in the fridge and meant to be eaten quickly. Very quickly--I've received a lot of home-made jam here in Japan, and it almost always goes moldy before I can finish it.

So I figured that compared to the usual Japanese jam-making methods, re-using my double lids was a minor sin. I only ended up with 5 jars and I'm sure it will be used up quickly.

 

Next time I go back home I will stock up not only on lids, but add a wide-mouth jam funnel as well. I had a bit of trouble ladling the jam into the jars and spilled a bit on the rims, which is another no-no. But after sealing the jars I heard five loud pings, confirming that all of the jars sealed.

 

And this is what I ended up with: 5 jars of beautifully coloured ume jam. It set perfectly-- ume must be very high in natural pectin. I'd never made jam without adding Certo and had always thought added pectin was necessary for all jam, so it was amazing to see this jam gell all by itself.

I just had to try some, so after the jam cooled down I spread a bit on an English muffin. And now I finally understand why ume are called Japanese apricots. The colour, smell and flavour were pure apricot! Well, a very tart apricot--maybe the offspring of an apricot and a lemon. The jam is delicious, and in addition to the apricot flavour it has a pleasant marmalade-like bitterness (I'm not sure that's the proper flavour or if it's a fault that resulted from only boiling the ume once). I just  if only I could find proper jars and lids I'd be out buying more ume to make several more batches.

So I'll be trying this again next year, and also will try it with the ume leftover from my ume liqueur. And in the meantime I'd love to hear some ume jam making tips, or just some jam tips in general. What kind of jam are you making this year?

Hydrangea

Hydrangea season is nearing its end, and I haven't been able to get out to see them very much this year. Luckily, as long as I keep my eyes open I can see them all over the city, in parks, people's gardens, even on my own balcony. That's the great thing about hydrangea: they are not terribly show-offy and tend to tuck themselves inconspicuously into nooks and crannies, so they just seem to sneak up on you. Hydrangea can enliven even the dreariest, shabbiest street, and spotting a few blossoms hidden here and there in the concrete jungle is a joy.

I was hoping to get more hydrangea pictures this year and was determined not to let the rain stop me. But this year it's not the rain that is stopping me, it's the cold: this rainy season seems to be extra chilly, and today I've even been debating whether or not to turn on the heat (so far I've resisted--thank goodness I haven't packed away my winter clothes yet). By the time the weather warms up the hydrangea blossoms will likely be gone, so I might as well go ahead and show you the pictures I've taken of them so far.

I'll finish with a few pictures featuring bonus spiders (bugs love hydrangea for some reason). I realize that not everybody loves bug pictures, even if the bugs in question are the cute little green sasagumo (lynx spider), so I'll give you fair warning: don't scroll down!

For more hydrangea pictures, see my flower album, and more bugs (all of them cute, I promise) can be seen in my creepy crawly album.

Panko crusted rack of lamb

My first attempt at a whole rack of lamb. Lamb is surprisingly easy to find in my neighborhood, but is usually only sold thinly sliced (for yakiniku or Mongolian bbq), or cut into little ribs or pricey chops. I've always wanted to try cooking a bigger cut, so now that there's a Costco nearby I knew I had to try rack of lamb. I followed an Emeril recipe for Mustard crusted lamb found on the Food Network site, substituting panko for regular breadcrumbs.

It was very easy to do, even easier than cooking individual lamb chops since after the initial preparation I just chucked it into the oven. I often complain about my little convection oven but for simple stuff like this it works just fine. Better than a real oven, really, because it doesn't heat up the whole apartment. I should use it more often.

Served with a salad of baby greens and chickpeas, new potatoes and asparagus dressed with olive oil and soy sauce. The sauce was made with mustard, soy sauce and the ume jam my student gave me, and the ume flavour went beautifully with the lamb.

The lamb turned out incredibly tasty, tender and succulent, and I loved the crunchy panko crust. But holy cow was it ever fatty! I do like my meat on the fatty side but this was a bit too much. The ume helped offset the richness but iot would have required a gallon of sauce to fully cut all that grease. I don't know if the chops I usually buy are less fatty than this, or if more fat is rendered from pre-cut chops during cooking than is rendered from a whole rack, or what. The chops I normally buy are from New Zealand and this rack was from Australia, so I wonder if that has anything to do with it? The rack was well trimmed, by the way, with only the thinnest layer of fat on the outside--the offending fat was in the middle of the chop (you can see some of it in the picture above). There seems to be no way to remove it before cooking since it's not on the outside of the chop, and I'd imagine that trying to render the fat out by cooking would result in tough, overcooked meat.

I'd like to cook this again, because other than the excess grease it was excellent. But is there any way to reduce the fat, or make it a little more palatable?

Ume jam

One more thing to do with ume (Japanese apricot): make jam.

 

This is it on toast (that's my usual peanut butter and banana toast on the left). No, I didn't make it--a student of mine did, with fruit from her own ume trees. It is deliciously sweet and sour with a lovely ume fragrance, and I don't think it's going to last very long. It is great plain on toast and I have a feeling it will also make a good sauce. Thanks Mrs. A!

She used ao-ume(green ume) for her jam but most recipes call for ripe yellow ume. And since there are still yellow ume left in the stores I might just have to make a batch for myself. If you'd like to give it a try as well, Obachan has some basic ume jam instructions in English here, and these two recipes, although in Japanese, have enough pictures to make them understandable.

The basic process is the same as any other jam, but before you begin you'll need to detoxify the ume: soak the fruit in salt water overnight (or a few hours if you're using yellow ume) and then boil in water, removing the scum that will form, drain, and repeat the boiling twice. The soaking and boiling is not necessary when using fruit leftover from making umeshu (ume liqueur). The pits can be removed after the boiling (the fruit will still be firm so you'll need to cut them out with a knife), or midway through the jam making process when the fruit will be soft enough to crush with a potato masher. The crushed fruit can then be pureed for a smooth jam, or left as-is for a chunky jam.

If I don't get around to making jam with fresh ume this season at least I know just what I'll be doing with the ume leftover from my umeshu next year.

Balcony gardening

I've long assumed that I'm a terrible gardener, and after several failed attempts at growing herbs and flowers in the garden of my former apartment I gave up. And at my new apartment I've let two summers go by without trying to grow anything, despite having two largish (for Tokyo) balconies.

I had no plans to do anything differently this summer until I noticed something strange going on earlier this year: the poinsettia that I'd bought in early December was not only still alive, it was thriving. This was a surprise as I'd considered it a disposable plant, assuming it would die after a month they way every other plant I've ever had has. I took it as a sign that this year I'd have good gardening luck, and in March started some seeds indoors.

I started with herbs, using plastic drink bottle planters like the ones shown above. Most thrived and were transplanted outside in April and May, and with my gardening confidence considerably improved the planters are now starting cherry tomatoes, negi (long onions) and nira (garlic chives).

This is what I've planted on the balcony off of our bedroom, which faces North and gets little direct light: salad greens, parsley, and yellow cherry tomatoes. At the top right you can see a bit of the still-thriving poinsettia and a couple of hydrangea.

These are the salad greens, with mizuna on the left, arugula in the middle, and "mixed lettuce" (that's what the seed pack said) on the right. The mizuna are actually ready to be harvested as baby greens but I'm going to let them grown a bit more.

The tomatoes were bought as seedlings and seem to put all of their energy into growing ever taller rather than producing fruit. The flowers that came with the plants have since died, and new flowers have yet to turn into tomatoes. 

 

I don't know if it's the lack of sunlight, or overplanting (only after planting these three did I hear that tomatoes are happier when planted one per container) or something else, but the simple fact that they are not dead has me amazed, and I won't be too disappointed if my first tomato attempt is not successful.

There is still plenty of space for more plants on this balcony but with the lack of direct sunlight I'm not sure what to plant.

 

This balcony, on a sunny South-east corner, has herbs and more tomatoes. It gets good light and I'd love to fill it up with more plants, but this is where I hang my laundry, where my husband smokes and where we have coffee or breakfast on weekends. If only we had a third balcony...

 

Here we have basil, started from seed, and mitsuba (trefoil) which I grew from the roots attached to mitsuba I'd bought at the supermarket (the herb is usually sold that way here).

 

Here is thyme, mystery herb (I lost both the seed package and the garden marker and now can't remember what it was--oops), peppermint and rosemary, all started from seed. None of them are growing like crazy, but again I'm just happy that they're growing.

 

Below the herbs are two pots of shiso (perilla), my favourite Japanese herb. It is growing very well (I've been steadily picking the bigger leaves for the past month) which is a surprise since shiso did very poorly at my old apartment.

This is a tomato of unknown type, bought as a mature seedling already bearing small green fruit (it came with a hand-written market identifying it as "regina" or something like that, and no other information). It is doing exceptionally well, but the flavour of the fruit is a bit insipid. Perhaps the one I tried wasn't ripe enough, so I'll be a bit more patient with my next harvest.

To any experienced gardeners out there these balcony gardens are hardly impressive, but for me they are almost miraculous. I'm probably doing many things wrong, but I've already learned so much. It is now obvious why the garden at my last apartment was so unproductive: a small space tucked between houses it was dark, damp and breezeless, which meant that even the plants that could survive without direct sunlight didn't stand a chance against the bugs that thrived under the moist, still conditions.

The two balconies at my new place get enough wind to ward off most bugs (we've never had mosquitoes) and although they don't get sun all day it seems to be enough. There are only two problems I can foresee: that with me away for much of the summer I'll have to rely on Hideaki, a proven plant killer, to water them during the hottest time of year. And that the only bugs that survive on my breezy balcony, stink bugs, will decimate my crops.

So if anyone has any hints for balcony gardening, especially regarding stink bug control, watering systems and plants that do well with poor light, please pipe up!

Three dinners

We're not eating anything terribly exciting these days, as I'm trying to serve smaller, simpler dinners during the week in order save time and help both Hideaki and I lose a little weight. I don't know how successful I'll be with the latter goal, but as for the former I'm loving spending less time in the kitchen during the week--and still having good food to eat without having to resort to take-out, delivery or instant food. Sometimes dinner is nothing more than a hearty soup or a big salad, and sometimes it's a bit more substantial, like the following three meals.

 

Asparagus dressed with sesame sauce; tofu topped with chopped okura (okra), shiso(perilla), katsuobushi (bonito flakes) and soy sauce; thinly sliced kombu(kelp) simmered in soy sauce with soy beans; miso soup with ground chicken, carrot, daikon, shiitake and mitsuba (trefoil); brown rice.

This was a fairly frugal meal as the shiso and mitsuba come from my thriving (so far) balcony garden, and the kombu was used twice: first to make the dashi(kombu and katsuobushi stock) for the miso soup, and then in the simmered dish.

 

Mugigohan (white rice with barley) topped with matsumae-zuke (a sticky pickled mess of kombu, dried squid, carrot and herring roe); corn on the cob; mizuna salad; shake harasu no shioyaki (salmon belly, salted and grilled).

This meal reminded me of how easy it was to eat good, simple food in Japan. The corn was boiled in plain water and eaten without salt or butter--somehow it's possible, even in Tokyo, to buy corn so fresh and good that it doesn't need any adornment at all. The salmon also had nothing added, although it came salted. It was farmed, like nearly all supermarket salmon in Japan, but so good and rich that it needed no sauce.

Carrot, cucumber and chickpea salad; chicken curry with jukoku-mai gohan (rice with 10 grains).

Even my curry is healthy these days, using chicken instead of beef or pork and made without the lard-laden blocks of curry roux typically used here. The jukoku-mai gohan (don't ask me to name all 10 grains, but some of the ones that I know are barley, millet, and black rice) made it even more virtous.

Shinjuku Gyoen

On Saturday we celebrated the opening day of the Fukutoshin Line, a new subway line that starts at Wakoshi (our nearest station) and goes all the way to Shibuya, a journey that used to require one transfer and a ride on the unpleasant Yamanote Line. Along the way it stops in Shinjuku Sanchome, close to the department stores of eastern Shinjuku as well as Shinjuku Gyoen, my favourite park in central Tokyo.

It was not an auspicious start, with the trains running about 15 minutes late and causing similar delays on the Yurakucho line, which shares tracks with the new Fukutoshin Line. The two trains shown above didn't budge for the 20 minutes we were waiting for our train, something I've never seen. The ride itself was interesting: for the first little while it was full of grumbling, pissed-off passengers, who were just trying to get where they wanted to go. They were replaced little by little with nerds like us, excited to ride a subway on its opening day. The atmosphere was closer to a line at an amusement park than a subway ride, with people laughing, smiling, and pointing out stuff like the neat design of the chairs in the new stations or the mistakes in the announcements (the Fukutoshin trains are operated by a single driver with no conductor to help, and our driver was having trouble getting the pre-recorded announcements right).

The ride was smooth until we neared Ikebukuro, since the train was using older tracks and established stations, but when it started going along new tracks and stopping at brand-new stations things got interesting. All of the new stations have a safety barrier and automatic doors, which means that the train must be perfectly aligned when it stops. And the driver undershot at nearly every stop, causing him to have to move the train forward several centimetres with a huge jolt that felt more like a rollercoaster ride than a subway ride. But the passengers--especially the kids--seemed delighted, and I've never seen such a happy and friendly crowd on a train or subway before.

Unfortunately I wasn't able to get a picture of the new trains, which are pretty cool looking. The Fukutoshin Line shares trains with the Yurakucho line, and all we saw were the regular old type. Hopefully I'll get a picture someday, but I'm not going to be riding that line again until they work out all the bugs--Hideaki reports that the delays were even worse today, with Fukutoshin trains running half an hour late and Yurakucho trains even worse, causing dangerous crowding at major stations.

So back to Shinjuku Gyoen. Shinjuku Sanchome station has exits leading directly to Takashimaya and Isetan department stores, so we passed through Isetan's depachika (basement food market) on the way to the park to grab lunch. At the park we found a nice spot beside a row of lovely hydrangeas, above, and set up our picnic.

Our lunch consisted of a warm bento, five onigiri, and a salad.

The bento was gomoku okowa (steamed sticky mochigome rice with vegetables) topped with thin strips of omelet and slices of anago no kabayaki (sweet soy sauce-grilled sea eel).

Of the onigiri, these two were the most interesting: shake no oyako (salmon mother-and-child), with flakes of salted salmon and ikura (salmon roe)...

...and nitama(egg simmered in soy sauce). This one was such a neat idea that I'm going to try it just as soon as I can find eggs small enough--or maybe I'll make mini onigiri with uzura tamago (quail eggs).

We fell into our usual routine, with Hideaki taking a nap after lunch and me heading out to take pictures. The park is huge (I've never seen all of it) so I only covered a small section, but it's always impressive no matter what part I visit. The park was originally a private garden belonging to the Imperial family and wasn't opened to the public until 1949. It is especially popular during the cherry blossom season but really has something to see in all seasons. Summer is my favourite time to visit, because of the extensive lawns and wide-open spaces, both rarities in Tokyo.

 

And of course the hydrangea were lovely. These ones were less buggy than the ones in my area, but I did find this one little baby cricket. Cute, huh?

The plane trees were impressively huge.

These air roots surrounding the cypress trees were intriguing, and after a little research it seems they are called "cypress knees", and nobody really knows what their purpose is.

This is the Kyugoryotei, also known as the Taiwan-kaku (Taiwan Pavilion), built in Chinese style in 1927 as a gift from the Japanese community in Taiwan in commemoration of Crown Prince Hirohito's wedding (Taiwan being under Japanese rule at the time).

The NTT Yoyogi Building wasn't around the first time I visited the park 12 years ago, and as I recall there were few buildings visible from inside the park. It was an odd feeling being in the middle of the city, just a short walk from the busiest train station in the world, and seeing nothing but greenery. Now, of course, this skyscraper is visible from most sections of the park, never letting you forget you're in Tokyo.

But tall buildings can be seen anywhere. Here's a view I like better:

Shinjuku Gyoen National Garden
03-3350-0151
11 Naito-cho, Shinjuku-ku, Tokyo
Open Tuesdays to Sundays (some exceptions, call to check schedule before going), 9am to 4:30pm (last entry 4:00)
Entry 200 yen for adults, 50 yen for elementary and junior high school students, children under 6 free 

Oxtail ragu

Oxtail ragu with fettuccine egg noodles, a recent freezer-cleaning meal. 

I've fallen into the habit of making chicken stock every week or so, which comes in handy for hearty soups that can be made in huge batches and reheated throughout the week. With Hideaki now coming home any time from 7:30 to 10:00 (and that's earlyfor a salaryman in Tokyo) it's really nice to have something in the fridge ready to eat at any time.

At the same time I've been conducting freezer excavations in order to clear up space for future visits to the new Costco in nearby Iruma. I recently found treasure in the form of a small bag of oxtails, so the next time I made chicken stock I also made stock from the oxtails, and then put it aside until I could figure out some way to use it. And a few days later I made one of my nicest cleaning-out-the-freezer dishes ever: the oxtail ragu shown above. I didn't follow a recipe but it was quite similar to the sauce in this recipe, with a few differences as I was starting with already cooked oxtails and some very nice tail stock.

I wonder what other treasures lay buried in my freezer?