Blue Lotus

Bukkake udon

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Making ume jam

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

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

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

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

梅酒

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

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

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

1 kilogram ume

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

1 kilogram sugar

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

1800 millilitres of alcohol

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

You'll also need:

A large jar with a tight-fitting lid

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

Clean towels

Bamboo skewers or wooden toothpicks

A large colander

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

 

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

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Umeshu rokku (on the rocks): with ice

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

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

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

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

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

Wakashi two ways

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

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

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

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

Tatsuta-age

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

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

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

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

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

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

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 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 a few months now and I just realized I've only cooked them twice so far. I love oysters, but prefer them cooked to raw and tend to shun them in my kitchen-- maybe because they are a bit intimidating to work with, or maybe because my husband doesn't like them very much, or maybe because they are a bit pricey. But if I really think about it they are not very different in price here than back home, (as an example, the sixteen big fat oysters shown above cost me about 800 yen), and as they are commonly sold already shucked they are very easy to work with. And as for my picky husband, while he's not crazy about the oysters themselves he does like the flavour they impart to whatever they are cooked with, and is happy just to eat around them. So I really have no excuse and I've decided to cook them as much as possible before their season ends.

Those sixteen oysters were used to make kakigohan (oyster rice), something I've never cooked before. For extra deliciousness it was cooked in my donabe (clay pot), and it turned out so nicely that this is what I'm going to make 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).

I'd like to share the recipe, but first a note on the quantity of oysters. Fresh shucked oysters are sold in standard sized packs here, so those of you in Japan will have no problem buying the right amount. For those outside of Japan I can just give a rough guess: the packs vary widely in the amount of oysters (from 6 very large oysters to 20 small ones); also the amount of water they are packed in varies so it is difficult to give a weight. Luckily this is a simple and adaptable recipe and there isn't really a "right" number of oysters to use, so as a wild guess I suggest using 15 to 20 largish oysters to 3 go (Japanese rice cups) of rice.

Another note: the reduction of the oyster liquor is done to intensify the oyster flavour and remove any strong briny notes, but this step can be skipped if it seems like too much fuss.

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 or 3.4 oz) 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, add to pot (preferably a clay pot) along with the water and kombu. Let soak at least 30 minutes.

Drain oysters, reserving liquor. Clean oysters in cold water and drain again, and add to a separate pot. Strain reserved oyster liquor and add to the oyster pot along with the sake. Bring to boil over high heat and remove oysters to the rice pot when they become plump. 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 feeling the lid with a wooden spoon). 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 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 shougayak