A Fish Out of Water

Recipe: Pretzels with Mascarpone Honey Dip

Hideaki discovered a wonderful tsumami (drinking snack) recipe just in time for holiday indulging: pretzels with mascarpone honey dip. It's as simple as it is delicious, and the recipe—although it hardly needs one—can be found at the bottom of the post.

He found the recipe in a magazine I'd bought for him, a men's magazine called Pen, with a headline this month of "Otoko no Ryori Kyoshitsu" (Cooking School for Men), and I'd bought it hoping to inspire him to cook a bit more.

The same day I bought him the magazine we got a catalogue in the mail from Hiraki, a bargain-priced shoe company known especially for their 380 yen sneakers. Needless to say I'm a loyal customer so I immediately sat down to read the catalogue while Hideaki flipped through his new magazine.

Once he was done with the cooking feature, he was reminded of why he never buys men's magazines: the rest of the rag was full of ridiculous looking, overpriced clothes, accessories and gadgets. He was especially tickled by the trekking boots shown above (in the middle of the picture, next to the suitcases), which sell for 367,500 yen (just over $4200 Canadian). Now, I've heard that extremely high quality shoes can last a lifetime, and that some people are happy to pay thousands for hand made shoes, and I get that. But we find it hilarious that this magazine thinks there are people out there who consider it reasonable to pay four thousand dollars for shoes to wear while out in the wilderness, which is full of mud and dirt and jagged rocks and streams and such. Maybe there are a few, but more likely than not none of these shoes will ever trod on anything grittier than a Tokyo sidewalk.

Just for fun, we calculated that you could buy 185 pairs of similar looking shoes from Hiraki (or 2041 pairs of their cheapest 180 yen sneakers, shown above at top left). Which really sums up what I think of pricey designer goods: are they better than the cheap crap that regular people buy? Probably. 185 times better? Not a chance.

So back to the recipe. It didn't look especially promising to me, mostly because I thought I didn't like mascarpone cheese. It turns out that I simply don't like what mascarpone tends to be used for: gooey, sweet desserts. Not that this recipe isn't gooey and sweet, but it has the genius edition of salty and crunchy, thanks to the pretzels, and that really brings it to a different level. The magazine says it goes well with Belgian beer (by which I think they a mean dark and rich brew like Chimay) and it does indeed, although I prefer it with dessert wine (Sauternes would be perfect but the Peter Lehmann Botrytis Semillon that I picked up for about 2000 yen at Kaldi is nice too).

Just four ingredients are needed: mascarpone cheese, walnuts, honey, and pretzels. Mascarpone is fairly popular in Japan and can be found in most larger supermarkets and import shops like Seijo Ishii. The supermarket kind comes in a small container that is perfect for a generous serving for 2 to 4 people, the larger container found at Kaldi and Costco will make a few servings. Pretzels are a little harder to find, but Kaldi, import shops, or—if you don't mind buying a 6 pound bag—Costco should have them. Quantities aren't given in the recipe, as you can use whatever proportions suit you. I like lots of nuts and just a drizzle of honey, but you might want more or less of either.

Pretzels with Mascarpone Honey Dip

Walnuts, whole if possible
Mascarpone cheese
Honey
Pretzels

Toast walnuts: heat walnuts in a dry pan (not nonstick) on medium, stirring often, for a few minutes. When golden brown, remove from pan and let cool. Nuts can also be toasted in oven or microwave, click here for instructions. Toasting is optional so skip it if you're in a hurry, but it's worth doing.

When nuts have cooled, chop or crush them into small pieces. The funnest way to crush them is to find a heavy glass or small bowl that is comfortable to hold.

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With the walnuts in a flat-bottomed bowl, crush them with the bottom of the glass, giving the nuts a stir occasionally to ensure that they are crushed evenly. Stop when the nuts are about half a centimetre, or of whatever size you like.

Mix the mascarpone with the nuts. If I'm going to use up all the cheese at once I usually just do mix right in the mascarpone container (the Japanese supermarket type comes in the perfect size for this) but this time I'm only using half, so I'm mixing in a bowl.

When mixed, spoon it into a pretty bowl and drizzle with honey. Serve with pretzels.

Recipe: Mentaiko Spaghetti

I went to Tsukiji Shijo, better known simply as Tsukiji, recently and came home with a few treats. I've been there many times before, but this was my first visit purely as a shopper, and it turns out to be a completely different experience from visiting as a tourist. I discovered that the world's biggest fish market is much more than a giant labyrinth of wholesalers offering picturesque fresh seafood to middlemen, but a great place for the retail shopper to find good prices on everything from sashimi to prepared seafood to dried food like beans and kombu (kelp). I came away with a bargain-priced jar of nametake (enoki mushroom preserves, a product that deserves a post of its own), a bag of fresh mussels (what a thrill it was to discover that they do exist in Japan) and a package of very good and very cheap Hakata mentaiko (spicy cod roe from Hakata, Kyushu).

Mentaiko, also called karashi mentaiko, consists of whole cod (or, more likely these days, polluck) roe sacs preserved with salt, sake, kombu, and red chili peppers (a similar product called tarako is the roe preserved without the peppers). Other ingredients are often added, and cheaper mentaiko will contain plenty of MSG and food colouring. It is almost always used in one of two ways: as a topping for white rice, and an ingredient in mentaiko spaghetti.

Mentaiko spaghetti is probably my favourite yoshoku , and is definitely one of the cleverest (yoshoku means "western food" and is a category that includes any European style food that is tweaked for the Japanese palate; it is not meant to be authentically European). The combination of pasta, fish roe and butter is as unexpected as it is delicious, and mentaiko spaghetti is enormously popular both at restaurants and at home, loved by every age group (although non-spicy tarako spaghetti is favoured by kids).

It's also amazingly easy to make, but you wouldn't know that by the amount of ready-made mentaiko sauce sold at the supermarket, or by the huge variety of recipes out there. But the truth is it takes just minutes to make and there are only three essential ingredients: pasta, butter and mentaiko. I'm amazed by all the recipes, in both English and Japanese, that call for unnecessary additions: some of them, like cream and mayonnaise, are merely unnecessary, while others (garlic, onions, wine) are distracting or even clash with the mentaiko (wasabi, pepper). And I can't believe how many recipes call for additional salty ingredients like soy sauce or powdered soup stock, since it's already a salt-bomb of a dish.

I've never been a fan of Harumi Kurihara (billed in the English-language press, not very accurately, as "Japan's Martha Stewart"), but seeing her English recipe for mentaiko pasta makes me like her even less: she calls for both soy sauce and kombucha powder, along with regular salted butter. Kombucha, by the way, is an extremely salty kelp-based drink that in its commercial form is chock-full of MSG. Um, no thanks!

All you want to taste is butter, mentaiko and pasta, and this holy trio has enough salt, spice, creaminess and umami that you don't really need anything else. In fact, for a basic mentaiko spaghetti those three ingredients are all you need. The pasta is always spaghetti in Japan but you can use anything; I prefer spaghettini. Unsalted butter is preferred but salted butter won't make too much of a difference (if you're worried about salt just don't salt your pasta water). For the mentaiko, use the best mentaiko you can find: a good rule of thumb: the less lurid the colour, the higher the quality. Proportions are highly flexible, use more or less of anything and it will still turn out fine.

Here is the recipe, for two people:

Ultra Simple Mentaiko Spaghetti

2 to 3 Tbsp butter
200 to 250 grams spaghetti or other long pasta
2 sacs of mentaiko

Remove butter from fridge, bring to room temperature in a large bowl or soften in the microwave. Cook the pasta. Open the mentaiko sacs with a knife and scrape the roe from the membrane with a spoon. Discard the membrane and add the roe to the bowl with the butter, mix well. When pasta is finished, drain very briefly and add it to the bowl. Toss to mix and serve.

That's it! Of course there are ways to dress it up a bit, and it's especially nice to add toppings. Below are ingredients for the slightly fancier mentaiko spaghetti I made with the mentaiko I bought at Tsukiji. From left: salt for the pasta water; olive oil to stretch out the butter if you're worried about cost or cholesterol; mentaiko (this was sold in chunks rather than whole sacs, I used about half of the amount shown); spaghettini; shiso (perilla, also known as beefsteak leaf), and butter.

Shiso is a classic, but there are a number of toppings you can use. From left: negi (long onion, you can also use green onions or chives); yakinori (the seaweed used to wrap onigiri and sushi rolls), which will need to be snipped into thin slices; ishinori, another kind of nori in a crumbly form; and shiso. You can use just one of the above, or a combination of shiso and nori or negi and nori (don't use shiso and negi together though, it's a bit of a clash).

So here's my fancier but still very simple recipe, for two:

Ultimate Mentaiko Spaghetti

2 to 3 Tbsp unsalted butter (substitute regular butter)
200 grams (7 ounces) spaghetti or other long pasta
1 Tbsp salt, optional
1 package (about 10 leaves) shiso or a 10 cm piece of negi
2 sacs (about 120 grams/ 4 ounces) of mentaiko
1 onigiri-sized sheet (or half a sushi-sized sheet) yakinori, or a pinch of ishinori
Olive oil to taste, optional
1/2 cup reserved pasta water, optional

Melt butter gently in a large pan, turn off heat and let cool. Put pasta water on to boil. When it's ready add the salt and pasta, cook until al dente.

Wash shiso and shake to dry, cut off stems.

Keeping the leaves in a neat stack, roll them up tightly, cut the roll in half, and slice into thin strips. Set aside. If using negi, slice thinly and set aside.

Score the top of the roe sacs, without cutting all the way through.

Use a small spoon to scrape the roe from the sac membrane.

Remove as much roe as possible. Discard the membrane (it's edible but too tough to add to the sauce).

When butter is cool enough to touch, add the roe.

Mix the mentaiko into the butter, making sure there are no lumps. If you're using a lot of mentaiko and it's not mixing well, add olive oil or more butter (make sure it's not hot: hot butter will cook the mentaiko, which will toughen it and prevent it from sticking to the pasta).

Meanwhile, scoop out about half a cup of pasta water and let sit to cool.

If using yakinori, prepare it now (preparing it too early will cause it to wilt). With scissors, cut it in half widthwise and then lengthwise, stack the four long strips together and snip them widthwise into thin matchsticks. Set aside.

Drain pasta very briefly, then add it, still dripping, to pan. Toss to mix well. If the sauce seems too dry and isn't mixing well, add a little of the reserved pasta water or a splash of olive oil (or if you're a complete hedonist, more butter).

Divide the pasta between two plates, top with the shiso chiffonade or sliced negi and the nori. Serve hot.

Kamakura

In mid-November my friend Emi and I went to Kamakura for a day of hiking and temple-hopping. We chose the Daibutsu Course, the same trail we always use- a bit boring to always do the same one but it's the perfect length for a day trip.

The hike begins near Kita Kamakura station, so it's a good chance to visit one of the many temples in the area. We found Engakuji Temple, above, to be overrun with school kids, and even though it was a weekday this was more crowded than I've seen in years. Most trees were still green, but the few that were turning colour attracted a lot of attention.

There were also berries all over the place- the purple murasakishikibu above, plus a dozen shades of white, yellow, orange and red. It's too bad the crowds had chased away all the birds, as all the berries must provide a nice smorgasbord for them.

The trail itself begins at Jochiji Temple, so we stopped for some good luck Buddha belly rubbing and were rewarded with the sight of a stinkbug with a cute design.

One little park along the way was bright with koyo (autumn leaves), so we took a break to eat mikan (mandarins) and take some pictures).

There was also an obligatory stop at Zeni-arai Benten, the shrine where you wash your money to increase your fortune. I don't know if anyone actually believes it will work- I've done it enough to know that if anything it decreases your fortune- but everyone does it just the same.

With only 22 yen in my wallet it was an easy task. It's possible to wash bills too, but I'm never sure how I'm supposed to dry them afterward. The sign below definitely doesn't help: the enigmatic English "Dries Naturally" would seem to suggest that you're supposed to let your money, well, dry naturally, while the Japanese instructions advise you to wash your riches with a handkerchief.

After a bit more hiking (I never seem to take pictures on the actual trail) we were at Daibutsu, or Great Buddha, the giant statue for which the trail is named. We skipped it (seen one big Buddha, seen em all) and had lunch instead, at a place called Kamatama Udonya. We chose it because of the picture of the daibutsu kake-udon (Great Buddha udon noodles) in the window, because how could you pass that buy and not want to try it? Upon entering I was pleasantly surprised to see that the owner could speak English and English menus were available, not that we needed them- we knew we wanted the Buddha noodles.

The noodles came in a hot broth with thinly sliced negi (long onion) for the hair, shoyu mame (fava beans cooked in soy sauce, a specialty of Shikoku) for the third eye, sliced kaeshi tamago (boiled egg flavoured with dashi) for eyes, chikuwa ten (deep-fried fish paste) for the nose, and benishoga (pickled ginger) for the mouth. It was surprisingly good, with a very light broth of home-made dashi and chewy, springy noodles. The place is run by a couple and it turns out that the wife is from Shikoku, famed for its udon. Touristy or not, this was a good bowl of noodles and I'll be back.

For dessert, or what we thought would be dessert, we bought murasaki imo crokke (purple sweet potato croquette) and ate it as we walked to Hasedera Temple. Even though crokke are usually savoury, we figured it would be sweet because sweet potatoes- especially the purple variety, are usually prepared as a dessert in Japan.

But this was savoury, flavoured with ground meat and not tasting terribly different from the regular potato variety of crokke. Very good, but not at all what we were expecting.

We had no choice but to turn around and walk to Kamakura Gelato for some real dessert. I had gelato con cafe, plain milk gelato topped with espresso, and then we headed to Hasedera Temple, our last stop of the day.

It's a large temple with a number of attractions, including a cave that I've never noticed before. We went in and saw that its walls were carved with various gods, with a stand in front for prayer candles. you buy a candle, write your name on it, light it and place it in front of the god you'd like to petition or give thanks to. Some of them, like the god of clothing, were candle-free and probably made more sense a thousand years ago. Others, like the god of money or the god of study, below, were quite popular. The god of sake (in this case "sake" would refer to alcohol in general, not just rice wine) had just two candles until an old man, who looked exactly like the kind of guy who would pray to the sake god, lit a candle and gave a very long prayer. Emi and I offered candles of our own, but to which gods I won't say (will let you know if either of our prayers comes true though).

Another thing I'd never noticed: building that houses a giant prayer wheel has part of its floor covered in pebbles. I must have never bothered to look down though, because this visit was the first time I saw that each pebble was adorned with a single character, like the one below with 無 (mu, or nothingness).

More pictures from the hike can be seen here.

For detailed info and maps on the Daibutsu Course, check out Yamaonnas' excellent guide.

Engakuji
300 yen admission
Open daily 8:00am to 4:00pm (until 5:00 in winter)

Jochiji
200 yen admission
Open daily 9:00am to 4:30pm (until 5:00 in winter)

Hasedera
300 yen admission
Open daily 8:00 to 5:30 (until 5:00 in winter)

Kamatama Udonya
3-7-21 Hase, Kamakura-shi, Kanagawa
0467-22-2264
Open daily from 11:00am to 5:00pm, or until supplies last
English spoken, English menu available

Kamakura Gelato
3-8-13 Hase, Kamakura-shi, Kanagawa
0467-22-8801
Winter hours: weekdays 10:30am to 5:00pm, weekends 10:30am to 5:30pm, closed Mondays and first Tuesday of the month.

Eating through autumn

It's my favourite food season and I've hardly had time to cook, but here's a handful of dinners from the past few months:

Corn on the cob; horenso to abura-age no nibitasi (spinach simmered with deep-fried tofu); mugi gohan (white rice with barley); kenchinjiru (miso soup with tofu, shiitake, konyaku and root vegetables); sanma no himono (air-dried Pacific saury) with grated daikon. An September meal combining the last of summer's fresh corn with sanma, the ultimate autumn fish (sanma is written 秋刀魚 in kanji, which reads as "autumn sword fish", referring both its season and its shape and colour).

The sanma was dried at home using a drying net given to us by my brother-in-law this spring. I haven't had a lot of time to try it out so I'm still in the experimental stage- you can see that the fish has curled up and become misshapen. The process involves buying fresh whole fish, cleaning and butterflying them, soaking them in brine, then drying them outside for a period ranging from a few hours to a day, either in the full sun or in the shade with a breeze. There are so many variables you'd think something could easily go wrong, but every attempt has been delicious, if a little funny looking. So making perfect himono is difficult, but making good himono seems practically fool-proof. It's probably somewhat of a lost art, at least for the home cook, and although it's easy to imagine that every housewife once knew how to make hoshimono, I very rarely see drying nets hanging from balconies or windows (and when I do it's usually a restaurant rather than a private home).

So why bother with himono? The fish isn't completely dried like salt cod or other dried fish in the west, so the goal isn't long-term storage. Rather, allowing the sun or air to remove some of the moisture of the fish intensifies its flavour and substantially increases its umami (savoury flavour component, aka "nature's MSG"). It firms the flesh and softens the bones, so that when the fish is properly grilled small bones can be eaten rather than picked out and discarded. And it does give a longer shelf life to the fish, allowing oily fish like horse mackerel and saury to be stored in the fridge for up to a week, rather than a day or two when fresh.

Mugi gohan; yakinasu (grilled eggplant) and hiyakko (cold tofu) topped with thinly sliced negi (long onion), grated ginger and katsuobushi (bonito flakes); kyuri no asazuke (quick salt-pickled cucumbers); tonjiru (pork soup with root vegetables). The autumn element here is the eggplant, and although tonjiru doesn't really have a season it is hot and hearty so it shows up more often in the cold months.

White rice; butter lettuce and mizuna greens salad with myoga (ginger bud) and tomatoes; shishito no okakak itame (shishito peppers sauteed with bonito flakes); daikon no happa no itame-ni (sauteed daikon and daikon leaves); miso soup with wakame seaweed, tofu and myoga; hambagu no kinoko sosu kake (hamburger patty with shiitake and button mushroom sauce). Myoga, shishito and mushrooms of all types are available year-round but are considered to be foods of late summer (shishito), autumn (mushrooms) or both (myoga, which has a summer version- natsu-myoga- and an fall version- aki myoga). 

Kinoko to bacon no bata-shoyu itame (shiitake, shimeji and eringi mushrooms and bacon sauteed in butter and flavoured with soy sauce); sanma no himono; mixed baby greens with tomato and tofu; yakinasu; ikuradon (rice topped with salmon roe and shiso). Another home-made himono, this time a little over-dried; the ikura is a souvenir from our trip to Hokkaido. In addition to the mushrooms, sanma and eggplant, the ikura is classic autumn food, and while prepared ikura is available year-round this is when it's at its cheapest and most plentiful.

 

Kinoko no takigohan (rice cooked with mushrooms); tamagoyaki (thick omelet); spinach topped with katsuobushi; goma suiton no miso shiru (miso soup with sesame dumplings). Suiton are flour dumplings normally added to soups, usually plain but sometimes mixed with tofu and black or plain sesame seeds. I didn't grow up eating dumplings so I don't know how Japanese suiton compare to other ones, but they remind me of the "spinners" found in Jamaican soups.

Tomatoes with feta cheese dressed with basil and olive oil; bow-tie pasta with cabbage, bacon and mushrooms. I'd never heard of pasta with cabbage until I came to Japan, where it's a very popular combination (especially when paired with bacon). Now I can't get enough of it. The tomato dish is one my Mom made a few times on my last visit that I fell in love with. If feta was cheaper and easier to find I'd be eating this all the time.

Linguine with spinach, pine nuts and bacon. Spinach and pine nuts is another favourite combination, especially with- what else- bacon. I'd eat this all year but as a helpful commenter pointed out last year, pine nuts are an autumn food.

Spinach dressed sesame seeds; sanma no himono; miso soup with shiitake and shikaku mame (winged bean); kibi gohan (rice with millet); and umeboshi (pickled plums) and ginnan (ginkgo nuts) to share. Yup, sanma again. It isn't the only fish that can be dried as himono, it's just that it's very cheap at the moment. The shikaku mame are new to me, discovered on a recent trip to Ogasawara, the group of islands far south of Tokyo. It has a nice crunchy texture and a mild bitter asparagus flavour, and miso soup is probably not the best way to use it.

The ginkgo nuts were gathered my me in the park, a smelly (they STINK!) job that is immensely satisfying, as it results in free food. They get washed, dried and then roasted, or in this case cooked in the microwave inside a paper bag, much like popping corn. They are served with Ogasawara sea salt, another souvenir.

Autumn Mini Camp

On a November long weekend I helped out with English Adventure's Autumn Mini Camp, held at Aikawa Fure-ai no Mura, a very pretty campsite in Atsugi, Kanagawa. This is a campsite in the Japanese sense, sleeping in comfy bunk beds inside cute lodges and eating at the cafeteria, and that's just fine by me. I've spent too many nights in a tent this year, and besides, what sane person wants to sleep outdoors in November?

The gorgeous ginkgo trees had dropped most of their leaves so we missed out on the normally spectacular display they provide (this is my third autumn working at the camp), but the Japanese maples were just getting started.

Our activities included tree identification, collecting, roasting and eating ginkgo nuts, warming up with hot chocolate, singing around a campfire, warming up again with mulled wine (adults only of course! this was a family camp so the moms, dads and staff stayed up to chat), and an nature art contest.

We watched a short video about Andy Goldsworthy, an amazing environmental artist, and then the kids were put into groups and set free to create their works. There were ample materials to work with and they had a great time collecting arranging leaves, twigs, pebbles and the like, and the adults had as great a time watching them. A few of their works, like the one above (which if I'd gotten closer and my camera had focused properly you'd see actually had an intricate design) were abstract, but most were representative, such as the one below. Can you guess what it's supposed to be?

An underwater scene! The rocks are the seabed and there's pine twig seaweed made, chestnut husk sea urchins, and colourful fish made of leaves. Below is a flower made of giant magnolia leaves coloured with tulip tree leaves.

A few more pictures can be seen near the end of my English Adventure Camps album.

A neighborhood walk, with cows

One sunny autumn day in October Hideaki and I went for a walk along the Shirakogawa, a small river that runs through my neighborhood on its way to the Arakawa River up north. Like most rivers in Tokyo it's completely encased in concrete, at least in the section we are familiar with, but still manages to support a variety of flora and fauna, such as small fish, birds like ducks and wagtails, huge numbers of insects, and bats.

Following the river takes me halfway back to our old neighborhood in Nishitokyo-shi where I still teach a class one evening a week, and after we moved a few years ago I biked along this path to get there. It's a much nicer route than following the roads, although not without problems- although it is lined with houses the paths themselves can be quite deserted at night, and an older student who remembered following the river on her way to high school as a girl warned me to be careful as the path was known for chikan (perverts).

In fact I did eventually find myself being followed and then chased, an incident that ended with me safely escaping but was scary enough to convince me to stop riding my bike to work, and at night in general. I now use the bus and find it rather ironic considering I switched from walking to biking about eight years ago after being followed several times. I have yet to encounter any bus chikan, which is a good thing because where would I switch to after the bus? I'm not quite ready for a private limo.

Anyway, despite being quite familiar with the river by bike, I'd never walked along it and it was nice to slow down and really get a look at the neighborhoods we passed through. We eventually walked all the way to the source of the river, an underwater spring that we figure gives our neighborhood its name (the "oizumi" in "Oizumigakuen" means "large spring"), which is something we've always wondered about.

We were surprised that the section of the river near the source is quite natural, and although the sides are encased in stone walls the bottom seems natural, and supports an even greater variety of plants as well as a colony of large koi.

About halfway between our area and the river's source is Koizumi Bokujo, the only livestock farm in Tokyo's 23 wards (presumably there are other farms in Tokyo's outlying Tama area). Koizumi Bokujo started 73 years ago, when there was nothing in the area but farmland, and since then houses and roads have sprung up all around it, making the little farm seem quite out of place. I'm not sure what the people living nearby think about having forty holsteins for neighbors, but they probably don't get much of a say since the holsteins (or their ancestors) were there first. The smell is not as bad as you'd expect, with the barn being thoroughly washed down every day and waste removed regularly, leaving only that very fresh, earthy cow dung smell that I actually kind of like (reminds me of childhood visits to Toronto's Royal Winter Fair). Um, did I just admit I liked the smell of cow poo? Please forget you read that.

The barn is open to all and features a picnic table and chairs, allowing you to sit down and watch the cows as you sample their wares. Unfortunately the milk is not for sale- when we asked the lady said "Oh, the Agriculture Board people wouldn't like that", which wasn't a clear no and seems, tantalizingly, to hint that maybe if they like you and things are kept on the down low it's possible to try some fresh Tokyo milk. Until then, there's ice cream:

  

On the left is shiboritate milk (literally fresh squeezed milk) and on the right is chocolate chip. Both had a slightly granular home-made ice cream texture, but were rich and tasty, and the shiboritate milk especially really tasted of, well, milk. At 300 yen a pop it's a bit pricey, but if it helps keep Tokyo's last real farm going then I'm happy to pay.

More pictures in my Neighborhood album, at the end.

Update

What happened recently:

I met this little urban cowboy while visiting the only dairy farm in the Tokyo Metropolitan region, which happens to be right in my neighborhood.

My phone died, which was a bummer, then I found out Softbank was giving away older iPhone models for free, which made up for it. This probably impresses your socks off, but before you go thinking I'm too cool you should know that the first app I downloaded was Tetris.

Went on a lovely hike and visited some temples in Kamakura. It was a bit too early for autumn colours, except for this one little park which was practically on fire with fall foliage.

The hike was followed by two days working as a counselor at a mini camp in Aikawa, Kanagawa, where koyo (autumn leaves) were on full display.

And just last week I was whisked away for a surprise free trip to, well, you'll find out soon enough. It involved a few days of heaven, a few hours of hell, and exciting events like almost getting eaten by a (probably) imaginary shark and finally finding out what and where Canada's famed (in Japan only) "Maple Kaido" is. If you'd care to guess where this all took place, the souvenirs above are a clue (hey, no cheating by checking my Flickr page).

All subjects to be blogged about soon (except for iPhone and Tetris, lest I make you too jealous).

Hokkaido Part Two

On our last full day in Kushiro we had nice weather so decided to walk around the city a bit, which allowed us to see it in a different way (we'd been mostly getting around by taxi and rental car). We checked out the Nusamai Bridge on Kushiro River, which is apparently a tourist attracted due to its bronze nude statues representing the four seasons.

Above is Winter, although I'm not sure that there's anything particularly wintry about her (she does look a bit cold though).

We saw some new manholes, like the one depicting Kushiro Shitsugen Marsh above and the one adorned with two tancho cranes below.

And we passed by this wonderful dilapidated old wooden house. Kushiro and its surrounding areas have lots of similar structures in varying states of disrepair, and I just love them. If only the climate was more forgiving of wooden buildings.

Hidetoshi had to work that day, so Hideaki and I were on our own. We had a quick lunch at Indian Curry, and it turned out to be one of the best fast food curries I've had in Japan. Their regular curry uses lamb instead of the usual pork or beef, and mine above is katsu curry, topped with a sliced tonkatsu (breaded pork cutlet). The tonkatsu turned out to be completely unnecessary as the curry was rich, tasty and had plenty of chunks of lamb, so unlike most other Japanese style curry.

Then we drove up north to Akan National Park, as instructed by Hidetoshi. After seeing flowers and gardens the last few days he wanted to continue the theme, and he promised a moss garden near Lake Onneto (a small lake near the more famous Lake Akan).

We parked near the lake and followed a trail into the forest, a forest that at fist looked a lot like one you'd find in southern Ontario: white birch, a few kinds of maple and pine, a low cover of ferns and grasses, duff-cushioned paths.

Then as we walked deeper into the forest the grasses gave way to a rich carpeting of moss. The pictures don't do justice to the lushness of it, and it was much lovelier than shown here.

After 20 minutes we found our destination: Yu no Taki, a very special waterfall. There are two actually, one above the other, and they both feature small streams of onsen (hot spring) water gently cascading down moss-covered rocks and pooling in ponds at the bottom. The rocks near the water appear to be black, but the black is actually a layer of manganese oxide: the area is rich in naturally occurring manganese, and the water carries it down the rocks and into the ponds. The water in the top pond is warm and perfectly clear, and at the bottom is an opaque whitish turquoise, which I'm not sure is from the manganese or something else.

The spring at the very top gushes out from the earth at 43C, a perfect temperature for a bath. In fact there was once a very popular rotemburo (open air hot spring bath) here but it was shut down a few years ago due to the potential danger of the high levels of manganese in the water. I wished I'd visited when there was still a bath as it must have been a lovely place for a dip, but the waterfalls were enough of an attraction by themselves. There is a path that runs beside both, so you can climb up and see the view from the top.

 

On the way back we ran into two snakes, one too shy and the other too poisonous (or so we were warned by a passerby) to get good pictures of. Speaking of poison, I did manage to get a picture of this perfect little toadstool (and we did see plenty of toads as well). A surprising amount of wildlife given the crowds that visit the place.

It was late afternoon when we got back to Onneto, and with the sun starting to set the lake wasn't showing the intense blue as well as it had been when we'd passed by earlier. Here is what it looks like in the right light.

On our way back to Kushiro we stopped for some soft-serve ice cream, always a treat as the milk in Hokkaido is so rich and tasty.

And back at my brother-in-law's place we had a last dinner of Genghis Khan (the mongolian hot-pot style dish we'd had earlier), this time with more veggies.

And we finished the meal with another decadent ikuradon (rice topped with salmon roe) and oyster broth soup. A wonderful finish to another wonderful visit.

The next morning we made our way to the airport (which featured a bear and salmon-intensive decor) and caught our plane home. The last taste of Hokkaido we had was our lunch on the plane, bought earlier at Seicomart, a Hokkaido-only chain of convenience stores. We'd fallen in love with their egg sandwiches, which is odd because I've never really liked Japanese style sandwiches and never ever liked the egg salad sandwiches we have back home. But a Secoma (what the cool kids call Seicomart) egg sandwich is nothing but eggs, bread, and a hint of butter. OK, there's actually quite a bit more on the ingredient list, but that's all you taste, the creaminess of the egg actually complements the mushiness and sweetness of the bread (maybe this is the first time I've enjoyed Japanese style sandwich bread).

With all the good stuff I ate in Hokkaido this time I'm rather ashamed that I'm gushing the most about a convenience store sandwich. In fact, everything we ate was delicious, and it was a great trip. I've now seen Hokkaido in the fall, winter and spring, and hope that some year I'll find enough time to come in the summer.

More pictures from the trip can be seen here.