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.

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 

梅酒

The tsuyu (the rainy season) is well underway in Japan, but don't despair: even monsoon clouds have silver linings, and with the rainy season comes ume. Ume (Japanese apricot*) is so strongly associated with the season that that the word tsuyu literally means "ume rain": 梅雨. And the best thing to do with ume is to make umeshu (ume liqueur*). Sure, it won't actually be ready for a year, but the preparations are a great indoor activity that will keep your mind off the downpour outside, and when the rainy season starts again next year you'll have something to cheer you up.

Each year when the rain begins every supermarket in the land puts up a special display piled with bags of green ume, large glass jars, cartons of alcohol, and bags of rock sugar. This is for umeshu, and it seems like every housewife in the country makes it. Those grocery store displays stay put for a month or two, with the green ume being replaced with yellow and red varieties and salt, akajiso (red perilla) and giant bamboo sieves being added. These newer addistions are used for making umeboshi (salt-pickled ume, or pickled plums). Umeboshi is a bit fiddly to make so I've never attempted it, but there's nothing easier than making liqueur. Anyone can do it, so if you live in Japan (or have access to ume) and have half a day free in the next week or so, now is the time to give it a try. But hurry--the umeshu making season is nearly over, and the green ume will soon disappear from the stores.

Umeshu, like all basic fruit liqueurs, has just three ingredients: ume, sugar, and alcohol. The following are the amounts used for the standard recipe, with their Japanese names (sorry to those of you who can't view Japanese characters):

1 kilogram ume

青梅 (ao-ume: literally "blue ume", this is unripened ume) is used for umeshu. Choose bright green fruit free of blemishes (ripening fruit is splotched with yellow and red and is used for umeboshi). The tiny 小梅 (ko-ume: small ume) can also be used, but are said to be slightly more astringent and sour. Buy the ume just before making your umeshu, as it doesn't keep very well. Note that unprocessed ume is mildly toxic, so don't be tempted to have a taste!

1 kilogram sugar

氷砂糖 (Koori-zatou: literally "ice sugar", this is rock sugar) is most often used, but any kind of sugar works. Koori-zatou is conveniently sold in bags weighing 1 kilogram, the amount most often used, but you can use anywhere from 500 grams to 1500 grams depending on how sweet you'd like your liqueur to be--if you're not sure it's better to go with less sugar as more can always be added later, while there's not much you can do to fix an overly sweet liqueur. Note that the less sugar used, the longer the umeshu will take, as sugar helps extract the flavour from the ume. Honey (蜂蜜 or はちみつ) can replace all or some of the sugar: use 2 cups of honey or 1 cup of honey with 500 grams of sugar. The umeshu will take longer this way, and for the first few weeks the jar will need to be turned frequently to help dissolve the honey.

1800 millilitres of alcohol

ホワイトリカー (Howaito rikaa: white liquor) is most often used. It is a clear 35 proof alcohol, similar to shochu, sold in 1.8 litre cartons. It tends to be a bit harsh, but the sugar and ume flavour will mellow that out after time. If you plan on using less than the standard amount of sugar, or if you'd like to drink your ume quickly, you might want to use a good-quality vodka instead. Brandy is also popular, producing a mellower, sweeter and more fragrant liqueur. Good brandy can be used, but Suntory produces a cheap version conveniently sold in a 1.8 litre carton labeled 果実の酒用 (kajitsu no sake you: for fruit liqueurs).

You'll also need:

A large jar with a tight-fitting lid

Jars specially made for liqueur are commonly available in Japan. Made with thick glass,  they have a wide opening and a double lid with a handle (smaller sizes have the handle on the side of the jar itself). The jars come in various sizes, with the 4 litre type being used for the standard umeshu recipe (I used a 2.2 litre jar as I made a slightly smaller than usual batch).

Clean towels

Bamboo skewers or wooden toothpicks

A large colander

Space in a cool, dry place for the next year or so

 

Here I have 1 kilogram of ao-ume, a 2.2 litre jar, 1.8 litres kajitsu no sake you brandy, 1 kilogram koori-zatou. I started a bit late and the only ume I could find were a bit old, so I had to throw several out. So I only used about 1 litre of the brandy and 500 grams of sugar--basically all that could fit in the jar. Because it has a higher ume-to-alcohol ratio it will take a bit longer than usual, and if it turns out too strong I may dilute it with a little more brandy. Anyway, the point is that the exact amounts are not terribly important, and as long as the fruit is completely covered by the alcohol you'll be fine.

The jar, sugar and sake will come with a recipe for umeshu. The jars usually have the most comprehensive instructions, and this one has recipes for several types of liqueurs, along with a seasonal guide. It recommends mikan (clementines) in January and February, strawberries in March, sakurambo (white cherries) in May, garlic and ume in June, peaches in July, shiso (perilla) in August, apples in September, yuzu (citron) in late October and early November, and karin and kinkan (quince and kumquat) in November and December. Year-round liqueurs can be made with lemons, grapefruits, shiitake, pineapple, coffee beans, and kiwi; elsewhere on the label is a recipe for aloe liqueur (the garlic, shiso, shiitake, and aloe liqueurs are used for health tonics--I've never tried any odd ones like that and hope I never have to). These are just a few ideas, and virtually any fruit--or combination of fruit--can be used for liqueur, with fragrant and strongly-flavoured being the best choices. Keep in mind that fruit that starts out sweet and edible will require less sugar than ume, and will be ready faster. Check the web for fruit-specific recipes--there are a lot of liqueur makers out there, not just in Japan but all over the world. For starters, here's my strawberry liqueur recipe from a few years back.

So let's begin. The first thing to do is wash the jar and lids with hot water and soap (if you're using heat-resistant glass you can sterilize the jar with boiling water, but the type of jar sold for liqueur making in Japan is not heat safe so cannot be sterilized this way). After washing, you may like to use a little of your alcohol to rinse the inside of the bottle and the inner lid. Allow to air-dry.

Next, wash your ume. Just water is fine, but unless you're using organic ume there will be traces of pesticides, so use soap or a vinegar solution if you like--just make sure to rinse well afterwards. Drain in a large colander, then lay the ume in a single layer on some towels and allow to air-dry. This may take a few hours so start early, and don't be tempted to go to the next step while the ume are still wet--water can make the ume go moldy, even when steeping in alcohol.

 

When the ume are completely dry, use a toothpick or bamboo skewer to remove the stems from the ume. Not all of them will have a nice big stem like the one below, but however small the stem remnants are, they must be removed.

 

While you are removing the stems, inspect the fruit and discard any that are cut, overly bruised, or moldy. Don't worry about minor blemishes. My ume were a little less than fresh, so a few of them were starting to get moldy at the stem like the one below, and a few more were heavily bruised. Those ones didn't make the cut.

 

Next, use a new toothpick or bamboo skewer to prick holes in the ume. This step is not vital and many recipes omit it, but it will help make things go a little faster.

 

Each ume gets two or three holes and goes directly into the jar. After about a third of the ume are in the jar, cover them with about a third to half of the sugar.

 

Continue pricking the ume and adding them to the jar, layering it with the sugar as shown until you've used all of the ume and sugar. This layering is not really necessary, and in fact all the sugar will be at the bottom and the ume will be floating at the top after a day or two. But most instructions say to do this, and it looks cool, so I keep doing it.

 

When you've used all of your ume (or when the jar is full) pour in your alcohol. If you're using the standard recipe with a 4 litre jar you'll use up the full carton of white liquor, with a bit of room leftover.

 

If you're using a smaller jar and can't fit in the entire carton of alcohol, don't worry--just make sure the ume are completely covered by the alcohol, as shown above.

And you're nearly done. Take a look and enjoy how pretty it is, because it won't last: the ume will quickly lose its green colouring and will turn wrinkly and yellowish.

 

Cover with jar with the inner lid, making sure it is tightly sealed and the spout and air hole are covered. Seal with the outer lid, and don't forget the to label the jar.

 

Liqueur jars come with labels. This one has space for ingredients, alcohol type, date the liqueur was made, and date it will be ready for drinking. This label uses the Japanese way of writing dates and this is what I entered: 20th year of Heisei, 6th month, 9th day (June 9th, 2008). I'm guessing the liqueur will be ready for tasting in September, but I think I'll let it steep for a full year.  

Put the jar in a closet, cupboard or other dark place in the coolest room of your house (if you have a yuka-shita, or under-floor storage space, keep it there). Every few weeks shake the jar a little to help dissolve and disperse the sugar.

This is the liqueur after just one day. The sugar has already fallen to the bottom and is starting to dissolve.

In two to three months the umeshu will be drinkable, but you'll want to leave the ume in for longer than that: six months is standard but you can take them out after anywhere from four and a half months to a year. There are two ways to remove the ume: if you'd like to keep the umeshu in its original jar, use a clean and dry ladle or pair of tongs to fish the ume directly out of the jar. But you may want to use the jar for a new batch of liqueur, so set a large funnel inside of a clean, dry bottle, set a colander inside the funnel, and carefully pour  the umeshu into the bottle.

The spent ume are soft, wrinkly and completely delicious. Keep them in the fridge or freezer and eat as-is; plop one or two into a glass of umeshu or umeshu-based cocktail as a kind of edible garnish; simmered to further soften them and burn off the alcohol and then used as a topping for ice cream or yogurt; chopped up and made into jelly or jam; or cooked with nizakana (simmered fish), as the the flavour helps cut fishiness. I am not very creative with my used ume and always end up throwing most of them out because I need the fridge space, but apparently a clever housewife can find endless uses for them. Warning: they have a lot more alcohol than they seem to, so try to limit yourself to a few at a time!

As for the liqueur itself, it doesn't need to be refrigerated, but you may want to pour some into a small bottle to keep in the fridge so you always have some nice cold stuff on hand. Otherwise, keep it where you keep your liquor--preferably in a cool, dark and dry cabinet. It will continue to improve as it ages and will keep for a very long time, but after a decade or so will start to darken and take on bitter notes. I've drunk umeshu that is older than I am, and it was nearly black and had strong nutty and bitter flavours. I didn't find it very pleasant, but some people really like old umeshu.

Umeshu can be drunk as-is, and is apparently great in cocktails, but I like it with club soda so much I've never experimented with it. In Japan these are the most popular ways to drink it:

Umeshu rokku (on the rocks): with ice

Umeshu soda (umeshu soda): one part liqueur to two parts club soda, with ice

Umeshu tonikku (umeshu tonic): one part liqueur to two parts club tonic, with ice

Umeshu no oyuwari (umeshu with hot water): one part liqueur to two parts very hot water; this is often taken before bed or as a health tonic

So that's it for umeshu instructions. If anyone has any tips, umeshu cocktail recipes, ideas for using up the used ume, or anything else to add, please leave a comment.

* Note about translations: I have a pet peeve about poorly translated Japanese words and especially hate seeing the words "ume" and "umeshu" translated incorrectly. Ume is sometimes mistakenly called "plum", but is actually the fruit of Prunus mume, commonly known as "Japanese apricot" (what we know as plums are called sumomo or prune in Japanese). Umeshu is often incorectly translated as "plum wine", but it's neither wine nor made with plums. Just call it "ume liqueur" or "umeshu", damn it!

Neba-neba soba

Neba-neba soba: cold buckwheat noodles flavoured with mentsuyu (a soy-based broth), topped with grated nagaimo (yam), nattou (fermented soybeans), shiso (perilla) and myouga (ginger bud).

If you're from North America, sticky, slimy and slippery are probably not words that make you say yum. But in Japan those textures, embodied in the word neba-neba, have a lot of fans. Neba-neba foods are considered the ultimate health food: low in calories, packed with vitamins and minerals, and packed with proteins and acids like pectin, mucin, alginic acid and chondroitin sulfate. A myriad of health benefits are attributed to slimy foods, ranging from lowering cholesterol to relieving natsu-bate (summer fatigue).

Besides nagaimo and natto, popular neba-neba foods include okura (okra), nameko mushrooms, melokhiya (moroheiya or okra bush) and seaweeds like mekabu, mozuku and kombu. These are all delicious in their own disctinct way but their slippery texture puts them in a special category, and they are often served together with other neba-neba foods.

The neba-neba soba above is pretty basic, and I usually like to add chopped fresh okra and a quail's egg or egg yolk (raw eggs are slimy in their own way and thus go well with other sticky foods but are somehow not really considered to a be true neba-neba food). But no matter what exactly is in it, it's hard to beat a bowl of neba-neba soba for a quick, healthy warm-weather meal. 

Wakashi two ways

This is wakashi sashimi, which I bought for a recent dinner, as it came from the supermarket. Wakashi is one of the dozens of names given to yellowtail (you may already be familiar with hamachi and buri) depending on location and size of the fish. In the Kanto area the fish is called wakashi at its youngest stage.

I'd never tried wakashi before but it looked a lot like buri, which I love, and was also very cheap so I thought I'd give it a try. Unfortunately neither my husband or I were impressed, and although it was obviously very fresh it had an overly fishy flavour and a yucky soft texture. I didn't hate it but I definitely didn't love it, so I put it in the fridge for the next day's dinner.

And this is what it turned into the next day: tatsuta-age. I gave it a quick soy sauce and ginger marinade and deep-fried it. Now that's more like it: the marinade and cooking (and a squeeze of lemon before eating) took care of the fishiness, and the softness was lovely when contrasted with the crisp coating.

Normally tatsuta-age calls for bigger pieces, but for with my lack of frying skills the small slices were perfect: they cooked up so fast there was no time to screw them up. Next time I see wakashi on sale I may just buy it again, and I know exactly what I'll do with it. If you want to do the same, here's the recipe:

Tatsuta-age

Tatsuta-age is most often made with chicken (thigh, skin-on is preferred) but is also popular with pork and oily white fish like yellowtail, mackeral and saury. For fish a simpler marinade is preferred, but with chicken I like to add lemon juice and sesame oil and for pork try adding garlic and sriracha.

• 450 grams meat (fish fillets such as yellowtail and mackeral, bonless chicken breast or thigh, or pork shoulder)
• 2 Tbsp soy sauce
• 1 Tbsp sake
• 1 Tbsp mirin
• 1 knob ginger
• optional marinade ingredients: crushed garlic, freshly squeezed lemon juice, sriracha or other hot sauce, sesame oil
• kakakuriko or cornstarch for dredging
• oil for deep-frying
• lettuce or cabbage and lemon slices for garnish

Prepare the meat for frying: for fish, remove bones from fish, for chicken, remove excess fat (leave the skin on or remove it as you like). Cut into slightly larger than bite-sized pieces.

Pour the soy sauce, sake and mirin into a ziplock bag. Peel and grate ginger, squeeze the juice from the grated ginger into the bag, discard ginger. Add the meat to the bag, squeeze and shake to distribute the marinade evenly. Seal the bag, removing as much air as possible (this creams a vacuum that helps the meat absorb the marinade faster, some people even use a straw to suck all the air out). Let fish marinate in fridge for 20 to 30 minutes, chicken and pork for 30 minutes to 1 hour.

Add about oil about 3 cm (just over 1 inch) to a deep pan or round-bottomed pot--a wok works great--and heat to 170 to 180 C (340 to 360 F). Meanwhile, dump contents of bag into colander, drain well. Add several tablespoons of katakuriko to a bowl, dip the pieces of meat a few at a time, tossing to coat well.

Add to the hot oil and fry, a few at a time, until golden brown. Drain on paper towels and serve on lettuce leaves or slice cabbage with slices of lemon.

つな八

On the weekend my husband had to be at Takashimaya to get measured for a shirt (his father game him a gift certificate for some tailer-made dress shirts), and since I had a few gift certificates of my own I came along and we had lunch afterwards. Called hyakkaten shouhin ken, these can be used at top-class department stores for almost any purchase, including food and meals, and are extremely popular gifts for any occasion. We are lucky to receive them from time to time but so rarely go to hyakkaten (fancy department stores like Takashimaya, Isetan and Mitsukoshi) that we have trouble using them. In fact, we couldn't even remember where we got these particular ones.

We had 10,000 yen worth, which is certainly a lot but rather hard to spend on clothes, since almost nothing is that cheap (at least not the clothes that I can fit into), and it seems silly to spend it on accessories or housewares that would be far cheaper elsewhere. So the logical thing to do was spend them on a meal, since hyakkaten often have very nice, but expensive, restaurants.

We decided on Tsunahachi, a tempura restaurant. We'd had a great meal years ago at the original shop in Shinjuku, which is over 80 years old--and shows it. The food was good and the atmosphere was cozy, but the interior was a bit dingy. It is so popular, though, that it now has branches all over, including a sleek modern one in Takashimaya. The prices seem a bit higher there than at the old place, but since it wasn't my actual money I didn't mind paying a little more for the location.

We chose the Edo-mae zencourse, one of the more expensive options. Sitting at the counter, we got to watch the chef cook our tempura and serve it to us straight from the pot, but unfortunately the lighting was a wee bit on the dark side and the pictures didn't turn out very well. So just try to imagine everything brighter, prettier and more delicious-looking.

The course started with kuruma ebi shrimp, the head (rendered light, crisp and fully edible) served first. The contrast of the plump, tender flesh and the crunchy exterior was wonderful. Not just with the shrimp, but every seafood item served for the rest of the meal; please tack the previous sentence onto all of the following descriptions.

Next was renkon (lotus root), then ika (squid). Some of the softest, most succulent squid I've ever had. The renkon was the only item of the meal that wasn't soft, but the root's own special kind of heavy crunchiness (think of a firmer, less watery water chestnut and you're close) did go nicely with the lighter crispness of the batter.

Myouga(ginger bud) was refreshingly myouga-ey (and if that doesn't make sense imagine the very freshest ginger you've had, refined and sweetened).

The cleverest dish was a large asari clam (the biggest I've seen) fried on the half shell. It was easier to eat than I thought it would be, as the clam had been cut up first. I'm not sure if being in the shell was the reason, but the flesh was incredibly plump and juicy, worlds apart from the rubbery fried clams we get back home.

Next, a refreshing orange jelly. I think. It wasn't on the menu and neither of us caught the description. Behind it are four different kinds of salt: regular sea salt, matcha (powdered green tea) salt, sanshou (prickly ash pepper) salt and yuzu citrus salt. It was fun trying all the different salts but, except for the squid and the scallop, the tempura tasted best in the traditional dipping sauce of soy-based broth (housed in the pitcher above) mixed with daikon oroshi (grated daikon radish).

I think this was my favourite of all: hotate (scallop). Cooked perfectly rare (this picture doesn't show the lovely pink centre), this was heavenly. It definitely went well with a squeeze of lemon and a tiny dip in plain salt.

Anago (sea eel), first its spine (very crunchy, I could eat these like potato chips) and then the flesh, cut in half. Very mild and tender.

The last tempura dish was ko-ebi kaki-age, a disc of small shrimp held loosely together by batter. This one had a mild taste and lots of crunch.

The course finished with rice, pickles and shijimi jiru(miso soup with tiny clams), or at least it did for me.

My husband got lucky: the chef overheard him saying he wished he could have his final piece of tempura as kaki-age don(a popular dish consisting of kaki-age over rice, with a slightly sweet soy-based sauce), so that's what got. Normally I don't like kaki-age don or tendon (the same but with regular tempura) as the sauce is usually too sweet and rich and tends to be poured on so heavily that the batter loses its crispness. But I regret not asking for this for myself as well, because the sauce was light and added with restraint.

The meal came to about 9000 yen (including two drinks), which is more than I'd want to pay for tempura, as good as this was. But we'll definitely be here again for one of the cheaper options.

Shinjuku Tsunahachi (English webpage here)
Takashimaya Branch
(03) 5361-1860
13th floor, Takashimaya Times Square
5-24-2 Sendagaya, Shibuya-ku, Tokyo
Open daily 11 to 11

Golden Week

I went spent the (roughly) week-long spring holiday called "Golden Week" with my parents-in-law in Osaka, and seeing as I've been back in Tokyo for a week I thought I should get around to posting about it.

My time was equally divided between playing with my niece Marya, eating enormous meals (including three buffet lunches, and if that doesn't sound exciting then you've never had a good Japanese buffet), and convalescing from yet another cold. Or whatever this thing is. Hours before I was to ride the night bus to Osaka I came down with the exact same sore throat and fatigue as I got last month (and New Years, and now), and knowing I was likely in for a bit of unpleasantness I considered canceling the whole thing and staying in Tokyo. But I figured I'd be better off being miserable around family than being miserable alone, so off I went.

I laid low for a few days, canceling my plans for a day trip to Kyoto and even going to a clinic for some meds. My first visit to a doctor in Osaka, and if that one experience is enough to go on it seems the waiting-time-to-consultation-length ratio is even worse there than in Tokyo. About a two hour wait (including the wait for meds and payment), and 90 seconds with the doctor. True, longer waits are typical during holidays, but I've never been brushed off so quickly by a doctor before.

Luckily the meds worked, which is a good thing because Marya is tireless. She had to go a park every day, and not just a dinky local park but great big special far away ones, full of playgrounds and vast spaces to run around in. She has very specific ideas about what each adult accompanyi