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Greetings from the Land of Higashikokubaru 東国原の国へようこそ

17 Aug

Since he was elected in January 2007, the governor of Miyazaki has unleashed a marketing blitzkrieg to inform the rest of Japan (especially the rest of Kyushu) about the southern prefecture’s gorgeous coastline, delicious chicken, and mysterious connection to Easter Island. His unwieldly name is Hideo Higashikokubaru, but most Japanese know him better as former comedian Sonomanma Higashi. Like most Japanese prefectures, Mr. Higashikokubaru employed a charming little mascot to promote tourism in Miyazaki; the twist is that he employed himself as that character, cleverly cashing in on his own celebrity.

So far, it has worked brilliantly. Mr. Higashikokubaru’s toothy grin is everywhere: on onigiri wrappers, adorning mangoes in supermarkets, on JR and JTB posters, in conbini windows, on bottles of shochu, and on countless bags of limited-edution junk food made in flavors of Miyazaki meibutsu. In Tokyo a couple weeks ago, his likeness was flying on a flag outside a curry shop – I’m not sure why. Just by sheer ubiquity of this weird little man’s infectiously happy countenance, my interest was piqued.

Of course, there were a few other factors that played into my decision to take a trip down there – and I went during my frenzied ramen-binging, apartment-cleaning, guidebook-designing, perfectly-useful-kitchenware-discarding final week in Japan, no less. In March, a close friend of mine rode his bike there to visit his family and participate in the Miyazaki Marathon – in which he ran next to Mr. Higashikokubaru himself! He had a fine time and made Miyazaki sound pretty sweet. So naturally I was excited to go to the Miyazaki JET beach party held in late May; but that fell through due to rain. And finally, I dipped into Oita for the first weekend in July, so by that time I had been to every prefecture in Kyushu – except Miyazaki. I felt that it just would have been such a shame not to go.

And I felt that way even more so after actually going there. But before I get into the awesomeness of Miyazaki itself, I want to talk about the awesomeness of the bus I took down there. It was an overnight bus called the Phoenix, operated by Miyazaki Kōtsū from Fukuoka to Miyazaki. I expected it to be a typical coach: bumpy, loud, uncomfortable, and cramped. But I was wrong. There were only three seats in each row, with an aisle between each seat; the seats themselves were quite wide, and they unfolded and reclined in a variety of delightfully sleep-inducing ways. Thick curtains blocked out any trace of light, and the ride was so smooth and quiet that when I awoke, I thought the bus had come to a stop. And not only was it awesome, it was a bargain! I reserved my tickets with the SunQ Pass, which cost only ¥10,000 and allowed me to ride any bus in Kyushu for three days! So that’s my osusume if you’re day-tripping to Miyazaki from Fukuoka.

I got in at about 7:00 in the morning, so I had lots of time to enjoy myself before my return bus left at 11:00 that night. After picking up a dry, chewy breakfast of famous Miyazaki smoked chicken (again, with Mr. Higashikokubaru’s face on them), I hopped on a bus to Aoshima, site of the Miyazaki JET beach party and the Devil’s Washboard 鬼の洗濯板, a bizarre, visually striking formation of volcanic rocks lined up into neat parallel rows by the movement of the waves.

The beach was beautiful, but shortly after I got there, it started to rain. I took cover under a palm tree and watched cute little crabs scuttle by, clicking across a confetti of sand, stone, and crushed shells. It reminded me of Thailand.


Soon I had had enough of the rain, and took refuge in an omiyage stand. Just as I was about to board the bus again, the rain stopped – a good thing, because my next destination was outdoors, as well. In the now-sunny skies, I took in beautiful views of the Pacific Ocean, puncuated by fishing boats, rock formations like that of the Devil’s Washboard, and inns advertising lobster dinners. After about 30 minutes, I had arrived at Sun Messe Nichinan サンメッセ日南, home to the famous Miyazaki Moai.

It was cool to see the Moai. It was ridiculous, yes, but it was also cool. If the informational placards told the truth, then they are the only life-size Moai replicas that the government of Easter Island has allowed to be built outside the island itself. And it will be quite a while before I make it to Easter Island, so I just basked in the uniqueness of it all and gleefully took photos like any good tourist would. It was a beautiful day.

It was a hot day, too, so I ducked into the air-conditioned Moai museum, then had some hyūganatsu kakigōri, and then left a bit earlier than I planned because I wanted to get away from the weird guy from Hiroshima who kept following me around. On the way out, I snapped a photo of a Higashikokubaru Moai on my keitai and sent it to a friend, who replied that it was “kimoi” (creepy).

As I was waiting for the bus back to Miyazaki City, a woman pulled over and offered me a ride. I wasn’t even hitchhiking! I was reminded of the hospitality I received on my first visits to Tokyo and Kumamoto. I declined, however, because I was looking forward to listening to my special Miyazaki playlist on the hour-long bus ride back. When I got in, I grabbed a quick lunch of chicken nanban チキン南蛮 – a local specialty of fried chicken topped with a vinegar-based dressing and tartar sauce. The name literally means “barbarian chicken,” and I wonder if the prototype for it was originally introduced by European missionaries and traders, who were originally called barbarians and were known for eating a lot of fried food and vinegar. Anyway, it was delicious – fresh from the fryer with a tempura crunch, juicy with vinegar to counteract the oil, and slathered with tartar sauce to counteract the vinegar. Certainly several notches above the sodden mess I was used to from Hokka Hokka Tei (though I like theirs, too).

After that I settled in for another sixty-minute bus excursion to Shusen no Mori 酒泉の杜 (literally “forest of liquor springs”) – a glorious tourist complex near Miyazaki’s border with Kagoshima in a rural town called Aya. Shusen no Mori was built by the adjacent Unkai buckwheat shochu distillery, but the fun does not stop there; on the multi-acre land there is a hotel, an onsen, a winery, a brewery, a one-stop shop for Miyazaki omiyage, and a shochu gallery, where customers are given free reign to sample any number of dozens of varieties of shochu – plus sake, liqueur, and truly awful attempts at wine.

The onsen was fantastic, offering a smörgåsbord of different kinds of baths; my favorites were the sake bath, which really had a nice smell of booze, and the electric bath, which delivered the somewhat disconcerting and somewhat wonderful sensation of a low-voltage electric current passing through your body.

After rehydrating myself and cutting my foot on the corner of a step, I moseyed over to the shochu gallery, where I tried four kinds of wine (all of them undrinkable or borderline-undrinkable), a few tasty sakes and liqueurs (including one made from hyūganatsu!), and fifteen or so different shochu. I got to sample one variety that had always intrigued me: Mayan no Tsubuyaki, or “Mumblings of an Old Man.” I didn’t like it very much – it was a bit too rough, I thought, like something a mumbliing old man might drink – but I’m glad I got to try it.

I then stumbled across to the omiyage center, where I picked up some hyūganatsu sweets and Miyazaki chicken chips for my taiko group. After that I had a few beers from the on-site brewery – much better than the wine – and then went back to Miyazaki City, hungry for dinner.

I ate at a place called Dogenka Sentoi-kan どげんせんとい館, which I chose more or less because they offered a free pint of Hideji lager if you mention their website. The name of the place means something in Miyazaki dialect that I don’t understand, befitting their dedication to local food and culture. I ordered the Miyazaki jidokko omakase course, which, among many other things, included famous Miyazaki grilled chicken. The method of preparation was as inscrutable to me as the name of the restaurant, but I understand that Miyazaki chicken is grilled in a basket, and the texture is meant to be springy – or even crunchy. Springy it was – but it was also ebulliently juicy and tender at the same time. Its flavor was thick with charcoal smoke, and I was sad when I discovered I had eaten it all.

By this time I was pretty drunk on shochu and Miyazaki craft beer, and pretty sated with chicken (I just realized now that I had chicken for all three meals that day). So I walked around what appeared to be the remnants of a festival downtown, then headed back to the bus center. Inevitably, I got lost on the way there; the cabbie who eventually picked me up was friendly, though he insisted that I have a piece of gum after I initially declined his offer. “I offer it to everybody,” he explained, as if aware that I was worried that I had bad breath.

Then It was back on the Phoenix for another restful trip. Back in Kurosaki, I stopped at a conbini for something to drink, and I spotted Mr. Higashikokubaru’s balding, jovial face yet again on a packet of candy. This time, I smiled knowingly back at him.

Planet Tokyo: The Gastrosphere 東京星の食圏

17 Apr

The food geek universe has recently been abuzz with the news that Tokyo has more Michelin stars than any city in the world, including Paris. In fact, it has twice as many as Paris. I couldn’t really offer anything beyond mere conjecture as to how this happened, as the publishers of the Michelin Guide are notoriously conservative, and their decisions are often mysterious and controversial.

But it doesn’t really matter anyway. The point that should be taken from this honor is that Tokyo is a really, really amazing city when it comes to food, from those noble three-star French meals to simple (or not-so-simple) bowls of noodles.

Let’s discuss the noodles first.

I had five excellent bowls of ramen over the course of the week. First off was Ramen Jiro‘s ラーメン二郎 notorious, voluminous, and delicious pile of raggedy hand-pulled noodles, tender pork chops, cabbage, bean sprouts, and shards of raw garlic softened in a stock so heavy with pork fat you could use it as a substitute for axle grease. I am no stranger to super-rich ramen – my love affair with tonkotsu has been going on for many years now – but honestly, I could barely get through half the bowl. Worldramen.net reports: “some Jiro fans would claim ‘Ramen served at Jiro is not a ramen! It is an independent food called Jiro.’” and I am tempted to agree. At least in terms of sheer intensity, Jiro stands alone. Astoundingly, they also offer a larger portion, which I have never seen, but I imagine it could comfortably feed a family of four for at least three meals. I went to the original Jiro outpost, but I hear other locations offer cheese as a topping. Crazy.

The ramen is extraordinary in and of itself, but the context of the tiny, dirty shop heightens the whole Ramen Jiro experience: outside, a formidable queue of hungry college students and businessmen wraps itself around the block; inside, the air gurgles with voracious slurping, the walls are brown with fire and grease, and in the middle of it all, two seasoned, sweaty cooks stir huge pots of bubbling liquid with wooden beams and bandaged hands. How I wish I hadn’t forgotten my camera at the hotel that day.

Later in the week, Sam and I took a trip to Yokohama to visit the ever-popular Ramen Museum, which three years ago inspired me to write my senior thesis on food museums. Each shop in the museum’s nostalgic, meticulously detailed “downtown” area offers a conveniently sized mini-bowl, perfect for sampling a variety of ramen over the course of an afternoon. We had three: Hachiya‘s 蜂屋 stock was ripe with the salty tang of soy sauce, roughed up by the bittersweet, carbonized flavor of barbecued lard; Ryū Shanghai 龍上海 offered pudgy handmade noodles in a thick, nutty miso soup perforated with a confetti of aromatic seaweed, minced garlic, and red chili; and Ide Shōten‘s 井出商店 suprisingly meaty soy sauce-tonkotsu blend tasted like the delicious drippings from a lovingly slow-cooked beef brisket.

Finally, just before heading to the airport to fly back home, Laura and I lunched at Shodai Keisuke 初代けいすけ, a rambunctiously creative nü-ramen joint that focuses on black miso. Keisuke’s basic stock was greenish-black and almost pasty in its thickness–imagine split-pea soup from the wrong side of the tracks–with a mysterious pesto-like herbal quality. Its flavor was so rich and robust that it even overwhelmed the yolk of a soft-boiled egg I ordered as a topping. Mine also came with shredded cheese, which helped to glue bits of vegetables and miso directly to the noodles for extremely satisfying, textured, salty, and flavorful mouthfuls.

I would have been pretty content just eating ramen all week, but luckily Emiko, our true gourmet navigator, had other, far more ambitious and wonderful culinary plans in store for us. On Don’s birthday, we began the day with a beautiful sushi breakfast at a shop just outside Tsukiji Market. We chose a place stuck in a slot between two apparently more famous (or lucky) competitors, both of which had long queues waiting outside their doors. But of course, sometimes popularity is a poor measure of quality, as it was hard for me to imagine how sushi could get much better than it was at this unassuming little shop. I ordered the chirashi set, which included (among many other things): solid, juicy hunks of crab; extremely fresh, hearty katsuo; some of the sweetest, saltiest salmon eggs I’ve ever eaten; and my favorite, a huge scallop with a gorgeous, silky texture and an almost chickeny flavor perked up by a thin slice of kabosu. The chūtoro tasted like ōtoro, and the sea urchin tasted like no sea urchin I’ve ever had before. It was exceptionally delicious, and exceptionally satisfying.

That night we had another amazing meal at arranged by Emiko, at Les Saisons in the Imperial Hotel. Actually, “amazing” isn’t quite the right word. I mean, it was amazing, but to me it was also a revelation as to how beautiful, delicate, and artistic cooking can be. And that’s saying something, because I’ve had my share of kaiseki meals. Let me put it this way: the chef, Thierry Voisin, warmly introduced himself to us before the meal, and at the end I wanted to meet him again so I could shake his hand and thank him dearly. Actually, a hug would have been a more accurate expression of how I felt, but at any rate, he had already gone home by the time we finished.

First off was an inscrutable amuse-bouche consisting of a cold jelly that tasted something like potato soup with chives, and a bite-size croquette with the same taste, but a very different, crunchy-creamy texture. Next came the appetizer, which… well, actually I’m going to write about my appetizer in a separate post because it was just that beautiful and special. Moving on, my main course was a plump chunk of rare lamb shank served with a salty relish of tongue confit and onions atop a fluffy custard of green peas. It was yummy, but even more yummy was Laura’s beef, topped with parsley paste and baked in buttery puff pastry, like some sexy cousin in the Wellington family.


After that, Laura and Emiko ordered dessert while Don and I indulged in some outstanding cheeses. I don’t know what kind of cheeses they were, except one: a three-year-old French Comte that had most of us convinced it was Pecorino before I asked our server what it was. Ah, Comte, of course! Not salty enough, too dark, and a tad too floral to be Pecorino. Anyway, it was superb, as were the other mystery cheeses: a very balanced Roquefort-like blue-veined goat’s milk cheese; a different sort of goat cheese with a blackish green rind and mellow, fruity flavor; and a gooey, lightly stinky washed-rind cheese that tasted something like Pont-l’Évêque, but with an agreeably sticky mouthfeel. Figs, apricots, and red wine provided a sweet, tangy counterpoint.

The cheese was followed up by petits fours, espresso, chocolate, and Don’s birthday cake. (I was glad I opted for cheese instead of dessert!) The petits fours and chocolate were too diverse to describe, but needless to say they were all very delicious, especially taken between sips of pungent black espresso. The cake was a happy marriage of light texture and rich flavor, a structure of dark chocolate, lush mousse, and cocoa-flavored mille-feuille. It was balanced, elegant, and addictive; I had no problem cleaning my plate despite the fact that I was already stuffed like a Christmas goose. Stuffed and oh so happy.

The next night, Emiko treated us all to yet another exceptional meal, this time at a Chinese restaurant in Ginza. The dinner began with a creamy and subtle shark’s fin soup, followed by shrimp in a snappy chili sauce and oil-scalded green beans with sesame seeds. It all led up to the climactic pièce de résistance: (strike gong here) Peking duck! The noble bronze bird was wheeled to our table on a cart, then ceremoniously carved into glisteningly moist slices before our eyes. But before we indulged in the actual dish, we were all served a few shreds of the duck’s skin, which we were instructed to dust with a spoonful of sugar. It seemed odd at first, but wow, what a charming little morsel that turned out to be; I was amazed at how nuanced a flavor came from the the simple combination of sugar, fatty meat, and melt-in-your-mouth crispness.

But that was just the teaser. The duck itself was tenderloin-tender with a fine, brawny taste, sweetened by a rich plum sauce, brightened by shreds of leek, then wrapped up in a fine pancake and thoroughly enjoyed. Each sumptuous bite reverberated with the glossy baritone of that venerable skin and the taut tenor of its condiments.

These meals I’ve described are only the highlights from a solid week of fond food memories: grilled corn, tres leches and matcha donuts, three kinds of agemanjū, bacon and eggplant pasta, cappuccino-flavored popcorn, straight-from-Tsukiji kabayaki, and fabulously tasty oysters paired with Guinness Draught.

As far as I can tell, Tokyo deserves every one of those stars, possibly more. Just think, what if the Michelin Guide included places like greasy ramen shops, street stalls, and random sushi bars? Tokyo would be untouchable. Paris should consider itself lucky.

Satsuma Kaze さつま風

1 Nov

Sweet potatoes were brought to Satsuma in 17th century. Kagoshima is now the kingdom of Satsuma-imo.

(Kagoshima cookie wrapper)

 

I live in Kyushu, the southernmost major island of the Japanese archipelago. It lies a comfortable distance away from the locus of metropolitan Kantō-Kansai hegemony, and Japanese travel companies generally promote Kyushu as rural and relaxing, quirky, old-fashioned, and nostalgic. The land is rugged and beautiful, the food is hearty and rich, the liquor is strong and simple, and the hot spring resorts are picturesque and plentiful. It has a history and culture both distant and familiar. It is the furusato, and it is exotic Japan.

Last weekend, my girlfriend and I took a three-hour train ride to scenic Kagoshima prefecture, which is Kyushu, distilled.

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Our far too short two-night stay began in Kirishima, a mountain town famous for its very, very sulfuric hot springs. How sulfuric, you ask? So sulfuric that everywhere you go, the air smells like eggs in various stages of boiling or rotting – which, I promise, is not as nauseating as it sounds. In fact, it was quite tolerable, and oddly invigorating. It’s a sort of atmospheric quirk that helps set Kirishima apart from normal life in Japan, a constant reminder that you’re situated atop a volatile juncture on the Pacific Ring of Fire. The springs there are so active and hot, you can hear them gurgling away through holes in the ground, and clouds of pure white steam periodically billow upwards out of unseen tears in the densely forested mountain terrain.

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As is customary in Japanese resorts, our stay included complimentary dinner and breakfast. Both meals were delicious, and deliciously Japanese: fresh, seasonal, local, and so attractively arranged they could have been snapshots in a coffee table book. (Our friend Koizumi would have felt quite at home.) (more…)

Sapporo is Food 札幌と言えば、郷土料理

20 Aug

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Most of the time, when I tell Japanese people what state I’m from, they look at me with a cocked head or a confused squint. To explain, I usually say that Wisconsin is like the Hokkaido of America: just about as north as the country gets, aggressively cold in the winter, full of relatively unspoiled natural scenery, mostly rural, and famous for snow, corn, dairy products, and beer.

The comparison may only work on a superficial level, but it makes an effective springboard to discuss Hokkaido food. Befitting its cold climate, its history as a northern frontier, and its (surprising) German influence, the cuisine of Japan’s old “barbarian island” 蝦夷が島 is remarkably hearty, heartier than one might expect of Japanese food – and believe me, Japanese food can be very, very hearty.

But while homey fare like tonkotsu ramen, hamburger steaks, Japanese curry, and okonomiyaki are popular throughout the country, for some reason I find Hokkaido’s meibutsu particularly warming and stalwart: (more…)

Sapporo is Beer 札幌は、麦酒

6 Aug

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But it isn’t just Sapporo Beer.

I am a beer geek. I’ve discussed this is previous posts, occasionally at length. When I travel, I tend to plan my itineraries around trips to breweries and bottle shops, meticulously plotting out marathon bar crawls just to find that Rodenbach on tap, that Yona Yona on cask, or any number of malt-based thrills I seek.

In Japan, such thrills are generally few and far between. Even in huge, international cities like Tokyo and Osaka, you have to go a bit out of your way to get the good stuff when it comes to beer. But in Sapporo, it almost seems like the good beer finds you. (more…)

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