A Fish Out of Water

More birthday stuff

Between August 20th and October 4th we celebrate Hideaki's birthday, our anniversary, Shuma's birthday, and my birthday as well. We also lean towards "birthday months" rather than big bashes on the days themselves, so please forgive me for kind of spreading out and jumbling up these birthday posts.

So I got a big surprise the weekend after my birthday- a delivery of ten fresh oysters from Akkeshi, Hokkaido! I'd dropped hints last year that, with a brand-new baby taking over our lives, went unfulfilled. This year Hideaki came through, and although they weren't my beloved Akkeshi kaki-emon oysters (which were apparently mostly wiped out in the tsunami) they were from the same brackish lake and tasted quite similar.

Aren't they pretty? He even shucked most of them for me, and I was nice enough to give him one. He doesn't like his oysters raw, so we cooked two in the microwave as recommended in the information that came with the delivery. Amazingly they were really good that way, just liked steamed but much easier.

These oysters are so flavourful that they don't need anything added, but a squeeze of sudachi citrus was nice for variety's sake.

The birthday dinner that followed was a humble but tasty meal of yaki-udon (fried udon noodles) and wonton soup. Hideaki uses fish sauce and ponzu to flavour his noodles and I'm totally addicted to that combination of flavours.

Dessert was a store-bought berry cake, and you can tell it's for my birthday because he hates these sour kind of berries. It's actually quite hard to find a simple cake like this, but since I don't like a lot of whipped cream and goo this is really all I want.

No candles or "Happy Birthday" singng, but then if those were really important to me I would have married a woman.

Then Shuma got a late and wonderful birthday present from some former students of mine who took us out for lunch. It's a birthday cake from Noe (pronounced "Noah", a much-loved cake shop in nearby Shakujii Koen). The chocolate heart says "Shuma-kun,Issai no Otanjoubi Omedetou" (Baby Shuma, Congratulations on Your First Birthday).

He was fascinated by the candle. He's recently learned how to blow but wasn't up for it so I took care of the candle for him (my wish was that he'd outgrow his dairy allergy so he could eat his next birthday cake).

He did get to eat his fill of fruit though, and his mom and dad really enjoyed the rest. Actually Noe cakes are the only ones I'll happily eat, cream, goo, and all. Yum.

Nerima Blueberries

A few Saturdays back we took Shuma for his first fruit-picking excursion (also our first in Japan). He's ten months old now, and that might seem a little young to be putting him to work, but we believe it's time he started earning his keep.

For years now we've been noticing little blueberry patches here and there in our area but never seemed to find the time to go picking during the short season. I've also seen the berries themselves on sale at the local JA (Japan Agriculture, the national farmer's co-op) store and at little honour-system roadside stands, but balked at the price: 600 yen for a tiny 200 gram package. Outrageous!

And then this year at the JA there were posters and brochures for Nerima-ku blueberries. Nerima is the ku, or ward, that we live in, and was famed for its daikon in the Edo era, and is recently known for producing the most cabbages of any ward or city in Tokyo. Not exactly exciting stuff, so apparently the ward is trying to re-brand itself with blueberries.

There are now 25 blueberry farms (orchards?) spread throughout the ward, mostly concentrated in the west end. And aside from selling the berries at JA shops and farm stands, each farm is open on certain days of the week for picking, at the price of 200 yen per 100 grams. Still pretty outrageous but cheaper than buying them already picked and possibly cheaper than imported berries. And after trying it for ourselves, it's totally worth the money when you factor in the entertainment value and the fact that they are a million times more delicious when freshly picked.

The brochure is unfortunately only available in PDF format, page by page (scroll down and click the page with 7 and 8, which shows the farms nearest to us- we picked at number 7, Konishien). But it's nicely down, with lots of information about blueberries and maps of the farms including local sights. And this being Japan, Nerima blueberries have their own "image characters": Blueberry Kuma Sankyodai (The Three Blueberry Bear Siblings). Big Brother Bear is named Burun, he's cheerful and good at making jam; Little Sister Bear Rirun is a bit shy and loves fireworks; Little Brother Bear Berun is a mischevious glutton who loves climbing trees.

So back to picking. All farms charge the same price, but they all vary on days and times they open (and I think you need a reservation to pick at each one). Some places provide plastic tubs, some ask you to bring your own; some farms have a 1 kilogram limit and some don't. At all farms it's strictly picking only, with no eating allowed (unlike traditional fruit picking in Japan, in which you a heavy entrance fee and eat everything as you pick it). But I did see plenty of other pickers eating, and we snuck a few too.

Shuma was a really good picker, and even grabbed and ate a few when we weren't looking. He just knew exactly what to do, it was amazing. Maybe because it was early in the season (some bushes looked like they hadn't yet been picked at all), but it was really really easy, and within a few minutes we had this much:

Which doesn't seem like much, but knowing how much they cost we were trying not to go crazy. The other pickers, who were equally divided between families with kids and lone obaachans (grandmas) were totally filling their buckets, and probably paid two or three thousand yen for their takes. I can only guess they were making jam or giving them away to friends and family. We ended up with 400 grams, for which we paid 800 yen. My inner cheapskate protested, but it was fun and provided a week's worth of breakfasts for all three of us (especially Shuma, who is in a blueberry phase and will eat nothing else in the morning) and a few desserts. And they were really good, in that Japanese fruit way: very very sweet. I still prefer the more tart and intensely flavoured Canadian berries (especially wild ones!) but it was very hard to complain about these.

Here is what I made with the last of the blueberries: a no-bake cheesecake.

It's made with mascarpone, cream cheese and yogurt, with a standard graham cracker crust and a simple topping of blueberries lightly cooked with sugar. So, so good! Oh, and that was a total lie up above- we ran out of Nerima berries before I could eat dairy (I've just started the gorging-on-dairy phase of an elimination diet to see if the dairy products I eat effects Shuma), so I had to buy more blueberries at Costco. But I fully meant to make this with our freshly picked berries, and I will someday. I will also work on presentation, but it's only my second time making (and liking) cheesecake and there no complaints.

Kodomo no Hi

 May 5th was Kodomo no Hi (Children's Day, pronounced "koe-doe-moe no hee"), which is the official name for what really is Boys' Day. Also known as Tango no Sekku and celebrated throughout East Asia, it is an ancient celebration that involves, not surprisingly, decorations and tasty treats. Kodomo no Hi is a national holiday (in contrast with the March 3rd Girls' Day for which there is no day off- make of that what you will) that falls during Golden Week, the string of holidays in late April and Early May.

In the weeks before Kodomo no Hi you'll see koinobori (carp streamers) popping up in farm fields, in front of houses and on apartment balconies. These beautiful wind-catchers were originally flown in battlefields, as carp symbolize strength and courage, and as those were desirable traits for sons to possess they became associated with Tango no Sekku. The basic pattern is a colourful windsock on top, then a large black or dark blue carp representing the father, a smaller red or pink carp representing the mother, and a smaller blue or green carp representing the chonan (first-born son). Any further sons are represented by progressively smaller smaller blue, green and purple carp.

The best koinobori are lovingly hand-painted, metres long, and will put you back hundreds of dollars, but you can also just get a cheap set at the 100 Yen Shop, like I did. Obviously this was the first year I've bought and displayed koinobori, and I would have loved to get a really nice set, but it's not quite in the budget.

Actually what I'd really like to do is send a huge set of koinobori to my family in Canada, as it would surely delight both my father and brother. My dad loves windsocks, flags, wind-catchers, and any kind of doodad that can be hung in our backyard to flap in the wind or sparkle in the sun. Which annoys the hell out of my brother, who in recent years has taken over much of the gardening and outdoor work and also spends a great deal of time in the backyard drinking beer and grilling things. He can't stand any kind of decoration or unnatural presence in the backyard (other than his extensive collection of barbeque equipment, of course) and is constantly taking down my dad's decorations. But if I were to send some really handsome koinobori my dad would be able to indulge his love of colourful outdoor ornaments, and my brother would also be pleased because koinobori are only meant to be hung up for a limited time: week or so after Kodomo no Hi and the carp come down. So I'm saving up for next year.

Here is the little Kodomo no Hi display in our living room, on the shelf above the TV (the most auspicious location in a Japanese home). On the wall is a plaque, below it are two decorations we made at our playgroup (koinobori and a pink kabuto, or helmet), and below that is a collection of snacks sent by my mother-in-law.

Here is a better look at the snacks. Inside the blue koinobori is a pack of arare (rice cracker balls, pronounced "ah-rah-ray"), and inside one pack of snacks are little koinobori-shaped crackers.

An even closer look. On the left is ramune flavoured candy in various wrappings, top right is the arare, and in the middle is what's inside the mini koinobori: a long senbei (rice cracker) and a round senbei with a roasted soybean inside. All yummy and sure to delight any boy, but this year they're for adults only.

Here is a closer look at the plaque. It was made by my mother-in-law, whose hobby is enamel work. Isn't it beautiful? It shows a kabuto, which is the helmet that was worn with Japanese armour. Nowadays kabuto are associated with Boys' Day as they symbolize parents' hope that their boys will grow up to be murderous and bloodthirsty warriors. Or maybe these days it's more about strength, health, courage, etc, but I'm not crazy about the association with war so am a bit relieved that we can't afford to display kabuto.

Kabuto for Boys' Day are child-sized (although not really meant to be worn) and normally displayed together with their storage box, a gold screen, and often such extras as miniature arrows, swords, and even full child-sized suits of armour. Here are some examples. A good set costs thousands of dollars and I have to admit are very cool looking, but it's just not the kind of thing I want my boy celebrating. So I was really happy to receive the enamel plaque above- it is pretty, lovingly made, doesn't take up half the living room to display, and really shows the kabuto as a symbol and nothing more. I also think my mother-in-law is really talented and am glad to have a piece of her art.

There are a few kinds of wagashi (Japanese sweets) that are eaten on Kodomo no Hi, but I was unable to find them (maybe I shopped too late and they were sold out?) so this year I got some treats for us grown-ups at a local cake shop. Strawberry cake for Hideaki, mango mousse for me, and also a little "charity cookie" (lots of shops are doing this: you get a yummy cookie if you give a small donation to the earthquake victims). Next year, when Shuma is old enough for sweets, I will make sure to buy the proper chimaki.

Happy Boys' Day!

Spontaneous Nap

A few days ago Shuma had his first unplanned nap. He's never been much of a napper and instead sleeps really well at night and takes very short little catnaps after feedings during the day. I do try to put him down in his crib or swing chair a few times a day to encourage napping; sometimes it works and usually it doesn't. But this time I had just put him down for a minute while I went to do something, and after a minute of crying he suddenly went quiet. When I went to see what was wrong, this is what I saw:

Yes! Expecting it to be a short sleep, I made use of my unexpected free time in the kitchen:

Making cookies. I'm such a good houswife! Really though, what else could I do with a short amount of free time? And it did turn out to be short, and thanks to my stupid tiny Japanese convection oven, which can only take one tray at a time, I only managed half a batch before Shuma woke up, crying even harder than before.

But that only meant there was another tray of cookies to bake during the next nap. Yay! And lots to eat. These are double chocolate walnut cookies, and I don't quite have a proper recipe but basically just take your regular chocolate chip cooke recipe, add a tablespoon or so of cocoa powder and some chopped walnuts, and that's it. Very yummy.

Presents

Up until now I've mostly avoided blogging about gifts and souvenirs I've been given, thinking it a bit tacky or show-offy, but recently I've been in a grateful mood and wanted to share some of the bounty we've been lucky enough to receive.

A few weeks ago a very kind person, who read a confession of my love of red licorice on Facebook, sent me package of Twizzlers. It was totally unsolicited, out of the blue, and an act of kindness for which I'm extremely thankful.

The Japanese are not big on licorice, especially red licorice (with its day-glo colour, artificial "red" flavour and plastic texture, I can't imagine why), so it's almost impossible to find, and I find myself craving it more often than I'd like to admit. So this was a wonderful treat, and I'd like to say I savored it slowly, eating one piece (one twizzle?) per day, but that would be a lie: the entire package was gone within a few days. Shameful, yes, but it cured me of my cravings and I think I can last until my next visit home.

Here in Japan, such spontaneous presents are relatively rare. This is a gift-giving society, but the exchange of presents is usually done according to very specific rules and for very specific reasons. The present above was a return present, given to me by a student after I had given her a souvenir from somewhere. This gift kind of breaks the rules in that it was probably more valuable than the gift I'd given her (return presents are supposed to be about half the value of the original presents, although I think it can be more or less depending on the exact occasion).

This gift was a good example of the elaborate packaging used in Japan. I usually find all it rather wasteful, but I can't help but admire the beauty of this particular package.

Individually wrapped snacks also used to strike me as wasteful, until I discovered why it's done: Japan is very humid for much of the year, and any kind of packaged food goes soft and moldy if not eaten right away or wrapped individually.

These confections turned out to be choco-arare, or chocolate covered arare (puffed rice snacks, which are usually savory rather than sweet), in regular chocolate, matcha chocolate, white chocolate and strawberry chocolate. Choco-arare seem to be rather trendy now, but I'm afraid I wasn't crazy about these. If they were just spheres of chocolate lined with puffed rice I'd like them, but the deep-fried, sweet-soy sauce flavoured rice balls inside were too much. A shame, because I'm a big fan of sweet and salty combinations and I really wanted to like these (the way I like chocolate-covered pretzels or salted caramels).

Another sort of gift-giving is the exchange of souvenirs, which is done here a little differently than the way it is in the west. Back home a souvenir tends to be a meaningful memento of one's travels, bought either for oneself or one's close friends and family, while in Japan, omiyage (souvenirs) are only bought for others. Not that Japanese people don't shop for themselves while on vacation, it's just that those purchases are not called souvenirs.

Omiyage are almost always edible, and bought for nearly everyone: family, friends, coworkers, classmates, fellow club members, and anyone else who has been inconvenienced by (or even aware of) a traveller's absence. In the case of coworkers and classmates, individual souvenirs are not necessary, and most people buy a box of something to dole out.

The treats above were brought home from one of my group classes, where things have gotten a little bit out of control. From bottome left: sakura sembei (rice crackers flavoured with dried shrimp and preserved cherry leaves), mini sweet potato cakes (they had come wrapped in the green paper in the picture above), sakura daifuku (mochi stuffed with sakura flavoured sweet bean paste), and biwa (loquat) cake. The school owner already provides snacks and tea, and at least one student will bring something for each class. More often than not all four of them come armed with omiyage, and usually there are so many things to eat that we all end up bringing excess treats home, like the loot above.

Recently many of these omiyage are not actually from a trip (unless a trip to the nearest department store counts), and sometimes they're "recycled" omiyage from a student's family member or coworker (which is always fully disclosed and isn't considered bad manners). Of the snacks above only the sweet potato cakes and biwa cake were souviners, from Kawagoe and Chiba, respectively. Which were both day trips, just an hour or so from Tokyo. It must be a bit expensive for the students (I usually don't participate, bringing omiyage only if I've taken a real trip) but they all seem to look forward to exchanging and eating the snacks so it seems to be harmless fun. I  think a lot of offices and other work environments have a similarly constant flow of omiyage, but perhaps not to this extent.

One of my private students is a retired kindergarten teacher who travels the world, and she never fails to bring me back something. She came back from a recent trip to India with a package of Darjeeling tea and a silk scarf for me. Her generosity astounds me, as does her thoughtfulness: she really knows my taste, and this scarf is totally me.

She also knows that I am a novice tea drinker looking to expand my horizons a little, and I can't wait to try this stuff. I just have to finish up the tin of Earl Grey I'm slowly going through. And now that I think about it, after eight or so years of serving her Earl Grey (she's a tea lover herself) maybe this is a hint that she'd like a change too.

Hand-made gifts seem to be quite rare, and the two above are among the very few I've received. The are straps (meant to be hung from a cell phone or to decorate a bag or wallet) made of scrap cloth and acorn caps, and they were given to me by my landlady. We have a kind of non-stop present exchange going on that goes in cycles, usually starting out with an omiyage from somewhere and continuing with "payback" gifts back and forth, to the point that I no longer what the original omiyage that started this current cycle was. The gifts are usually not fancy: I've received a bouquet of wildflowers and home-made marmalade, and have given homemade jam and cookies and excess fruit from a box full I had received from someone else. This kind of present exchange can be a real burden to some, especially better-connected Japanese people who have a long list of people to give to. But I don't mind this set-up at all, as my landlady is the only person with whom I'm caught in an endless gift exchange with. In fact it's a great way to share when I have lots of stuff, and if it keeps our relationship healthy (especially important since she lives right next door to me), then it's a good thing.

I think this sort of casual back-and-forth of presents is much more common in rural areas or more established suburban neighborhoods (where people actually know and talk to their neighbors), with excess bounty from the garden or farm plot (or from gift boxes of apples or clementines like the one I mentioned above) frequently shared.

These grapes are going back in time a while. We received them early last autumn, and although I was a little too busy to blog about them I did keep the pictures. They are from Senbikiya, a luxury fruit store that's a favourite for expensive fruit gifts. Senbikiya is the kind of place that sells those two hundred dollar melons you've probably heard about, and although these grapes are not quite in that class of luxury they cost more than I'd ever consider spending on myself. Hideaki estimates that they were about 7000 yen (about $70 US).

They were delicious, of course--at that price they'd have to be. But I think most westerners, myself included, would prefer cheap Thompsons and concords from back home: although these were incredibly sweet and juicy, one of them had seeds and both had a very bitter, tough skin that needed to be peeled. And they couldn't be peeled by just popping them into your mouth like a concord, they had to be hand-peeled, a painstaking process that kind of took the fun out of eating them.

But they were beautiful and delicious and I'm glad we were lucky enough to try them.

It seems like people just can't stop giving us fish roe, and to that I say: bring it on. This is ikura no shoyuzuke (salmon roe cured in sauce) from Hokkaido, which is known for its seafood, including salmon. It was a special treat because we usually don't get to eat ikura except for the brief period in autumn when whole sacs of fresh roe are available and we can cure our own.

This ikura was made, along with thinly sliced shiso (perilla) into ikuradon (salmon roe atop rice). Ikuradon is at once a very simple food and the height of luxury, and we relished every bite of hours.

I don't think most of the people who were nice enough to give this gifts read this blog, but even so I'd like to say thank you. May your kindness be rewarded!

Easter

I've been madly decorating eggs for the past few weeks to use for a couple of children's classes and an egg hunt with my niece. The psanky style eggs I tried didn't turn out very nicely, unfortunately, but here are a few of our regular eggs. All of the really nice ones were done by Hideaki, who turns out to be quite talented in the Easter egg decorating department.

On the weekend we visited my sister-in-law and her family for the egg hunt and more egg decorating. Mayra was so into the egg hunt that we kept re-hiding the eggs just so we could watch her find more of them. She would do this little running dance thing every time she found one, and it was extra cute when she needed to be picked up to reach an egg up high, with her little legs frantically running in the air.

Lunch was sushi, which was an Easter first for me. Delivery sushi is not always great, but this stuff was really good and we felt so lucky to have had so much good sushi recently.

Dessert was also a treat: my mother-in-law had sent our favourite cake from Osaka, from a patisserie called Madame Shinko. The place's specialty is baum brulee, a variation of baumkuchen (a layered German cake very popular in Japan) featuring a crisp layer of caramelized sugar on top. The top stayed remarkably crunchy considering the journey from Osaka, and I couldn't stop at the small piece shown below. There were also Easter cookies and plenty of chocolate Easter eggs too.

My niece Marya was a little less into the egg decorating than egg hunting, and ended up having more fun peeling the boiled eggs. But that's OK. The grown ups had plenty of fun decorating their own eggs (there were some great ones, I wish I took pictures). And maybe it was all the sugar from dessert, but she was extra sweet that day. She usually refuses to smile for the camera, preferring to make faces, but this time she let me snap away as she admired her loot. So here's a little sweetness for you to enjoy, too:

Yubeshi

This is a package of yubeshi, one of my favourite types of wagashi (Japanese sweets). Yubeshi actually comes in many forms, all of which seemingly have little in common beyond the use of rice flour and soy sauce, with several areas in northern Japan claiming a different type as its own. The kind I like is a mochi-like square flavoured with sugar and soy sauce, covered with walnuts and dusted with a mysterious substance called oburato. It comes from Iwate, Miyagi and Yamagata prefectures.

This yubeshi was bought at a local supermarket and comes from Iwate. This is the first time I've bought it that way: I've mostly had it given to me as a souvenir from people who've traveled up north. I received it very occasionally for years, always really liking it and wanting to go buy more but never being able to remember what it was called. So I was never able to find it for myself until last year when I actually had a student who'd given me some earlier write down the name for me. I sent my husband on a mission to find some, and when he mentioned it at work half of his coworkers claimed it was the meibutsu (famous product) of their hometowns. They helped him locate some at a department store, and when he brought it home I knew I'd finally found the elusive treat I'd been looking for.

Top quality yubeshi from a good wagashiya (Japanese sweet shop) is a special thing. It has a slightly chewy texture, softer than mochi but elastic enough to give it good bite. The addition of soy sauce to a dessert seems odd at first, and indeed I've tried a few that were too heavy on the soy sauce and and didn't taste very nice, but restrained use of soy sauce is quite nice and goes with the walnuts well. Most yubeshi is just sweet enough to qualify as a dessert, but not overly sugary the way some Japanese sweets can be.

The sparkly stuff seen above is the oburato, a starchy substance used to encase medicine and wrap sticky sweets. It is most often found in small very thin sheets or tiny baggies, in which powdered medicine is poured before the baggie is sealed and swallowed whole (medicine is still commonly dispensed in powdered from in Japan, and wrapping it in oburato prevents you from having to taste it). A few kinds of wagashi are wrapped in these sheets or sprinkled with a flaked form of oburato; in either case the oburato is completely edible and won't affect the flavour of the food it encases as it has no taste of its own. It is a nice alternative to the powdered sugar used in the west or the rice flour more commonly used in Japan, because it doesn't make a mess and adds a pretty sparkle to whatever it's used on.

Unfortunately, this yubeshi wasn't great. It seems that the supermarket is not the place to buy it, so I'll have to wait until my next visit to a department store (or the next time a student makes a trip to northern Japan).

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.

Nasu

This is the sad, sad, breakfast I ate two weeks ago: hash browns, Egg Mcmuffin, and an orange juice. "What's sad about this breakfast?" you might be asking. "Doesn't McDonalds offer one of the finest breakfasts in the world?" You'd be right of course, and nearly any other day of the year I'd be thrilled to have such a fine feast for my morning meal. But not on Christmas morning. 

Christmas is a normal workday in Japan, and although I'm lucky enough to have it off my husband doesn't, so rather than spend the day alone I did the same thing as I did last year: take off with my friend Emi to Nasu, a hot spring resort in Tochigi prefecture, north of Tokyo. The above breakfast was eaten across the street from the bus terminal in Shinjuku, and it did a good job in that it kept me full on the long bus ride up to Nasu. But it's nowhere near as good as the proper Christmas breakfasts I had growing up. 

Wait, that's a lie: I don't remember any any childhood Christmas breakfasts. I have no idea what we ate. Did we eat? I do know that breakfast fell between the opening of the Christmas stocking presents (the warm up) and the opening of the presents under the tree (the main event), and perhaps in my gift-induced frenzy I just didn't pay much attention to the food (other than the chocolate coins and clementine in my stocking). I do remember a deadly breakfast dish that my sister made when we were older, a baked affair involving cubed bread, eggs, bacon and mounds of cheese that contained the rough equivalent to a week's worth of calories, but this being Christmas morning was really just practice for the immense quantities of carbs and grease to come. Mimosas were on hand to wash it down. "Um, you're digressing" you might say. You'd be right. But now that we're on the subject, this breakfast does kind of resemble that casserole, in deconstructionist sort of way.

We arrived in Nasu just before noon and headed to our lodgings, Hotel Epinard (at which my friend gets some kind of fabulous discount for reasons I don't fully understand, but who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth). Once we were settled in we set about taking pictures of ourselves in front of the tree and in the giant gingerbread house, which smelled so good inside that it was hard to stop myself from just gnawing on the wall, the way my pet guinea pig Spike used to gnaw on the wooden corners of her cage. But I don't think I'd look as cute doing it as she did, and besides there were children waiting to play in the cookie house and I didn't want to make them cry. 

We rented a car and drove to Udon Shounin Okamoto, an udon noodle restaurant, for lunch. I ordered yasai tempura udon: udon in hot broth and vegetable tempura. The udon was perfect with a slippery, chewy texture and the broth was light and subtle, more like something you'd find in Kyoto than Tochigi. The tempura was tasty and properly crisp, if a bit on the greasy side. 

And then on to dessert at Shozo Cafe, an excellent place loved as much for its interior as its scones. The cafe is full of vintage, mismatched and otherwise quirky pieces that make it feel both fashionable and homey at the same time. But it's the scones you want to see.

I'm not sure how these stack up against authentic English scones, but they sure beat the pants off of anything I've tried back home (yes, I'm referring to those giant dried out triangular monstrosities that dare to go by the name "scone" in Canada) and nearly everything I've had in Japan, and they come still warm along with very generous amounts of raspberry jam and clotted cream. And, because it's Christmas, some cute Christmas berries and holly. It's all so pretty, isn't ? I bet you're wondering how one of these scones would look smeared with the jam and cream.

Sexy, that's how. See how the jam and clotted cream are all mixed up, and the warm, soft interior of the scone is causing the cream to melt? You like that? Yeah, you like that, don't you. 

You're probably wondering "What's up with the the gratuitous, and not even very good, pictures of yourself?" I have no excuse for the previous pictures but there's a good reason for the one above: it's a Before picture. The background, I mean. (The foreground doesn't really get any better, unfortunately.) Stay tuned for the After picture.

For dinner we went to restaurant called A Cow Herd, an odd name for a restaurant but also a pretty accurate one. They specialize in kuroge wagyu (the top class of beef in Japan, a class that includes famous brands like Kobe-gyu and Matsuzaka-gyu), in particular tochigi-gyu, the local variety. I chose a steak course that started with the appetizer above: endive with crab, squid sashimi dressed with yuzu, and thin strips of seared beef wrapped around mizuna greens. It was followed by a forgettable soup, and rice, and then the main event: 

A sizzling steak. A dainty 150 grams (all I could afford) or so of sirloin from locally raised tochigi. 

The dim lighting made it hard to get a good picture, but this was one beautiful piece of meat. Cooked perfectly rare, tender enough that I barely needed my knife, and so rich and juicy that I hardly used the accompanying dips (okinawan sea salt, horseradish and soy sauce, wasabi and soy sauce, and a rich garlicky soy sauce). It was so good it made me wonder why people bother with turkey. I think I'll make wagyu steak my official Christmas dinner from now on. 

This was my dessert: ice cream wrapped in a crepe in a puddle of custard sauce. You want to see what's inside, don't you?

Vanilla ice cream and blackberries, that's what. All a bit gooey for my tastes, but it was good.

Back at the hotel we went for the onsen (hot spring), which had several different baths, including a wooden tub containing a yuzu-yu (a yuzu bath: the water bobbing with dozens of delicately scented yuzu citruses) and two rotemburo (outdoor baths, with a view of a rocky waterfall and small Japanese garden). I only stayed for a short time, since I was tired and had a big day coming up that I needed to rest for, but Emi stayed soaking until well past midnight. She had really been hoping for a White Christmas and thought that Nasu, where it snows more often than Tokyo, was a good place to find it, and because we'd had no snow all day she stubbornly sat all night in the rotemburo hoping for a snowfall.

And just before midnight snow started to fall. She got her White Christmas! I slept through it, completely unaware until the next morning when I stepped out onto the balcony for some fresh air. The feeling of snow on my bare toes is not a feeling I'm fond of though, so I didn't stay out for long. 

Later on, after Emi woke up, we went back out in more appropriate attire. And these are the After pictures. Same balcony, same view, but how different! I only wish the mountains were visible, because they would have been beautiful. 

And then I had to leave my big fancy hotel room and head to a different place in Nasu: Nasu Village, which would shortly be taken over by an English ski camp. I was there early to help set things up, and when the campers arrived on their bus from Tokyo I got to watch their delighted faces as they jumped off the bus and into the snow.

The camp lasted four days and it snowed non-stop until the next morning. The campsite itself was beautiful, but we weren't there much.

We were at Hunter Mountain, which would also have been beautiful if it weren't for all those skiers. I'm told that this wasn't particularly crowded for a Japanese ski resort, but I'm glad I wasn't skiing this time (I was worried about my back, which is mostly better but I want it to stay that way). Because if I was skiing I would would have knocked down all those people like they were bowling pins.

On the last day, when the snow had finally stopped, we had a snowman contest. My favorite was the one above, which had sunglasses and a bald head (as opposed to the full head of hair found on regular snowmen?) in tribute to a bald-headed, sunglass wearing camp counselor. 

This is the snowman my team made, with no help from me. It comes with a bonus Rudolph on the side, but they were careful to point out that the snowman was not Santa. That would have been copying, as another team had already done a Santa and Rudoph pair.

And when camp was over I returned to Tokyo, where it was warm and sunny and snowless and the next day I was in Osaka celebrating the New Year. Christmas hardly even happened, and the year was over too soon.

There's always time for dessert

I've been as busy as a beaver recently, with no time to do or eat anything interesting (let alone blog about it). But somehow I've been able to find the time for some very nice desserts. I think it might be time to re-examine my claim that I'm not much of a dessert person.

I was late to hop on the macaron bandwagon, partly because the dayglo-bright colours of the ones I saw on other blogs were a turn-off, and partly because I had them confused with macaroons. I'm not even quite sure what macaroons are, but I'm pretty sure I hate them, so it wasn't until a student brought a box of macarons to share with a class last year that I actually tried one and realized that they are the best dessert in the entire world. It turns out that I'm not a big fan of the fruity colourful ones: it's the dull brownish ones that are the best. Especially caramel. Above is my most recent macaron purchase: chocolate, cafe au lait, pistachio and caramel.

This is the pistachio up close. It was actually my least favourite of the bunch. (I've just realized that if I want something pistachio flavoured, pistachio ice cream is a better choice. Or pistachios.)

And here's the chocolate: my second favourite flavour. These came from Henri Charpentier, who makes the best macarons I've tried so far. Every macaron fan in the world seems to be on an obsessive hunt for the best ones, and everyone seems to have different criteria. But in terms of crust texture, sweetness level, filling-to-crust ratio and overall flavour Henri Charpentier is the champion.

I don't eat macarons often, but that's more to do with the fact that they don't sell macarons out here in the suburbs than any concerns about my health. In fact, macarons are practically a diet food: they're tiny and frightfully expensive, so it's hard to over-indulge. They also weigh next to nothing, and really: how could something composed of roughly 95% air be bad for you?

I've posted about Planetes, a nearby cake shop, before. On a recent visit there were no cakes or tarts that caught my eye (I really am not much of a cake person) so I went with a handful of snowball cookies and two chocolates. The snowballs, my favourite cookies in the world, were wonderful.

I ended up giving the chocolate on the top, called "caramel noir" to my husband as it was gooier than I expected, but the praline cream on the bottom was lovely.

My husband got something with layers of soft creamy goo that I wanted nothing to do with.

It was pretty though, especially the bubbles in the first layer after the chocolate top was taken off.

Finally, some dessert actually made at home: apple crisp. The top has a mixture of apples and those lovely Italian plums which have long disappeared from the market (I think this was back in October). The tartness of the plums was a perfect foil for the sweet Japanese apples. 

For my husband, who is not into tartness, I skipped the plums and mixed the apples with a little of the dulce de leche I made last month, and dotted some more on top. This was decadent and delicious, and although I preferred the first crisp I can happily make do with this until the plums come back again next year.