A Fish Out of Water

丸ごとトマトの味噌汁

Here's a nice early-autumn dinner we had recently. From top left: maitake-niratama (maitake mushrooms and garlic chives stir-fried with egg); umeboshi (pickled ume plums); tori no kurozu teriyaki (chicken teriyaki with black vinegar, served with green peppers); simmered mystery squash; marugoto tomato no misoshiru (miso soup with whole tomato); steamed rice; kabu to abura-age no nibitashi (simmered turnip roots and greens with fried tofu).

The last time I posted about a meal with the soup I had a few questions about it. It's actually really easy to do and very yummy, with the tomato adding a pleasent sweetness, amplifying the umami of the miso and dashi, and giving an unexpected but nice kick of acidity. Plus if you use really good tomatoes you get that lovely garden-fresh tomato flavour. Try it for yourself: the recipe follows.

丸ごとトマトの味噌汁 (Marugoto tomato no misoshiru: Whole Tomato Miso Soup)

2 small tomatoes
400 ml dashi (instant or freshly made)
2 Tbsp regular miso, or to taste
1 or 2 stalks of hosonegi (thin long onions, also known as bannou negi or konegi- substitute thin green onions)

Prepare the dashi in a small pot. Wash and core the tomatoes.

Pierce the core of one tomato with a fork.

Holding the tomato over an open flame and turn to evenly char skin.

It is not necessary to completely char the skin; it should be blackened in some areas and have a crack or two. It shouldn't take more than half a minute.

Set aside to cool, repeat with other tomato.

Peel the skin off of both tomatoes, taking care not to damage the flesh.

Add the tomatoes to the dashi, bring to a simmer over medium heat, then turn to low and cook until tomatoes are soft, about five minutes. Do not boil or overcook, or tomatoes may disintegrate. Meanwhile, thinly slice the hosonegi.

Stir in miso and taste, adding more if needed. Transfer each tomatoe to a soup bowl, ladle broth over and garnish with the hosonegi.

Note: if gas range is unavailable or if using a large number of tomatoes, peel them in the usual way: dunk into rapidly boiling water for a few seconds, remove to a bowl of ice water, and peel.

Serves 2

アボカド鮭丼 (Avacado sake don)

A typical summertime weekday lunch, requiring no heat (thanks to frozen rice, reheated in the microwave): hiyayakko (cold tofu) topped with sliced okra, katsuobushi (bonito flakes) and soy sauce, and avocado sake don (rice topped with salmon sashimi and avocado). For Shuma, rice, avocado, tofu and shirasu (partially dried baby fish).

To make the avacado sake don: Slice a chunk (about 100 grams or so) of salmon sashimi, add to a bowl with a cubed avocado half and about five shiso (perilla) leaves, thinly sliced. Splash with soy sauce and ponzu, to taste. Fill a donburi (large rice bowl) with hot rice, top with salmon avocado mixture. Done!

 

Salmon-don

Leftover steamed vegetables; abura-age to negi no nibitashi (fried tofu simmered with long onion); salmon-don (chopped salmon sashimi over rice). The latter two dishes were inspired by a recent episode of the NHK cooking show Kantan Gohan and turned out to be super-easy and tasty. The original recipes (in Japanese) are here and here, and here are my versions:

 

Salmon-don

2 Tbsp soy sauce
1 Tbsp sake
2 tsp mirin (sweet cooking sake)
200 grams sashimi-grade salmon
1 stalk negi (long onion), white part only
A dash of sesame oil
Two bowls of steamed white rice
A handful of kizami nori (thin strips of nori seaweed)*
2 egg yolks, optional

Add the soy sauce, sake and mirin to a microwave-safe bowl, microwave 30 seconds, let cool.

Chop salmon into small pieces, finely slice negi. Add salmon and negi to a bowl, pour in the soy sauce mixture and a dash of sesame oil, mix well.

Sprinkle the bowls of rice with kizami nori. Arrange the salmon mixture over nori, top with egg yolk.

*Kizami nori can be bought already sliced, or you can just make it with sushi nori: cut nori into 2 cm wide strips, cut strips widthwise into thin slices.

 

Abura-age to Negi no Nibitashi

3 sheets abura-age (fried tofu)
1 stalk negi plus green half of negi from recipe above
200 ml dashi
1 Tbsp soy sauce
1 Tbsp sake
1 tsp mirin

Bring a kettle of water to boil. Place abura-age sheets in a strainer in the sink and pour the boiling water over them, rinse with cold water to cool. Squeeze out excess water then slice widthwise into thin strips. Slice negi diagonally into 5mm slices.

Bring the dashi, soy sauce, sake and mirin to a simmer in a pot, add abura-age, bring back to simmer and cook for one minute. Add the negi and simmer until wilted.

Remove the abura-age and negi with slotted spoon and arrange in bowls, serve.

Biwa Jam

This is a basket of biwa, a fruit I'd never heard of until I came to Japan. Called "loquat" in English, it's a distant relative of the apple with soft flesh, an edible peel and a sweet, mild, pear-like flavour. It's originally from China but has spread throughout the warmer countries of the world, and has long been grown in Japan. Nagasaki and Chiba are top producers and biwa products are popular souvenirs for visitors to those prefectures.

It's now considered rather old-fashioned here and few people bother to plant biwa trees these days, even though they seem to produce a lot of fruit without a lot of effort. I sometimes see biwa trees in older gardens where the fruit often goes unpicked (I've noticed the same thing with other "old fashioned" fruit fruit here like figs and pomegranates), which always makes me sad.

In Japan it is available fresh in May and June and doesn't keep very well, so should be eaten the day you buy it when it's nice and juicy. It's best served chilled and as-is: just peel the the skin with your fingers and eat the flesh, avoiding the large seeds in the middle (it's messy work though, so if you're Japanese you'll want to serve it peeled and sliced). Biwa tends to be a little pricey, with a small package of six or so going for 500 yen and up, and as it's not the most exciting fruit in the world I rarely think it's worth buying. But it's definitely a nice treat once or twice each season.

The biwa shown above are not prime specimens: they were sold at a discount due to being old and shriveled. I decided to buy them and as they were too far past their prime to eat fresh I made a small batch of jam. It was easy and set very well, as loquats are high in natural pectin, and tasted nice, if a little bland. Next time I might try adding some spice or mixing in some other fruit (cinnamon and/or would be nice for the spice, and cherries might work well as they're in season at about the same time). It's such a simple recipe that I thought I'd share it here, so read on if you'd like to try making this for yourself.

Biwa Jam

1 kilogram (2.2 pounds) biwa
500 ml (2 US cups) water
500 to 700 grams sugar
2 lemons
Optional spices: 1 stick cinnamon, 1 knob fresh ginger, grated

Wash fruit and cut lengthwise around the seeds, twist to open in half. Remove seeds, stem and blossom ends with fingers, and cut away any bruised or blemished parts. Don't remove the peel- that's where the pectin is!

Chop the halved biwa roughly and add to a non-reactive pot. If using a cinnamon stick, add it now. (Note that the pictures show halved biwa in the pot, but as I discovered it takes a long, long simmer to break down the the fruit and I ended up using an immersion blender to help break up the skin. It was messy work and not recommended!) Add about 500 ml water, or enough to barely cover, and simmer until pulpy, about one hour. Add more water if needed.

While the fruit is simmering, zest and juice the lemons. A citrus juicer and microplane grater make quick work of this, but if you don't have those don't fret. In a Japanese kitchen you can use an oroshigane (daikon grater) to zest the lemon (hint: run lemon juice over the grater to remove any stubborn zest that sticks to it), or you can just use a peeler to remove the zest (just the yellow part, don't peel off the white pith), then chop it finely. To juice a lemon without a juicer, simply cut it in half and stick a fork into the flesh, taking care not to pierce the skin. Holding the lemon over a dish, squeeze around the fork until you've got all the juice out.

Once the fruit has broken down add the lemon zest and juice. If you're using ginger, add it now. Add sugar to taste. Biwa is a sweet and mild fruit, so too much sugar will overwhelm it- I used 500 grams, but you could use more or less.

Increase the heat and boil until a small amount of jam sets on a frozen spoon or small dish. Ladle the jam into clean, sterilized jars (I filled up five 200ml jars, but this will depend on how much the fruit has cooked down). Screw on lids and set in a quite place to cool. Store any jars whose lids don't pop in the fridge and eat quickly.

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.

l

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.

Tsumami

On Sunday Hideaki and I went to a local cherry blossom festival, which suffered from a lack of actual cherry blossoms; this spring has been cold in Tokyo and most sakura are blooming late. The festival wasn't a complete bust though: they were giving away sake, and we won a bottle!

This is the same sake we bought last year, called Oizumi and made from local spring water. We quite liked it and I was a bit bummed that I wouldn't be able to afford a bottle this year, so we were thrilled to win it.

When you drink in Japan, especially sake, it is mandatory to serve tsumami (drinking snacks). Also called otsumami (and for that matter, sake is also called osake; the "o" is an honorific), these snacks are flavoured more strongly than regular food and tend to be served in small amounts, and are eaten slowly while enjoying the alcohol. Some tsumami, like nuts, are good with nearly any type of alcohol but most are thought to go with a specific type, like edamame (green soybeans) with beer or cheese with wine. For sake seafood is big: think shiokara (fermented squid) or grilled himono (dried salted fish).

The two tsumami shown above are typical. On the right is hiyashi tomato, which literally means "cold tomato" and has a thousand variations; this one is drizzled with fragrant sesame oil and ponzu (citrus soy sauce) and sprinkled with crushed sesame seeds and black pepper. On the left is maguro no tsukudani (tuna simmered in soy sauce), and is one of the best examples yet of my recent drive to save money by using up all the excess food that's taken over my kitchen.

I've had frozen tuna in my freezer since last year, a gift from my sister-in-law from a trip to Miura Hanto (the Miura Peninsula in Kanagawa, famed for its tuna). We ate it at first as sashimi and it was delicious, but there was such a large amount we had to freeze most of it, and not knowing what to do with frozen raw tuna I kind of left it in there until I forgot about it. When I noticed it again recently I was relieved to see it had no freezer burn, and when I won the sake I knew I'd finally found a use for the tuna. It turned out so good that I wish I had a freezer full of frozen fish! If you'd like to try making it yourself, read on: the recipe is at the bottom of the post.

This picture probably looks odd to most Japanese people, since you're not supposed to drink alcohol--especially sake--with rice. Apparently tsumami are just snacks and once you have your real meal (which in Japan always includes rice) you have to stop drinking, since sake is made of rice and you wouldn't serve two kinds of rice with a meal, would you? Or something like that. But the fact is that most tsumami are also really good with rice, and since we really liked the sake we included the tsumami with our dinner and kept on drinking.

From left, maguro no tsukudani, hiyashi tomato, asazuke (quick pickles) of cabbage and cucumber, hiyayakko (cold tofu topped with soy sauce and bonito flakes) and gobo to toriniku no takikomigohan (rice cooked with chicken and burdock, also from the freezer).

And now for the recipe. First I should note that if you should not use really good fresh fish: save the good stuff for sashimi and use either non-sashimi grade fish or sashimi grade fish that is too old to serve raw. It also doesn't have to be tuna: buri (yellowtail), kajiki (swordfish) and other firm fleshed fish can be used as well. Finally, you could simmer daikon, negi (long onions) or other vegetables with it; I will definitely use both next time. Oops, one more thing: the flavourings are highly adjustable: eliminate the water to make the flavour stronger, add more water to make it weaker, and add more or less sugar to your liking. Taste as you go and adjust as you like.

Maguro no Tsukudani (Tuna simmered in soy sauce)

450 grams (1 pound) of tuna, in blocks
1 knob fresh ginger
120 ml (1/2 cup) sake
120 ml (1/2 cup) soy sauce
75 ml (1/3 cup) water
2 Tbsp mirin (sweet cooking sake)
2 Tbsp sugar

Cut the tuna into bite-sized pieces. If it is getting a little old put it in a sieve and pour boiling water over it and let drain. Peel the ginger with the back of a knife and slice thinly.

Add the sake, soy sauce, water, mirin and sugar to a pot and cook over medium heat until the sugar has dissolved. Turn the heat to low, add the tuna and bring to a simmer, then half cover with a lid and let simmer, stirring carefully once or twice and making sure liquid doesn't evaporate. Cook 30 minutes to 1 hour or more; the tuna is ready when it is infused with flavour and softened slightly. If excess liquid remains you might like to remove the tuna to a bowl and simmer the liquid on medium until reduced to your liking, then return the tuna to the pot and stir to coat with the sauce.

Serve hot or room temperature with sake. Will keep several days in the fridge (and will actually get softer after a day or two, so try not to eat it all at once).

Breakfast with my Valentine

Valentine's Day is s holiday I feel slightly embarrassed about celebrating, as if I should be eschewing the corporate mandated chocolate frenzy in favour of a lifestyle in which I express my love for my husband all year round, in ways that don't involve buying things. The thing is though, I do show my love daily, and just because we've got an every-day-is-Valentine's-Day thing going on doesn't mean I have to boycott Valentine's Day. I just have a thing for holidays, especially holidays involving food, and if one day a year I celebrate my love in an official manner with chocolate, candle-lit dinners and other cliched ways, well, what's wrong with that? So I've come up with a compromise, a way to balance my dislike of made-up commercialized holidays with my love of special occasions: I go ahead and give my sweetheart chocolates, a fancy dinner and plenty of romance, but skip the store-bought stuff.

(If it seems a bit strange that it's me doing all the celebrating, you need to know that Valentine's Day is done a bit differently here in Japan. There are two differences, the first being that there are no cards, lingerie, jewelry or flowers: it's all about chocolate. The second is that it's the women who give and the men receive.)

I usually make some kind of chocolates or cookies, and this time I made an old favourite: mini mochaccinos. These are two layer chocolates with a coffee kick, very easy to make but rather impressive looking. I got the recipe ages ago, from somewhere in my mom's cookbook and magazine collection--I've long forgotten both the source and the original name (and if any of you can think of a more catchy name that "mini mochaccinos, please let me know). I think the recipe is pretty much unchanged, except for a bit more coffee flavour and the optional addition of the heart-shaped tart crust.

Unfortunately I'm not much of a baker so these crusts were store-bought (yup, I broke my own rules), but they really make these chocolates extra special. As a bonus it also makes them a bit easier to eat, as the bottom dark chocolate layer is rather soft and tends to melt faster than the firmer white chocolate, causing sticky fingers.

As you can see, the dark chocolate on the bottom, white chocolate on top and sprinkle of cinnamon makes them look a bit like cappuccinos or mochaccinos, hence the name. The addition of the tart shell adds another texture, and the combination of the three--the crisp tart, soft creamy chocolate and firm white chocolate--is so nice that I think I should learn how to make a basic tart crust, so I don't have to rely on the pre-made kind.

We're in the middle of a warm spell--it's supposed to get up to 20 today-- so I served the mini mochaccinos with coffee on our balcony, followed by breakfast. Yes, the egg is heart-shaped (done by frying the egg inside of a cookie cutter placed on a frying pan), but I did resist the urge to carve the tomatoes and strawberries into hearts. I'm not that bad. It was such a treat to eat in the sun, and I know it will get cold again but it feels like spring has arrived. Perfect weather for falling in love again.

Mini Mochaccinos

• 175 g bittersweet chocolate, chopped
• 75 ml whipping cream
• 2 tsp instant espresso powder
• 2 tsp vanilla extract
• 125 g white chocolate, chopped
• approximately 20 small paper candy cups or 15 small tart crusts
  
• approximately 20 coffee beans
• cinnamon for dusting

In a double boiler or a bowl over a saucepan of hot water, melt the bittersweet chocolate with the cream, stirring often. In a separate bowl, dissolve the espresso powder in the vanilla, then stir into the chocolate. Pour the melted chocolate into the candy cups or tart crusts, filling halfway, refrigerate 20 minutes or until firm.

While the chocolates are cooling, clean and thoroughly dry the pot or bowl that was used to melt the chocolate. Use it to melt the white chocolate, making sure not to splash any water in the bowl: even a drop of water or other liquid will cause the chocolate to seize. When the white chocolate is melted, poor over the firmed chocolate in a slightly thinner layer.

While the white chocolate is still soft, sprinkle each mini mochaccino with cinnamon (for an extra-fine dusting put the cinnamon in a fine tea strainer, shaking gently to sprinkle), and top with a single coffee bean in the middle. Refrigerate until firm.

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/or 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 know what 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.

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 umeshu I didn't have to worry about getting the ume completely dry.

The ume were added to my lovely new 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, which makes it hard to remove all the flesh from the pits--maybe I should check some plum or other clingstone fruit jam recipes for tips.

 

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 now I kind of understand why ume is often mistranslated as "plum" 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, which was still very tart but more balanced. 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 produced a good amount of foam, which was removed with a ladle as the Japanese recipes instructed. I got tired of that though so in the end I just added a small pat of butter, a trick common in western recipes but apparently unheard of in Japan.

 

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 jam, so it was amazing to see this jam set 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 understand why ume are called Japanese apricots. The plum flavour had disappeared, the japm now had the colour, smell and flavour of pure apricot! Well, a very tart apricot, and one with a pleasant marmalade-like bitterness and nutty flavour, which I assume are from the initial boil of the whole fruit (some flavours from the pits infusing the flesh). 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?

梅酒 Umeshu

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 before 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 with additions like salt, akajiso (red perilla) and giant bamboo sieves. These are 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!

Wakashi two ways

This is wakashi sashimi, which I bought for a recent dinner,still in the package it came it (why do they always include parsley?). 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 knew I'd have to 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 became: tatsuta-age. I just gave it a quick soy sauce and ginger marinade, then dipped it in katakuriko (potato starch) 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 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 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 pieces at a time, until golden brown. Drain on paper towels and serve on lettuce leaves or slice cabbage with slices of lemon.

Salmon, chicken, meatballs,

Salmon with yogurt-curry sauce (recipe here); orzo with green peas, shiitake and parmesan; tofu salad. The salmon was fast, simple and tasty, and one more reason why Mark Bittman's blog Bitten has become a favourite.

Chicken stuffed with spinach and pine nuts; rice; miso soup with daikon, asparagus and green onion; quick-pickled spring cabbage.

The chicken was based on another Bittman recipe (chicken thighs stiffed with chard), but with a few changes: (spinach instead of chard (never seen it here), no raisins (Hideaki isn't into the fruit-and-meat combo) and soy sauce instead of salt to make it work better with a Japanese meal. Very nice, but the uneven thickness and shape of the thighs (the chicken's, I mean) made it hard to secure after rolling, so I'll be using cooking twine rather than toothpicks next time.

Nachos with refried beans; salsa; albondigas soup (recipe here).

Long ago I got a recipe called Mexican Meatball Soup from my sister and I've always assumed it was Tex-Mex or completely made up, perhaps because the booklet the recipe came from was full of just those sorts of recipes. Not that it actually matters though--it was a really good soup. I've been craving it recently, and when I couldn't find my recipe I went online to see if I could find something similar, and to my surprise it does seem to be an actual Mexican dish. Called Sopa de Albondigas, it's a simple but hearty soup with meatballs made with rice and mint, which give it a unique flavour and wonderful soft texture.

I settled on a recipe from Simply Recipes, another favourite food blog, and also followed her recipe for refried beans (using a mix of kidney and soy beans as pintos aren't easy to come by here). She also has  recipes for salsa--both the fresh and the cooked kind--and nachos, just in case you don't already have those.

Chicken legs and oxtails

A nice springtime dinner: green pea soup, roasted asparagus, baked chicken leg (the only kind of bone-in chicken regularly available) with lemon and garlic, and rice. Everything turned out great and for once I have recipes, or at least links to recipes. 

Pea soup with creme fraiche(I used home-made yogurt instead of creme fraiche, which doesn't exist here) is from Epicurious, and the lemon chicken  is from the excellent blog Simply Recipes (which also has a recipe for roasted asparagus, a dish that really only needs a recipe the first time you make it).

A less successful recipe was David Chang's (of Momofuku fame) oxtail soup. It was tasty but overly greasy with a hint of an organy/bloody flavour--very slight and probably not a bad thing for a true beef lover, but it was a bit unpleasent for me. I had been wary of the recipe's lack of usual stock-making instructions, with no pre-soak or barboil for the tail bones and no removal of scum or fat from the stock: the tails are simply roasted and then simmered. So although I did skim the foam and try to remove some of the fat, it was obviously a mistake not to give the tails a quick boil first, and next time I'll be sure to follow my instincts.

Daikon peel sauteed with kombu (kelp) leftover from flavouring rice; kimchi; hiyayakko (cold tofu); mizuna greens and red pepper salad; oxtail soup with daikon; rice (not shown).

The next day, with more fat removed and poured over rice, the soup was even better. In fact it was so good that all my complaints from the day before were forgiven. I'd like to try this again--but maybe with a more traditional Korean recipe (anyone have a good one), and next time I won't bother serving the rice and soup separately: they really belong together

Butter

In February I tried to buy unsalted butter for cookies, and when all my local supermarkets were sold out I wasn't surprised: it was just before Valentine's Day, a time when virtually every female in the country was busy making sweet treats for their sweethearts. I was able to make do with regular butter but later I became a bit puzzled. Not only did unsalted butter never return to supermarket shelves, but regular butter soon disappeared as well. I shop at irregular hours so I just assumed that I was unlucky or that butter had recently been featured on a health-related TV show (a sure-fire way to cause a product to sell out nation wide) and would soon reappear.

But it didn't, and only recently did I find out that there is a butter shortage in Japan. It's really hard to believe: we're not at war, the economy hasn't crashed, and dairy cows aren't being wiped out by disease or severe weather. But then again this is Japan, where agricultural management follows a mysterious set of rules created by senile wombats from the 5th dimension. Or at least that's what I suspect. I remember a few years back when massive amounts of produce was destroyed because prices were getting too cheap, only to have shortages and sky-high prices a few months later. Anyone else remember those 800 yen cabbages?

Anyway, last week we finally ran out of butter, and at the supermarket I got an idea. Most other milk products were still widely available, including cream. And I remembered when I was in kindergarten we made butter by pouring cream into glass jars and shaking the hell out of them. I don't remember much from that age, but I do remember that I loved making butter. It was fun and I found the transformation of liquid cream to solid butter just fascinating. I also loved the taste: we ate it on saltine crackers and I thought it was the most delicious thing I'd ever had, and butter on crackers remained a favourite snack throughout my childhood. A few years later I was hooked on the Little House in the Prairie books and again became fascinated by Laura Wilder's description of Ma churning cream into butter, pioneer-style. So butter making is something I've always wanted to try again.

And I finally had a good excuse to do it. So today I made up my mind to buy cream and make butter, and set out to the supermarket. And wouldn't you know it, they were fully stocked with butter, for the first time in months. Not to be deterred, I bought both a stick of butter and a 200 ml carton (the only available size) of heavy cream.

I meant to use a glass jar so I could see what was going on inside, but after testing the cheapo jar I'd bought at the 100 yen shop I realized it wasn't fully leak proof. So I just shook the cream right in its own carton, and less than 45 minutes later I had butter.

It was a very pale colour and rather mild tasting-- apparently the cream can be cultured first to make a fuller flavour, so I might do that next time. Still it was sweet and buttery enough to be totally worth the effort, and was very nice on a toasted English muffin with tomatoes and an egg.

If you'd like to try making butter, the fastest way is with a mixer: Cooking for Engineers has good directions. But if you're like me and are attracted to more low-tech ways of doing things, then this is how to shake cream into butter.

You'll need:

• small carton of heavy cream (the heavier the better, and make sure there are no thickeners or whipping agents added)
• large metal clip
• clean marble or large bead
• salt, optional

Open the carton and pour a few tablespoons out to make some air space. This is a good time to make yourself a nice big cup of coffee, as it will help you use up the poured-off cream and will also give you the energy you'll need for all the shaking. Drop in the marble, close the carton and seal it with the clip.

Start shaking. After 15 minutes or so you won't feel the marble moving around, and you'll know you've reached the whipped cream stage. Go ahead and have a look, and you might as well have a taste too. From this point you will need to shake quite vigorously. It won't feel like much is happening in there, but after several more minutes you'll suddenly feel liquid sloshing around again. That's the buttermilk separating from the butter curds, and you just need to keep shaking for another minute or so until the curds merge together.

It should look like this, with the curds formed into a ball. You now have butter, but there is just a bit more work left. Pour off the buttermilk and reserve for another use. To clean the butter, pour a little cold water into the carton, close and shake for half a minute. Open and drain off the water, repeat twice.

Your butter is now ready. If you want salted butter, add a pinch of salt and give it a few more shakes to mix it. You can keep shaking to get whipped butter, but your arms are probably sore enough so all you have to do now is make yourself some toast, slather it with your freshly made butter, and enjoy.

The butter can be kept in the carton-- just re-seal it with the metal clip and keep it in the fridge. Like store-bought butter, you'll need to use it up quickly if it's unsalted. But if you've just emerged from a butter famine like I have, that shouldn't be a problem.

Three recent dinners

OK, back to food:

A recent dinner consisted of, from bottom left: onsen tamago (egg poached in its shell); okara to kyuuri sarada (tofu lees and cucumber dressed with shiso, ponzu and olive oil); daikon no happa to kawa no itame (sauted daikon leaves and peel with soy sauce and sesame seeds); haru-kyabetsu no katsuobushi-ae (spring cabbage dressed with bonito flakes); komatsuna no nibitashi (komatsuna greens simmered in dashi and soy sauce); daikon to tebamoto no nimono (chicken drumettes and daikon braised with shiitake); mame to shirasu gohan (rice with green peas and baby sardines).

The chicken and daikon dish is delicious and economical, and I was about to share the recipe when I found a very similar one in English on the Kikkoman website. Either wings or drumettes can be used, and the kombu is optional (good additions would be whole shiitake and peeled boiled eggs).

A sale at the meat aisle inspired this man-pleasing dish: double meat curry with butter rice. The rice (Thai in this case, as plain long grain rice is hard to come by in Japan) is flavoured with butter and turmeric, and the curry uses both ground pork and chunks of stewing beef. It is a hybrid curry, half-way between Japanese style and western style: I start off cooking it western style, with the spices added at the beginning, and then finish it with a butter and flour roux to get the properly gloopy texture of a Japanese curry.

Curry is one of those foods that gets better with age, and this stuff kept my husband (and me) happy for half the week.

Here I tried Mark Bittman's recipe for spaghetti with fried eggs-- a fast, cheap and easy cousin of spaghetti carbonara. With a salad of spinach, cherry tomatoes, sauteed mixed mushrooms and toasted pine nuts. This was the first time I've spent longer on making salad than making pasta, but both were very good.

牡蠣ご飯

It's been oyster season for few months now and I just realized I've only cooked them twice so far. I love oysters, but don't bring them into the kitchen often--maybe because they seem intimidating to work with, or maybe because my husband doesn't like them very much, or maybe because they are a little pricey. But if I really think about it, that's all a bunch of baloney. Oysters are one of those rare foods that are cheaper here than back home in Toronto, (as an example, the sixteen big fat oysters shown above cost me about 800 yen), and they seem to be of far higher quality. They are also commonly sold freshly shucked, making them actually quite easy to work with. And my picky husband? He doesn't love oysters themselves, but he does love their flavour and is very happy to eat something cooked with oysters (he just eats around the oysters, leaving them for me). So I need to get it out of my head that oysters are expensive, difficult to cook, and not appreciated by my dining partner. It's time to start cooking them regularly, at least while their season lasts. After all, what good is living in Japan, if I don't take advantage of stuff like this?

Kakigohan (oyster rice) is the perfect dish for someone like my husband, as the rice absorbs maximum oyster flavour. He can eat around the actual oysters and just enjoy their flavour in the rice. All the more oysters for me (insert evil laugh). 

So that's what I did with those 16 oysters. I'd never cooked kakigohan before, but I figured that, like any rice dish, it would be better cooked in my donabe (clay pot). It was, and it turned out wonderfully. So wonderfully that my husband actually ate several of his oysters and now claims to be an oyster lover. I'm not sure how to feel about this, but I do know that I loved this dish and will make it whenever I find oysters on sale. 

Served with tsubo-zuke (crunchy pickled daikon), burikama no shioyaki (salt-grilled yellowtail collar), homemade oboro-dofu (a soft and custardy free-form tofu), spinach dressed with soy sauce and katsuobushi (bonito flakes) and miso soup with shiroshimeji (white shimeji mushrooms), abura-age (deep-fried tofu) and negi (long onion).

Here is the recipe, but first a few notes. If you have a clay pot use it, if not, any heavy-bottomed pot will do. The reduction of the oyster liquor is done to intensify the oyster flavour and remove any strong briny notes. It adds a few steps but it's well worth it. A go is a Japanese rice cup, equivellant to 180ml.

牡蠣ご飯 (Kaki gohan)

• 3 go (540 ml or 2.3 cups) Japanese rice
• 2 go (360 ml or 1.5 cups) water
• 1 10cm (4 inch) piece of kombu (kelp)
• 2 packs (about 15 to 20 large) shucked oysters and their liquor
• 100 ml (0.4 cups) sake
• 1 tsp salt
• 2 tsp soy sauce
• 1 knob thinly sliced fresh ginger, optional
• chopped mitsuba (trefoil) or sliced nori seaweed, optional

Wash rice in several rinses until water drains almost clear. Drain and add to pot along with the water and kombu. Let soak at least 30 minutes.

Drain oysters, reserving liquor. Clean oysters well in cold water and drain again, and add to a separate pot, along with the sake. Strain reserved oyster liquor well and add to the oyster pot. Bring to boil over high heat; when oysters become plump remove them a slotted spoon and add them to the rice pot. Keeping heat on high, reduce the liquor by about half, skimming off any foam that develops.

Add the reduced liquor to a measuring cup along with enough water to make 320 ml (11 oz or 1.3 cups). Add to the rice pot along with the salt, soy sauce, and ginger, if using. Stir lightly.

Cover pot and bring to the boil over high heat, keeping lid on tightly (you can test for boiling by touching a wooden spoon to the lid and feeling for bubbles). Reduce heat to low and simmer 15 minutes, turn off heat and let rest for 10 minutes. Remove lid and stir rice carefully, making sure not to break oysters. Spoon into bowls and top, if desired, with mitsuba or nori.

えのきの豚巻き

One of my favourite quick main dishes is nikumaki (meat rolls), which is made of thinly sliced pork or beef rolled around vegetables and braised in soy sauce, sake and mirin. This time I used enoki mushrooms and bannou negi (green onion) with pork cut thicker than usual, and gave it a longer simmer to make the meat nice and tender.

I've posted a nikumaki recipe before, but here is a slightly different one that uses a thicker cut of meat.

えのきの豚巻き (Enoki no Butamaki or Pork rolled with enoki mushrooms)

• 250g or 6 slices pork shoulder, sliced about 3mm thick (labeled shougayaki-you)
• 1 package (about 100g) enoki mushrooms
• 6 bannou negi (thin green onions)
• salt and pepper
• 1 Tbsp vegetable oil
• 3 Tbsp each: sake, mirin, soy sauce
• 100 ml dashi

Remove ends from bannou negi, cut whites and greens into 8 cm (3 inches) lengths. Cut hard ends from enoki so stalks are same length as negi, divide into 6 bundles.

Lay pork slices on cutting board, sprinkle with salt and pepper. Lay sliced bannou negi and enoki mushrooms at one end of the slices, roll up tightly and secure with a toothpick.

Heat oil in a pan, add the rolls and brown on all sides over medium-high heat. Add the sake, mirin, soy sauce and dashi, bring boil. Reduce heat to medium-low, cover pan, and simmer turning rolls occasionally. Cook for 20 minutes or until meat is tender (to test, remove one roll to cutting board, slice off one end, and to taste).

Remove rolls to cutting board and let sit, when cool enough to handle slice in half or thirds and arrange on plate. Meanwhile, reduce liquid over high heat until thickened, pour over niku maki.

Corn bread and chili con carne

The weather has finally turned cold enough for something I've been craving a while: chile con carne with cornbread. Now, I know people have strong feelings about chili and the kind we eat in southern Ontario is quite a bit different from the authentic versions found elsewhere. But I love my chili and so does my husband and it does seem authentic to me, in the sense that it's nearly identical to the chili my mother makes. The only differences are the beans: I use soy beans, which don't have the same malodorous side effects as other beans, to replace all or some of the kidney beans. And this time, thanks to comments on my last chili post, I supplemented the ground meat (I used pork as it's so much cheaper) with bite sized chunks of stewing beef. And I'm so glad I did, as this was the best chili I've made so far.

I've also perfected my cornbread since my first attempt last year. I had started out wanting to make an authentic southern-style cornbread, with no flour or sugar, but was less than impressed with the results. Part of the reason was that lacked a proper cast iron skillet, and I've since found a couple of 15 cm (6 inch) mini skillets at the 100 yen shop. They are tiny and make great single-sized servings, and they create a wonderful crust. But probably the main reason I didn't love my first attempt is that cornbread is just not something I grew up with, and I've never even tasted real southern cornbread before. So since I haven't developed a taste for cornbread I needed to start gently, and now after a bit of tinkering with recipes I've finally found one that I like. I'll admit that I do add a tiny bit of sugar, but really, what can you expect from a Canuck in Japan?

Anyway, the recipe is below, but first a few notes. I don't specify the cornmeal because it's not easily available here and all I've tried this recipe with is fine yellow cornmeal; I'm sure it would be fine with other types. The cast iron skillet essential for a good crust but if you can't find one try an oven-safe glass baking dish or muffin tins. A 22 to 25 cm (9 or 10 inch) skillet or baking dish will cook this in one go, smaller dishes or muffin tins will require a few batches-- pour batter until dish is about 3/4 full. Buttermilk is not available in Japan so I use this substitute: add 450 (2 cups minus 2 Tbsp) milk to a microwave safe bowl, warm slightly in the microwave, add 2 Tbsp vinegar and let sit for about 5 minutes, until thickened. Yogurt thinned with a bit of milk can also be used. The stone-ground cornmeal is purely optional but highly recommended as it will make the crust extra-crispy.

Buttermilk cornbread

• 470 ml (2 cups) corn meal
• 120 ml (1/2 cup) all-purpose flour
• 1 tsp baking powder
• 1/2 tsp baking soda
• 1 tsp salt
• 1 Tbsp sugar
• 1 egg, lightly beaten
• 470 ml (2 cups) buttermilk
• 2 Tbsp melted butter or bacon fat, plus about 1 Tbsp for greasing pan
• 1 to 2 Tbsp course stone-ground cornmeal, optional

Crease a cast iron skillet, baking dish or muffin tin with 1 Tbsp butter or bacon grease, place in oven, and preheat oven to 230 C (450 F). Combine the dry ingredients in a large bowl. In a separate bowl, mix the egg, buttermilk and melted butter or fat. Pour the buttermilk mixture into the dry ingredients and stir quickly to moisten. Do not over mix; there should be a few lumps.

Remove the skillet from oven, add the stone-ground cornmeal, if using, and swirl to coat bottom and sides of pan. Pour in the batter into the hot skillet and bake for 25 minutes (about 15 minutes for muffins and 20 minutes if using a mini skillet like mine), or until it is golden and a toothpick inserted in the centre comes out clean.

Serve it in the pan to keep cornbread warm, wrap any leftovers and keep in fridge. Great for sopping up soups, stews and cooking juices; topped with butter; or plain, straight from the fridge.

As for the chili recipe, you'll have to ask my mom.

さつまいもご飯 (satsuma-imo gohan)

Satsuma-imo gohan (sweet potato rice); tofu and spinach dressed with soy sauce and katsuobushi (bonito flakes); tonjiru (miso soup with pork) with carrot, daikon, atsu-age (fried tofu) and chikuwa-bu (pressed wheat gluten); toriniku no isobe-ni (chicken rolled with nori seaweed).

I posted the recipe for the chicken rolls a rew years ago, this is it here. It remains one of my favourite dishes and I highly recommend it. This time I'll give a recipe for the satsuma-imo gohan, another favourite. It is really satisfying and tasty on its own merits, but I love how the sweet, slightly nutty and creamy satsuma-imo makes it resemble kuri-gohan (chestnut rice). Kuri-gohan is an iconic autumn dish, loved by everybody but not turning up very often on my table due to the amount of time involved in peeling the chestnuts. I think satsuma-imo is just as good, and it is far less work.

Here's the recipe:

さつまいもご飯 (Satsuma-imo gohan)

Make this with satsuma-imo, a Japanese variety of sweet potato with a thin reddish-purple skin and cream to yellow flesh. Other varieties of sweet potatoes or yams will not work as well. If you can't find mochi-gome, regular Japanese rice is fine. One "go" is equivalent to 180 ml.

• 1 go (Japanese rice cup) Japanese rice
• 1 go (Japanese rice cup) mochigome (glutinous Japanese rice)
• 250 grams (8 ounces) satsuma-imo
• 2 Tbsp sake
• 1 Tbsp mirin (sweet cooking sake)
• 1 Tbsp soy sauce
• 1/2 tsp salt
• pinch goma-shio (salt with black sesame seeds) for garnish, plus more for the table

Wash rice in several changes of cold water, until the drained water is almost clear. Pour rice into a sieve and let drain for 20 minutes.

Wash the satsuma imo but do not peel. Cut into 1.5 cm cubes, soak in cold water with a pinch of salt for 15 minutes.

Add drained rice to pot of rice cooker with 380 ml (13 ounces) water and the sake, mirin, soy sauce and salt. Stir gently to mix, top with drained satsuma-imo and cook as for regular rice.

When cooked, stir the rice gently with a few swipes of a shamoji (rice paddle) or wooden spoon to mix in the satsuma-imo evenly. Serve to chawan (small rice bowls) and top with a sprinkle of goma-shio.

Serves 3 to 4.

Penne alla vodka

A big favourite around here is penne alla vodka, a classic Italian-American pasta that combines a simple tomato cream sauce with vodka, which gives it a subtle kick. It is just lovely and would be on our table a lot more often if I wasn't so cream-phobic. But Hideaki has been requesting it lately, and since he's now sick with a cold I thought that cooking up a batch might have a therapeutic effect.

It seemed to work, although at first I thought he didn't like it. He was eating it so slowly, and when I asked why he said he was eating a single piece at a time, in order for it to last longer. Cute. I just wolfed mine down as usual.

So here is the recipe. The pancetta (or bacon if you live here in Japan where pancetta is a luxury) and red pepper flakes are optional. The cream, vodka and Parmigiano are not.

Penne alla vodka 

• 3 Tbsp extra-virgin olive oil
• 150 grams pancetta or bacon, thinly sliced
• 2 to 3 cloves garlic, minced
• pinch of red pepper flakes, or to taste
• 2 400 gram cans whole tomatoes, pureed
• 100 ml vodka
• 250 grams penne
• 150 ml cream
• 2 Tbsp chopped fresh parsley
• pinch of salt, or to taste
• 4 Tbsp grated Parmigiano-Reggiano, plus more for garnish

Heat the olive oil in a large heavy pan, add the pancetta and cook on medium-low heat until lightly browned, about 5 minutes. Remove half of pancetta for garnish.

Add the garlic and red pepper flakes to the pan and saute for 2 minutes over low heat. Carefully pour in the pureed tomatoes and salt to taste, stir and increase the heat to medium. Bring to a boil, add the vodka and let simmer for 10 minutes.

Meanwhile, cook the penne in a large pot of salted water. Drain when al dente. Add the cream to the sauce and mix in well, then add the penne and parsley. Bring to a boil and cook over medium-high heat about 5 minutes, or until the sauce is reduced and clings to the pasta. Stir in the Parmigiano and taste sauce, adding salt if necessary.

Spoon onto plates and top with the reserved pancetta and a sprinkle of Parmigiano.

Serves 2 to 3 

いくらの塩漬け (Ikura no Shiozuke)

A sure sign that fall has arrived: the supermarkets are full of nama sujiko (raw salmon roe sacs). Nama sujiko isn't very good to eat as is but with a little bit of work it can be made into ikura (cured salmon roe). Ikura no shouyu-zuke (salmon roe preserved in soy sauce) is the recipe preferred by home cooks, because it's fairly easy and keeps well. And that's how I've been preparing it for the last few years, either with my own formula of soy sauce, sake and mirin or with the little pouch of seasoning usually sold with nama sujiko.

But this time I decided to try making ikura no shio-zuke (salted salmon roe), which is the way prepared ikura is normally sold-- the bright orange roe found in jars at supermarkets and atop sushi. Because it must be eaten quickly and requires a few extra steps it's rarely made at home, but after studying a few recipes online I realized it's not that much more work than ikura no shouyu-zuke.

So I gave it a shot and was well-rewarded for my efforts. Salmon roe preserved in salt has a cleaner and fresher flavour than when preserved with soy sauce, and is so delicious that leftovers are not a problem-- it's likely to be eaten all up on the first day, so no worries about how long it keeps. If you can get your hands on nama sujiko then I highly recommend making ikura, as it is cheaper and fresher than any ikura you can buy in a store. The recipe is as follows (or see the step-by-step pictures of the process on my Making ikura album):

いくらの塩漬け (Ikura no shio-zuke)

You'll need one sac of nama sujiko. This is what it looks like from a Japanese supermarket: at 210 grams this one's a bit on the small side (I think the average is about 250 grams) and at 625 yen it's a good deal-- it normally costs closer to 1000 yen for a whole sac. Note the little pouch of seasoning, which is for making ikura no shouyu-zuke. If you've never prepared ikura before it's a good idea to use this seasoning as it's fool-proof, but I normally toss the pouch as it contains too many additives for my tastes.

Begin by soaking the sujiko in a bowl of very hot water. Use the hottest water you can stand to put your hands in (from 45 to 60C/110 to 140F) and let the sujiko soak for a few minutes. This is to temporarily toughen up the eggs so they won't break easily, as removing them from the sac requires a bit of rough treatment. While the roe toughens it will start to lighten in colour and turn opaque, but don't worry-- this is temporary and your roe will be a lovely translucent orange when you're done.

After a few minutes of soaking, use your hands to remove the roe from the thin membrane around the sac. The roe is tougher than you might imagine but still, be gentle as the eggs are liable to pop if you're too rough. Once the eggs is out of the sac there will still be pieces of sticky membrane and veins attached to them, and you'll need to remove it all. It's quite tricky-- and a bit grotesque-- to remove everything, and you'll likely spend at least 20 minutes on this.

The roe is heavier than the membrane, so the membrane tends to float while the eggs stay at the bottom. This means you can easily find and remove any remaining membrane, and rinse it out with several changes of water. You might also like to give the roe a good stir with your hands and run a tea strainer through the water to remove the floating pieces of membrane.   

When every last piece of membrane is removed, pour off the water and add a scant teaspoon of salt. Use sea salt or any good fine, non-iodized salt-- in Japan this is easy as pretty much all salt is sea salt.

Mix it into the roe gently by hand. The roe's colour will start to change immediately.

Place the bowl in the fridge for half an hour to let the salt absorb. After 30 minutes the roe will be bright and translucent, but it's not quite done yet. 

Add another scant teaspoon of salt and mix it in gently.

Pour the roe into a sieve. Set the sieve into the bowl and drain the fridge for one hour, or until the roe has plumped up and all the liquid has drained. 

This is the finished ikura: so fat it looks ready to burst, translucent, and a beautiful bright orange colour. Taste an egg-- if you find it too salty, soak it briefly in cold water and drain in the fridge for 15 minutes, tasting again and soaking if necessary.

It is now ready to eat, or you can pour it into a clean glass jar and keep it in the fridge for up to two days. Some say it is best eaten straight away, while others say it improves after a day, but if you're like me you won't have the patience to wait

So what to do with it? Ikura great in temaki (hand rolled sushi) or on chirashi-zushi (scattered sushi); in fancy hors d'oeuvres; as a garnish for both Japanese and western dishes; or with Japanese style spaghetti. In Japan two of the most common ways to eat ikura are atop daikon oroshi (grated daikon radish) as a tsumami (snack to accompany sake), and in ikuradon (a bowl of rice topped with ikura). However, many of the Japanese uses, especially ikuradon, require the addition of soy sauce and thus are better with soy sauce-cured ikura. If you're going to go to the trouble of making salt-cured roe, you may prefer to use it in a simpler, western style preparation.

Again, complete pictures of the process are in my Making ikura album on Flickr, so do check it out if you plan on making your own ikura.

手巻き寿司

What do you do when you crave sushi but can't afford it? Make temaki-zushi! Temaki-zushi, sometimes called just temaki, is hand-rolled sushi, in an easy-to-grip cone shape. It is easier for home cooks than regular maki-zushi (sushi rolls) or nigiri-zushi (bite-sized sushi): all that needs to be done is prepare the rice and the fillings, and the diners make their own rolls.

The sushi fillings above are, clockwise from left: dashi-maki tamago (thick omelet); bainiku (mashed umeboshi, or pickled plum); kaiware-na (daikon sprouts); shiso (perilla); cucumber slices; chuu-toro (medium-grade tuna belly): tai (sea bream); shake (salmon). There's also a big bowl of sushi-meshi (sushi rice, or short grained rice seasoned with vinegar, salt and sugar), sheets of yaki-nori (toasted nori seaweed, soy sauce for dipping, and iwa-nori-jiru (soup with iwa-nori seaweed and cod).

Temaki is often eaten in Japan as a party or celebration food, so our version looks a little dull. Normally you'd expect to see a bigger variety of seafood, often including ikura (salmon roe), shrimp and crab (either real or the fake kani-kama). Avocado, mayonnaise and wasabi are also popular, and you'll sometimes see inventive ingredients like thinly sliced roast beef or whole leaves of lettuce. But I think we did pretty well with our small modest selection of ingredients.

Making the rolls is easy. Place one sheet of nori horizontally on a plate or in your left hand (these instructions are for right-handers; lefties should do the opposite). Using a shamoji (Japanese rice paddle) or wooden spoon, place a small amount of rice on the left side of the of the nori and spread it out a bit. Leaving a small border of nori uncovered on the bottom and left edge will make the temaki easier to roll.

The amount of rice is up to you-- above I've used about half the regular amount (I'm on a diet and the rice is the highest-calorie part of temaki), and if you're concerned about carbs or calories you can do the same. Otherwise, use more, but don't overdo it as as an over-stuffed roll will fall apart. Don't worry too much about the amount of rice-- this is a fun, do-it-yourself type of food after all, and after a few tries you'll figure out how much is best for you.

Next, place your desired fillings on top of the rice-- here I'm using kaiware-na and chuu-toro. You'll want to put them at a slight angle as shown above, and leave a bit of space at the bottom. Again, this is a smaller amount of filling than usual-- feel free to use more, as long as you don't over-stuff.

Then roll it up into a cone shape with your hands. Start by folding the bottom left corner up to partly cover the rice, then roll it up carefully, making it tighter on the bottom. It may take a few tries to get the shape right, but it doesn't have to be perfect, and it will taste fine even if it's falling apart. Then dip it lightly in soy sauce and eat it-- with your hands of course.

With temaki-zushi, the fun is in combining different ingredients, so rather than using a single filling try mixing and matching. Here is one of my favourites: shiso, bainiku and cucumber.

This is actually a standard sushi combination, called ume-kyuu, and its sweet-sour-salty flavour is very refreshing. It's a great way to end a sushi meal or just cleanse the palate.

Here's the recipe for temaki-zushi. It's fairly easy to prepare, with the biggest work being the rice. If you've never cooked Japanese rice and/or sushi rice before, read through the instructions at about.com. Even if you're not crazy about Japanese food you can enjoy temaki: try using lettuce leaves instead of nori, and cooked seafood or roast beef instead of the sashimi. The great thing about temaki-zushi is that you can put almost anything in it. The only thing you can't fool around with is the sushi rice: short-grained Japanese rice and good Japanese rice vinegar are essential.

手巻き寿司 (Temaki-zushi)

• 2 Japanese rice cups Japanese rice
• 2 Japanese rice cups water
• 1 small piece kombu (kelp)
• 50 ml rice vinegar
• 2 Tbsp sugar
• 1/2 tsp salt
• 1 package yaki-nori, regular or pre-cut for temaki-zushi
• Fillings: a variety that can include the following: sashimi of any kind, canned tuna mixed with mayo, cooked shrimp, crab meat, prepared anago or unagi (conger and freshwater eel), ikura or other roe, smoked salmon, cream cheese, sliced roast beef, ham, dashi-maki tamago (store-bought or home-made), cucumber, avacado, steamed asparagus, kaiware-na or other sprouts, shiso, lettuce, bainiku (store-bought or made my pitting and mashing 2 to 3 umeboshi), sesame seeds, mayonnaise, wasabi, or anything else you can think of
• uchiwa (flat Japanese fan) or other hand fan
• Pickled ginger (optional)
• Soy sauce

Wash the rice, drain, and add to pot or rice cooker with water. Top with kombu and cook as for regular Japanese rice (if your rice cooker has a sushi rice setting, use that).

Meanwhile, prepare the other ingredients. Make sushi-zu by mixing the vinegar, sugar and salt in a small pan and stirring over low heat until salt and sugar dissolve; let cool. Slice fillings to about 8cm (3") long and no more than 1cm (1/2") thick, and arrange on a platter. If using regular yaki-nori, cut in half (nori for temaki-zushi should measure 10cm by 18cm, or 4" by 7").

As soon as the rice is cooked, prepare the sushi-meshi (sushi rice). Empty the cooked rice onto a moistened sushi-oke (large wooden tub for sushi making) or a large shallow bowl. Pour about a quarter of the sushi-zu onto rice. Stir the rice with a shamoji (wooden rice paddle) or wooden spoon, using a cutting and folding motion; be gentle so as not to crush the rice. While mixing, fan the rice with the uchiwa in your other hand. When fully mixed, add another quarter of the sushi-zu, repeat until the rice is thoroughly and evenly saturated with all of the sushi-zu.

Bring the sushi-meshi to the table with the platter of fillings, yaki-nori, pickled ginger and soy sauce. The sushi-meshi should be used immediately, so get rolling!

麻婆豆腐

One of my favourite Chinese foods, mapo doufu (tofu in spicy pork sauce), is also a favourite in Japan. Called mabou doufu in Japanese, it tends to be a bit wimpy here, lacking both spice and the rich flavour of Chinese fermented black beans. My recipe is a bit of a compromise, using proper Chinese ingredients easily found in Japan (and most anywhere else, I imagine) but with a bit less heat than the authentic Sichuan version.

These are the ingredients for mabou doufu, minus the pork (click on the picture for explanations). Notice that they've already been measured and prepared and are all ready to go: if you don't normally cook like this, you'll want to make an exception for Chinese food. Getting everything ready before-hand makes a long ingredient list a bit less daunting, but the real reason for doing this is that once you start cooking, you won't have time to open packages, chop ingredients, and measure.

麻婆豆腐 (Mabou doufu)

• 800 gr (25 ounces) momen-doufu (firm tofu), about 2 packs
• 350 gr (12 ounces) ground pork or beef
• 2 Tbsp touchi (fermented black beans)
• 1 1/2 Tbsp shisen toubanjan (Sichuan style chili bean sauce)*
• 1 Tbsp tenmenjan (black bean sauce)
• 1 large knob of fresh ginger, grated (about 2 Tbsp)
• 4 to 5 cloves garlic, crushed (about 2 Tbsp)
• 8 hosonegi (thin green onions), thinly sliced
• 2 to 3 Tbsp vegetable oil
• 500 ml (2 cups) torigara soup (chinese chicken stock) or beef broth
• 2 Tbsp soy sauce, or to taste
• 1 tsp salt, or to taste
• 1 1/2 Tbsp katakuriko (potato starch) or cornstarch
• 1 to 2 tsp sanshou pepper or Sichuan pepper

Wrap the tofu in clean dish towels and sandwich between 2 cutting boards. Place in the sink with a pot or other weight set on top, let sit about 30 minutes. Just before cooking, unwrap tofu and cut into 2 cm (1 inch) cubes.

Heat the oil in a wok or large pan and stir-fry the pork and touchi, using a wooden spoon to break any lumps and crush the touchi. When pork is almost cooked, about 3 to 4 minutes, add the toubanjan, tenmenjan, ginger, garlic, and most of the hosonegi (reserve about 4 Tbsp for garnish). Continue to fry for about 3 minutes, then add stock and tofu. Stir carefully (or agitate the pan) to mix without breaking the tofu.

Let simmer 5 to 10 minutes, add soy sauce and salt, taste and adjust seasoning if desired. Mix 1 1/2 Tbsp water with the katakuriko, then slowly pour into the pan, stirring gently or agitating the pan to mix. When thickened, ladle into shallow bowls and garnish with a sprinkling of sanshou and the remaining hosonegi.

Makes 4 large servings.

* Regular toubanjan can be used instead.   

土鍋炊きご飯

One of the greatest inventions in the world is the suihanki (electric rice cooker), an appliance that is indispensable in kitchens around the world, especially here in Japan. Considering that many families here eat rice three times a day, the suihanki is as essential as the refrigerator or gas range.

It's not that rice is particularly difficult to cook without one, but it does require a bit of effort: you have to turn the heat on high, then low, then off, all carefully timed, and then you have to let it sit. All this while avoiding the temptation of opening the lid (I find this part the hardest somehow). With the suihanki, all you do is push a few buttons: you don't even have to be there when it starts (or stops) cooking, as it can be set up to start by timer. It makes cooking rice incredibly convenient, and the timer can make a busy day so much easier. And it's great to come home from a long day to suihanki full of freshly cooked rice.

But sometimes I like to cook rice the old-fashioned way, in a donabe (clay pot) over a gas flame. True, I have to actually be there and pay a bit of attention to the pot, but the results are very much worth it. Rice cooked in a clay pot is somehow tastier and feels so rewarding. It is a comfort food giving a wonderfully satisfying feeling of home, safety, warmth, and, well, comfort.

All of the above may or may not be purely psychological (I don't care to know either way). But rice cooked in a donabereally does have one measurable difference: it is the only way to get okoge (the slightly burnt rice at the bottom and sides of the pot). Okoge is is prized for its firm texture and kobashii (a charred, nutty quality) fragrance, and can not be produced with a suihanki.

The brown parts in the bowl below are okoge. This is not a very impressive example, but after hovering over the donabefor 30 minutes and smelling the rice being cooked, I was in no mood to waste time getting the perfect scoop of rice for the perfect picture. I just wanted to eat my rice.

This rice has a bit of mugi (barley) added to it, which I like for its extra flavour and texture. The following recipe is for plain white rice (the kind my husband wishes I'd stick to), but a few tablespoons of the rice can be replaced with mugi, and up to one third of the rice can be replaced with genmai (brown rice) or a mix of grains. A donabewill give the best results, but any other heavy-bottomed pot can be used.

土鍋炊きご飯 (Donabetaki gohan)

• 360 ml (or 2 go, the traditional rice measurement) uncooked white rice
• 400 ml (or 2 Japanese cups) water
• 2 Tbsp mirin (sweet cooking sake)
• 10 cm piece of kombu (dried kelp), optional

Wash and drain rice several times until the water drains almost clear, let sit in sieve for 10 minutes. Add drained rice to donabewith the water and mirin, set kombu on top and let soak for at least 10 minutes (rice can soak for severals hours; leave it covered in the fridge in hot weather).

Cover the pot and bring to a boil over medium heat. Do not uncover the pot to check for boiling; instead feel the handle of the lid through a potholder or wooden spoon (not with your bare fingers!) to feel for the bubbles. Reduce the heat to low, cook for 12 minutes, return heat to medium and cook for one more minute. Turn off heat and let rice sit undisturbed for 10 minutes.

Uncover the pot, remove the kombu, and stir the rice gently with a wet shamoji (rice paddle) or wooden spoon, serve.