Thursday, July 30, 2009
Waiting on a Chris
By my calculations, Christopher is probably severely jet-lagged on a night bus somewhere. I'm having a hard time stopping myself form counting down the seconds until we're together again.
Friday, July 17, 2009
I have officially found Hanuda
So, I have told numerous people the Hikone is basically Hanuda. For the uninitiated, Hanuda is the gloriously horrible town of the survival horror game Forbidden Siren. I suspect that, when I return home, which is coming rather quickly, Siren will make me very "homesick" for Hikone.
Anyways, the Hikone History Park confirmed that Hikone is, indeed, Hanuda. Or perhaps something far more sinister and, therefore, better.
From what I could tell, the Hikone History Park was abandoned either mid-construction or during renovation. Although abandoned, it is in surprisingly good condition. As if, despite the fact that it hasn't been open for years, people are constantly attempting to fix it. Or add bizarre things like polar bear statues.
Continuing. The entire place is absolutely bizarre. It is populated by incredibly poorly done reproductions of famous Japanese and Western art (the Venus de Milo is a real treat...). However, the statues are lopsided, gargantuan, and terrifying. Moreover, vagrants have obviously inhabited the place (possibly currently)-- coca cola bottles, shoes, blankets, and old trucks are scattered here and there. However, they are scattered a little too perfectly. The whole thing seems very planned and very, very foreboding. And the strangest thing of all. Maybe it's the fault of earthquakes; maybe it's the fault of some lesser god. The entire place is crumbling.
Needless to say, one of my favorite places in Japan. You can't make this stuff up.
Anyways, the Hikone History Park confirmed that Hikone is, indeed, Hanuda. Or perhaps something far more sinister and, therefore, better.
From what I could tell, the Hikone History Park was abandoned either mid-construction or during renovation. Although abandoned, it is in surprisingly good condition. As if, despite the fact that it hasn't been open for years, people are constantly attempting to fix it. Or add bizarre things like polar bear statues.
Continuing. The entire place is absolutely bizarre. It is populated by incredibly poorly done reproductions of famous Japanese and Western art (the Venus de Milo is a real treat...). However, the statues are lopsided, gargantuan, and terrifying. Moreover, vagrants have obviously inhabited the place (possibly currently)-- coca cola bottles, shoes, blankets, and old trucks are scattered here and there. However, they are scattered a little too perfectly. The whole thing seems very planned and very, very foreboding. And the strangest thing of all. Maybe it's the fault of earthquakes; maybe it's the fault of some lesser god. The entire place is crumbling.
Needless to say, one of my favorite places in Japan. You can't make this stuff up.
The Joys of Street Food
On Thursday I had the not to be missed pleasure of venturing into the Gion Matsuri. As Japan's largest (and most famous) festival, it did not disappoint. The sheer number of people was energizing-- it was quite surreal to walk down the middle of the usually traffic-bustling Shijo dori. However, instead of cars zipping up and down the drag, hordes and hordes of festival goers marched through. Despite the fact that we were all shoulder-shoulder and the weather was dripping hot, the entire atmosphere was very relaxed-- the perfect lazy summer festival night. Maybe the street vendors' cries of"Irrashaimase!" and the traditional music of the Gion festival set a mild tone for the evening.
Although the Gion floats and processions and crowds were all impressive, my favorite part of the evening was, unsurprisingly, the street food. Anyone who knows me knows that I have a bizarre obsession with street food of nearly any type. There is something very wholesome about piping hot, local food served to the empty-stomached hurriers and wanderers. All the better if the street food is served by slightly unwholesome individuals. It adds flavor. At Gion, I can't claim there was a huge variety in the food. It was fairly standard: yakitori, yakisoba, dango, mochi, takoyaki, okonomiyaki, ikayaki, shaved ice, candied fruits, fresh fruit, beer, beer, beer, sake, beer, fried foods of all varieities, and, in the Chinese neighborhood, roast duck, scallion pancakes, and pork buns. The were also some regional specialties like a roasted kabocha, egg senbei, and Hiroshima style okonomiyaki. I will perhaps disappoint the adventurous: I limited myself to my old stand-bys-- ikayaki, takoyaki, and shaved ice. The takoyaki was probably the best I've had-- the batter, served by a woman whose drooping cigarette ashes may have fallen into said batter, was steaming and gooey. I can honestly say it put me into a state of takoyaki-inspired bliss.
Enjoy the pictures and envy my street food luck-- perfect takoyaki and no food poisoning!
Although the Gion floats and processions and crowds were all impressive, my favorite part of the evening was, unsurprisingly, the street food. Anyone who knows me knows that I have a bizarre obsession with street food of nearly any type. There is something very wholesome about piping hot, local food served to the empty-stomached hurriers and wanderers. All the better if the street food is served by slightly unwholesome individuals. It adds flavor. At Gion, I can't claim there was a huge variety in the food. It was fairly standard: yakitori, yakisoba, dango, mochi, takoyaki, okonomiyaki, ikayaki, shaved ice, candied fruits, fresh fruit, beer, beer, beer, sake, beer, fried foods of all varieities, and, in the Chinese neighborhood, roast duck, scallion pancakes, and pork buns. The were also some regional specialties like a roasted kabocha, egg senbei, and Hiroshima style okonomiyaki. I will perhaps disappoint the adventurous: I limited myself to my old stand-bys-- ikayaki, takoyaki, and shaved ice. The takoyaki was probably the best I've had-- the batter, served by a woman whose drooping cigarette ashes may have fallen into said batter, was steaming and gooey. I can honestly say it put me into a state of takoyaki-inspired bliss.
Enjoy the pictures and envy my street food luck-- perfect takoyaki and no food poisoning!
Friday, July 10, 2009
Of Noodles...
In this region of Japan, soba is no small matter. People take the noodle-- which, depending on location and maker, ranges in flavor, texture, color, and virtually every other characteristic possible for noodles-- very seriously. Put simply, as soba is a beautifully simple dish, soba are noodles made from buckwheat flour. Compared to western style pasta, the taste of soba (which varies depending on many things, including quality) is sweeter and richer. Well-prepared soba, even without any sort of accompanying side dish, has a subtle woody flavor reminiscent, to a silly Westerner, of bamboo groves and the deeply sweet smell of freshly turned earth. In short, even bad soba (of which I have had plenty) is a treat. Soba is served both hot and cold. Generally, hot soba comes in a broth with accompanying vegetables or meats. Cold soba, mounded lovingly onto a bamboo tray, is complemented by a special dipping sauce and things like toasted nori, tororo (slimy grated yam), daikon, or natto. When eating both hot and cold soba, you slurp your noodles happily, glad that you decided against wearing a white dress to a noodle house (the spatters of tsuyu take a while to wash out).
Hot and cold soba dishes both have their disciples. However, since I haven’t been here too long, I haven’t aligned myself with either camp. Honestly, both serve their purpose. On a hot day, zaru soba restores energy lost to the damp oven that is Japan. However, after a rainy walk through Kyoto, a dish of nishin soba warms and resuscitates. Honestly, I don’t think I could choose between the two (though I would probably give it to hot soba, as the brothy noodles are more fun to slurp).
As a cheap student on a limited budget, I have resisted the tempting (and costly) varieties that promise enlightenment in the form of noodles piled on a bamboo tray. For instance, a local omiyage shop offers cha soba-- tea flavored soba. While I would try these, the cost dismays me, and I stick to cheaper varieties. In restaurants, I have had the pleasure of a variety of cheap soba dishes. My favorite has been, easily, nishin soba. Despite a brutal rainstorm, I had spent the morning and early afternoon meandering around Kyoto. Lunchtime approached, and I had long since decided that I really did not want any ramen. (When made well, ramen is delicious. However, many establishments make weak broths and weaker noodles flavored with bland chunks of animal lard. Beware unless you really, really like ramen in all shapes and forms.) I chanced upon a small soba house, small, but lovingly maintained. I really just wanted something warming and not-quite-hearty, so I settled on nishin soba. Nishin is a sweet and rich herring that I can’t really compare to any sort of fish in the United States. It was served floating atop a light broth and a nest of delicate sarashina soba (very thin soba made from refined buckwheat). Unsurprisingly, it was delicious. The Japanese have truly mastered sweet-salty.
One of the best things about soba is that it is intimately connected with Japanese folklore. For instance, both kitsune and tanuki have their own types of soba dishes. Depending on whether your in Kansai or Kanto, the dishes vary, however, they involve deep-fried tofu and tempura batter respectively. I have had the pleasure of kitsune soba, but I will have to seek out tanuki/haikara soba before I leave. I am not a huge fan of fried foods (takoyaki and okonomiyaki aside), but the promise of bits of tenkasu left by a tanuki is a little hard for me to resist…
A point of interest before pictures...
啜り込む (susurikomu)- to slurp something noisily
Nishin Soba
Happiness in a bowl.
My inexpertly made mori soba.
Some Kyoto pictures involving monkeys, kitties, and, in honor of soba, kitsune...
(Finally, I urge you to do your own wikipedia hunt in search of the emperor who, after his retirement, only wanted noodles... it's an interesting little piece of Japanese food history.)
Hot and cold soba dishes both have their disciples. However, since I haven’t been here too long, I haven’t aligned myself with either camp. Honestly, both serve their purpose. On a hot day, zaru soba restores energy lost to the damp oven that is Japan. However, after a rainy walk through Kyoto, a dish of nishin soba warms and resuscitates. Honestly, I don’t think I could choose between the two (though I would probably give it to hot soba, as the brothy noodles are more fun to slurp).
As a cheap student on a limited budget, I have resisted the tempting (and costly) varieties that promise enlightenment in the form of noodles piled on a bamboo tray. For instance, a local omiyage shop offers cha soba-- tea flavored soba. While I would try these, the cost dismays me, and I stick to cheaper varieties. In restaurants, I have had the pleasure of a variety of cheap soba dishes. My favorite has been, easily, nishin soba. Despite a brutal rainstorm, I had spent the morning and early afternoon meandering around Kyoto. Lunchtime approached, and I had long since decided that I really did not want any ramen. (When made well, ramen is delicious. However, many establishments make weak broths and weaker noodles flavored with bland chunks of animal lard. Beware unless you really, really like ramen in all shapes and forms.) I chanced upon a small soba house, small, but lovingly maintained. I really just wanted something warming and not-quite-hearty, so I settled on nishin soba. Nishin is a sweet and rich herring that I can’t really compare to any sort of fish in the United States. It was served floating atop a light broth and a nest of delicate sarashina soba (very thin soba made from refined buckwheat). Unsurprisingly, it was delicious. The Japanese have truly mastered sweet-salty.
One of the best things about soba is that it is intimately connected with Japanese folklore. For instance, both kitsune and tanuki have their own types of soba dishes. Depending on whether your in Kansai or Kanto, the dishes vary, however, they involve deep-fried tofu and tempura batter respectively. I have had the pleasure of kitsune soba, but I will have to seek out tanuki/haikara soba before I leave. I am not a huge fan of fried foods (takoyaki and okonomiyaki aside), but the promise of bits of tenkasu left by a tanuki is a little hard for me to resist…
A point of interest before pictures...
啜り込む (susurikomu)- to slurp something noisily
Nishin Soba
Happiness in a bowl.
My inexpertly made mori soba.
Some Kyoto pictures involving monkeys, kitties, and, in honor of soba, kitsune...
(Finally, I urge you to do your own wikipedia hunt in search of the emperor who, after his retirement, only wanted noodles... it's an interesting little piece of Japanese food history.)
Monday, July 6, 2009
The Fourth of July on the Fifth of July?
For me, the Fourth of July conjures up the sugar-sour of tricolor popsicles, the smokey sweetness of fireworks, and the sizzling white burns of a sparkler held too closely. Since I was very young, I have celebrated the 4th with my family in Connecticut. The huge picnic at Grandma's, fireworks with Jon and Sammy in Yalesville, and stargazing from Mem's pool. Admittedly, the four hour drive to Connecticut, in the cloying heat of July, generally leads to squabbles and snipes. However, there is nothing better than arriving at my Grandmother's doorstep, welcomed by a bowl of garden-grown sugar-snap peas, and breathing in the true return of summer.
Of course, this year, all of that is a little different.
Firstly, I'm in Japan, so I wasn't able to attend the yearly 4th of July celebrations. (This was bittersweet a realization-- wandering through Terumachi in Kyoto, I spotted some sparklers. It dawned on me that, in America, my parents, sister, cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents were probably readying themselves for the festivities. As beautiful as Kyoto is, there are few greater pleasures than fireworks on the Yalesville hill.)
Secondly, my beautiful Meme passed away this year. The yellow Victorian, whose cloistered backyard serves as Yalesville's best view of the 4th of July fireworks, will never be the same house. The lady of the house-- my namesake, Eloise-- no longer waits for me in the kitchen, ready to load my arms with packages of peanuts, bananas, bagels, peanut butter, licorice, and curiously antique soda. This same lady, who quietly enjoyed the presence of her children and grandchildren, will not sit with my mother and my aunts as they watch the yearly firework display (though, as I'm sure they would tell you, her presence will be felt). No, wandering the alleyways of Terumachi, I realized that the 4th of July, which, in my world-wanderer haste, I had all but forgotten, would be a very different holiday this year.
This morning, my 4th of July quickly passed without any sort of patriotic pomp or circumstance, I awoke a little sad. It was 7am Japan time. Jon and Sammy were probably getting ready to walk up the hill to the fireworks. My grandmother's picnic was probably finished. All of these things had happened without my presence and, I figured, they had probably been well enjoyed. I decided to brush it from my mind and set to focusing (unsuccessfully) on the buckets of homework with which JCMU burdens its fourth year students.
Luckily, my 4th of July, perhaps more appropriately titled the 5th of July, was saved by the kindness of strangers (though they're strangers no longer).
As part of the JCMU program, we are able to sign up for conversation partners. We help them with English, and they help us with Japanese. My conversation partner is a lovely young woman named Akiyo-- she has already taken me to Osaka and Takarazuka, not to mention welcomed me to her country with open arms. This Sunday, Akiyo invited me to a barbecue at her family's house. I, along with a small army of other JCMU students, gladly accepted the invitation, eager for an opportunity to practice Japanese in good company. What an amazing night it turned out to be.
When we arrived at Akiyo's house, we were greeted by her okaasan and obaasan, both of whom were busily fanning the coals of a hibachi grill. We were ushered into the family tatami room and served cold ice tea. However, the formalities ended there. The dinner itself was a traditional hibachi dinner. The makeshift tables and benches were loaded with homegrown produce, fresh seafood, and the full spectrum of pork, beef, and chicken. Basically, you snatched what you wanted and cooked it yourself (though Akiyo's family helped many of us avoid charred potatoes and undercooked shrimp). For the next three hours, we feasted-- the food was never ending and the company was amazing. Akiyo's mother taught me how to grill live snails-- the chewiest and briniest snails I have ever had (and I mean that in only the most delicious way). When our stomachs were fully ippai, Akiyo's parents delivered three trays of watermelon, melon, and plums. Our fruit-deprived brains (fruit is expensive here) kicked into impulse mode (despite how full we all were) and we gladly excepted the home-grown fruit. Of course, throughout this entire meal, we got to know Akiyo's family, extended family, friends, pets, neighbors, and really whoever else wandered into the backyard. It was exactly what I needed-- for a few hours, a wonderful family welcomed me into their home. Happily chewing my perfectly cooked ikayaki, I soaked in the obvious love and laughter of this family. Loneliness disappeared.
Yes, it wasn't quite the 4th of July, but, the 5th of July is a new tradition I would not mind repeating. However, while Akiyo's wonderful family certainly cured any feelings of loneliness I may have had, I am now a little bit homesick. Surrounded by a joyful and generous family, I couldn't help but think of my own, a thousand miles away.
My favorite picture from the evening:
Of course, this year, all of that is a little different.
Firstly, I'm in Japan, so I wasn't able to attend the yearly 4th of July celebrations. (This was bittersweet a realization-- wandering through Terumachi in Kyoto, I spotted some sparklers. It dawned on me that, in America, my parents, sister, cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents were probably readying themselves for the festivities. As beautiful as Kyoto is, there are few greater pleasures than fireworks on the Yalesville hill.)
Secondly, my beautiful Meme passed away this year. The yellow Victorian, whose cloistered backyard serves as Yalesville's best view of the 4th of July fireworks, will never be the same house. The lady of the house-- my namesake, Eloise-- no longer waits for me in the kitchen, ready to load my arms with packages of peanuts, bananas, bagels, peanut butter, licorice, and curiously antique soda. This same lady, who quietly enjoyed the presence of her children and grandchildren, will not sit with my mother and my aunts as they watch the yearly firework display (though, as I'm sure they would tell you, her presence will be felt). No, wandering the alleyways of Terumachi, I realized that the 4th of July, which, in my world-wanderer haste, I had all but forgotten, would be a very different holiday this year.
This morning, my 4th of July quickly passed without any sort of patriotic pomp or circumstance, I awoke a little sad. It was 7am Japan time. Jon and Sammy were probably getting ready to walk up the hill to the fireworks. My grandmother's picnic was probably finished. All of these things had happened without my presence and, I figured, they had probably been well enjoyed. I decided to brush it from my mind and set to focusing (unsuccessfully) on the buckets of homework with which JCMU burdens its fourth year students.
Luckily, my 4th of July, perhaps more appropriately titled the 5th of July, was saved by the kindness of strangers (though they're strangers no longer).
As part of the JCMU program, we are able to sign up for conversation partners. We help them with English, and they help us with Japanese. My conversation partner is a lovely young woman named Akiyo-- she has already taken me to Osaka and Takarazuka, not to mention welcomed me to her country with open arms. This Sunday, Akiyo invited me to a barbecue at her family's house. I, along with a small army of other JCMU students, gladly accepted the invitation, eager for an opportunity to practice Japanese in good company. What an amazing night it turned out to be.
When we arrived at Akiyo's house, we were greeted by her okaasan and obaasan, both of whom were busily fanning the coals of a hibachi grill. We were ushered into the family tatami room and served cold ice tea. However, the formalities ended there. The dinner itself was a traditional hibachi dinner. The makeshift tables and benches were loaded with homegrown produce, fresh seafood, and the full spectrum of pork, beef, and chicken. Basically, you snatched what you wanted and cooked it yourself (though Akiyo's family helped many of us avoid charred potatoes and undercooked shrimp). For the next three hours, we feasted-- the food was never ending and the company was amazing. Akiyo's mother taught me how to grill live snails-- the chewiest and briniest snails I have ever had (and I mean that in only the most delicious way). When our stomachs were fully ippai, Akiyo's parents delivered three trays of watermelon, melon, and plums. Our fruit-deprived brains (fruit is expensive here) kicked into impulse mode (despite how full we all were) and we gladly excepted the home-grown fruit. Of course, throughout this entire meal, we got to know Akiyo's family, extended family, friends, pets, neighbors, and really whoever else wandered into the backyard. It was exactly what I needed-- for a few hours, a wonderful family welcomed me into their home. Happily chewing my perfectly cooked ikayaki, I soaked in the obvious love and laughter of this family. Loneliness disappeared.
Yes, it wasn't quite the 4th of July, but, the 5th of July is a new tradition I would not mind repeating. However, while Akiyo's wonderful family certainly cured any feelings of loneliness I may have had, I am now a little bit homesick. Surrounded by a joyful and generous family, I couldn't help but think of my own, a thousand miles away.
My favorite picture from the evening:
Friday, June 26, 2009
Different Language, Same World
If ever you find yourself mired in the tangles of navigating a foreign country, I highly recommend visiting an elementary school. To be honest, the past few days have been a little tricky. I have been bogged down with work and an annoyingly persistent stomach flu (which I thankfully managed to quash with copious amounts of raw ginger, spicy dried squid, and kimchi). Sickness abroad is undoubtedly one of the worst parts of study abroad-- if you want to feel lonely, contract a stomach flu on the night your friends finally decide to go the ramen bar infamous for porn on the walls, Christmas lights, and free drinks for Americans. Yes, I've been feeling a little sorry for myself. However, a trip to a local elementary school changed my mood pretty quickly.
Stepping into a gym full of Japanese children, I finally started to feel at ease again. (I'm in a constant state of ease-to-unease here-- restaurants kill my confidence, while train stations do it justice). Even though the third grade students were chattering (quickly!) in a language I can't claim to understand, I felt very much at home. Perhaps this is because, despite the musical zigzags of third-grade Japanese, I had an instantaneous connection with the students of the elementary school.
Let me explain. In Japan, I am very much a child. Everything is new. Everything is exciting. Everything is strange. Everything is much, much, much more complicated than it should be. I think the students recognized this. As soon as I stepped into the gym, which was packed with a hundred students, a group of children snatched my hand and began to carefully detail the days activities. When I seemed confused, they would pat me on the arm and, with the earnestness of tiny obaasans and ojiisans, reiterate the day's goals. Moreover, the students realized that everything, even tiny details, were new to me. Unlike many adults in this country, the children explained the minutia of life (like the classroom goldfish and the importance of totoro stamps on well-done homework). Finally, they were absolutely obsessed with my nose piercing and long, curly hair. (I took out all of my earrings to show them the "body holes" the piercings had made. They were satisfied, if a little repulsed.) Needless to say, we got along very well. Children are children, regardless of geography, creed, race, culture etc. etc. etc. The are innocently objective-- questioning and appraising life with a sincerity many adults lack. In the future, I hope to tap into this objectivity more frequently.
Also-- at the end of the day, I was handed a large bag filled with origami made by the students. Very special.
On the subject of childishness... I have become very appreciative of the Jizo statues that dot the countryside and streetways. Jizo protects children-- especially those who have died before their parents (miscarriages, abortions, and early deaths). Living in a foreign country, away from my family and loved ones, I sometimes can't help but feel a little like a lost child wandering aimlessly. In many ways, Japan has helped me grow incredibly independent. However, it has also helped me rediscover the childish wonder I had perhaps abandoned in my college-student cynicism. I wobble through this place, amazed by everything and confused by even more. I can't help but feel that the deity's benevolence extends to me in my tottering and clumsy exploration of this magnificent country.
Pictures...
Stepping into a gym full of Japanese children, I finally started to feel at ease again. (I'm in a constant state of ease-to-unease here-- restaurants kill my confidence, while train stations do it justice). Even though the third grade students were chattering (quickly!) in a language I can't claim to understand, I felt very much at home. Perhaps this is because, despite the musical zigzags of third-grade Japanese, I had an instantaneous connection with the students of the elementary school.
Let me explain. In Japan, I am very much a child. Everything is new. Everything is exciting. Everything is strange. Everything is much, much, much more complicated than it should be. I think the students recognized this. As soon as I stepped into the gym, which was packed with a hundred students, a group of children snatched my hand and began to carefully detail the days activities. When I seemed confused, they would pat me on the arm and, with the earnestness of tiny obaasans and ojiisans, reiterate the day's goals. Moreover, the students realized that everything, even tiny details, were new to me. Unlike many adults in this country, the children explained the minutia of life (like the classroom goldfish and the importance of totoro stamps on well-done homework). Finally, they were absolutely obsessed with my nose piercing and long, curly hair. (I took out all of my earrings to show them the "body holes" the piercings had made. They were satisfied, if a little repulsed.) Needless to say, we got along very well. Children are children, regardless of geography, creed, race, culture etc. etc. etc. The are innocently objective-- questioning and appraising life with a sincerity many adults lack. In the future, I hope to tap into this objectivity more frequently.
Also-- at the end of the day, I was handed a large bag filled with origami made by the students. Very special.
On the subject of childishness... I have become very appreciative of the Jizo statues that dot the countryside and streetways. Jizo protects children-- especially those who have died before their parents (miscarriages, abortions, and early deaths). Living in a foreign country, away from my family and loved ones, I sometimes can't help but feel a little like a lost child wandering aimlessly. In many ways, Japan has helped me grow incredibly independent. However, it has also helped me rediscover the childish wonder I had perhaps abandoned in my college-student cynicism. I wobble through this place, amazed by everything and confused by even more. I can't help but feel that the deity's benevolence extends to me in my tottering and clumsy exploration of this magnificent country.
Pictures...
Friday, June 19, 2009
Yakizakana
Perhaps unsurprisingly, since coming to Japan, my passion for cooking and food has blossomed into an obsession. It is so easy to cook delicious food here. Unlike many of my dorm mates, who smartly frequent the local noodle shops (cheap, quick, and a good way to speedily practice Japanese), I tend to take the long way around. This involves farmer's markets, specialty shops on castle road, and, if time is really pressing, a sojourn the the local grocery store. I've learned how to make a few simple things easily. These include really good rice bowls, pickles, miso soup, dressed spinach, oden stew, kabocha dumplings, and all manners of things to do with natto. However, out of all of my food staples, my favorite it easily yakizakana.
Yakizakana is daunting. It is oily, bony, and more than a little smelly. Also, many Americans really prefer it when their dinner isn't looking up at them. However, the price of fish in Japan has lead me to my new love. Yakizakana: whole fish grilled in a teriyaki sauce. The whole meal costs me about $5-- $10 if I want to get really fancy with vegetables and sides. Here is my quick recipe and some pictures. Seriously, if you have access to whole fish and a grill, you cannot miss this dish. Fish skin is my new favorite animal part. Crunchy, oily, salty, and sweet. What more could you ask for in a food item? I've determined there simply is no more need for bacon.
One word of caution: Don't invite people into your room when you're eating it. I haven't yet mastered how to properly eat a whole fish, so I'm still a little clumsy with removing the spine and ribcage.
Yakizakana
I recommend trying to find whole sanma, though I'm not sure if they're available in the US.
1 Gut and clean your fish (if this hasn't been done already.) Rinse the fish in cod running water and then dab it dry with a paper towel. If in a lemony mood, carefully place thinly cut lemon slices in the belly cavity. I generally think this is unnecessary if the fish is good and fresh.
2 Grate ginger and reserve the juice. (I use a quarter cup, but I love ginger.)
3 Mix the ginger juice, some soy sauce, and mirin in a bowl. You need enough to lightly brugh each side of the fish with sauce.
4 Brush the fish with sauce and then sprinkle each side with 1/4 t of salt. Lay the salt on a little thicker on the tail, eyes, and fins.
5 Grill your fish! I use an inside, stove-top grill (see pictures), but I suppose an outside grill would work well too. Just be careful of burning, as smaller, leaner fish dry out quickly. You want the skin to be golden brown on both sides, which is about 5 minutes per side in my oven. (Personally... I like them a little charred, so I go longer...)
6 Serve with grated daikon, ginger, mountain yam, and carrot. Can be served with things like steamed rice, boiled spinach, or miso soup.
Enjoy!
As you can tell, I like my fish a little on the charred side... mmmm carcinogens.
Yakizakana is daunting. It is oily, bony, and more than a little smelly. Also, many Americans really prefer it when their dinner isn't looking up at them. However, the price of fish in Japan has lead me to my new love. Yakizakana: whole fish grilled in a teriyaki sauce. The whole meal costs me about $5-- $10 if I want to get really fancy with vegetables and sides. Here is my quick recipe and some pictures. Seriously, if you have access to whole fish and a grill, you cannot miss this dish. Fish skin is my new favorite animal part. Crunchy, oily, salty, and sweet. What more could you ask for in a food item? I've determined there simply is no more need for bacon.
One word of caution: Don't invite people into your room when you're eating it. I haven't yet mastered how to properly eat a whole fish, so I'm still a little clumsy with removing the spine and ribcage.
Yakizakana
I recommend trying to find whole sanma, though I'm not sure if they're available in the US.
1 Gut and clean your fish (if this hasn't been done already.) Rinse the fish in cod running water and then dab it dry with a paper towel. If in a lemony mood, carefully place thinly cut lemon slices in the belly cavity. I generally think this is unnecessary if the fish is good and fresh.
2 Grate ginger and reserve the juice. (I use a quarter cup, but I love ginger.)
3 Mix the ginger juice, some soy sauce, and mirin in a bowl. You need enough to lightly brugh each side of the fish with sauce.
4 Brush the fish with sauce and then sprinkle each side with 1/4 t of salt. Lay the salt on a little thicker on the tail, eyes, and fins.
5 Grill your fish! I use an inside, stove-top grill (see pictures), but I suppose an outside grill would work well too. Just be careful of burning, as smaller, leaner fish dry out quickly. You want the skin to be golden brown on both sides, which is about 5 minutes per side in my oven. (Personally... I like them a little charred, so I go longer...)
6 Serve with grated daikon, ginger, mountain yam, and carrot. Can be served with things like steamed rice, boiled spinach, or miso soup.
Enjoy!
As you can tell, I like my fish a little on the charred side... mmmm carcinogens.
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