Whenever I travel to a new country, I make a point to visit at least one grocery store while I’m there. They’re like living museums; collections of objects that comprise and nourish a culture. I generally find them more interesting and exciting than the arts and antiquities found in actual museums, which belong to distant epochs and echelons, and may be fascinating in some abstract sense, but don’t give me any immediate understanding of the people around me. Plus, in grocery stores you can buy, cook, and eat the exhibits – how awesome is that?

One of the great things about living in London is that this experience is just a quick train ride away. To paraphrase Dr. Johnson’s famous words, when you’re tired of London, you’re tired of food, for there seems to be no limit to the sheer variety of food and food shops to be found here. But I’ve done my time walking the beaten paths down the aisles of Chinese, Japanese, Vietnamese, Bangladeshi, Scandinavian, and Polish supermarkets. It was time for something new, something different: Malaysian food.

Unfortunately there is no dedicated Malaysian grocer in London, but Five Crops in Charlton is the next best thing. An emporium of east and southeast Asian ingredients, they have a large section of Malaysian larder staples. I was charitably shown around by Ben, a veteran manager who clearly knew the fundamentals of Malaysian cooking. I had a shopping list of things I thought I’d need to make some killer Malaysian food of my own, but for the most part I just followed his expert advice. The first items into my basket were:
– kicap lemak manis: thick, sweet soy sauce
– kicap lemak masin: light, salty soy sauce
– sambal: a paste made from chilli, onions, garlic, fish, prawns, and tamarind
– belacan: a crumbly brick of dried, salted shrimp

Together, these four ingredients will form the foundation to a wide variety of Malaysian dishes; in concert they add sweetness, saltiness, heat, and savoury depth, and their applications go beyond traditional Malaysian preparations. I am particularly enamoured with sambal and belacan, the former for its intensity and complex sweet, sour, and spicy character and the latter for its pungent, fishy aroma and concentrated flavour. You only need a teaspoonful to season an entire pan full of food, and it works wonders for stocks in need of a little extra something. I think of it, in a way, as the prawn equivalent of Bovril (though I’m not sure how it would taste stirred into hot milk).

I had my foundation. Now it was time to start building. I stocked up on both white jasmine rice and black glutinous rice, as these provide the bulk of so many Malaysian dishes, both savoury and sweet. I got a packet of ikan bilis, adorable little dried fish that provide flavour and crunch to the national rice dish, nasi lemak. I also bought Malaysian sweet chilli paste, which is smoother and tangier than the versions from nearby countries, as well as tamarind paste. Preparing fresh tamarind is an arduous process, Ben explained, involving much washing, boiling, peeling, grinding, and straining, so the pre-made paste is what most people keep in their homes. It has a sourness unlike citrus or vinegar, somewhat like green apples but richer, with a slight brown sugar-like sweetness to it. And because it’s a paste and not a liquid, it can help thicken sauces and glazes. Another awesome ingredient to have on hand, even if you’re not making Malaysian food.

Finally I filled my basket with various aromats: curry powders for fish and meat, a packet of spices used in the Malaysian pork hotpot bak kut teh, kaffir lime leaves, lemongrass, galangal, and ginger. I was well on my way to making my own terrifically fresh and delicious Malaysian meals.

But there was one last thing. In my travels around southeast Asia I encountered one particularly controversial item, known to cause many first-time tasters to retch, but reverently dubbed “the king of fruits” by its many dedicated fans. Banned on Malaysian public transport for its unusual (okay, nauseating) smell but also adored for its rich, creamy flesh and complex flavour, durian is perhaps one of the weirdest foods on earth. When I first tried it five years ago, I didn’t like it. But knowing how much others do like it, I couldn’t escape from the thought that the problem is not with durian, it’s with me and my own tastes. I was determined to make a durian dish that wouldn’t disguise its flavour but harness it and perfume it and make it taste delicious to people who profess to hate it, like me.

At Five Crops they had a stack of big, beautiful durians, and Ben showed me how to choose one. (And how to handle them – their spikes can draw blood!) By pinching two adjacent spikes together, you can gauge a durian’s ripeness – no give and it is not quite ripe; if they bend slightly towards each other, ripe; and if you can touch their tips together, very ripe, and very stinky! Another way to test ripeness is to fiddle with the stem; if it’s flexible at the base, the durian is ready. I chose a very ripe one, and Ben then showed me how to open it. Holding it with gloves or a thick tea towel, find the natural seams where the spikes come together. They look like little valleys in mountainous terrain. Cut through the seams with a sharp knife, and pull the durian apart.

So there I had it. My very own durian, and a boxful of amazing new ingredients to play and experiment with. I could hardly wait to get home, get tasting, and get cooking – and that’s exactly what I did.

Visit Malaysia Kitchen for more info!

Though Jørn Utzon isn’t exactly a household name outside of Denmark, you are almost certainly familiar with his work. He is the architect behind one of the twentieth century’s most iconic buildings, the Sydney Opera House.

The late Utzon was born in Copenhagen, but he spent most of his childhood in Ålborg, which is now home to the Utzon Center, a museum of modern architecture and art designed by the man himself, in cooperation with Finnish architect Alvar Aalto. Ålborg is also home to the ambitious Søgaards Brewery, whose range encompasses a variety of international styles and includes some unusual experiments. The Søgaards brewmasters have taken inspiration from the places that inspired Utzon’s architecture to brew two beers for the Utzon Center: Blond and Dark. The label on Utzon Blond explains:

This beer follows Utzon’s footsteps from Australia, where we have gathered the herb lemon myrtle; across Asia for the refreshing character of kaffir lime leaves and ginger; to Spain, where we have selected an orange flower honey to round off the beer and add a light floral flavor. The noble conclusion comes from the Middle East’s delicate and luxurious spice saffron.

Pretty neat. These ingredients may sound weird, but remember that before hops came into favor around the turn of the fifteenth century, bouquets of herbs and flowers called gruits were used to add flavor and bitterness to beer. Dandelion, heather, ginger, burdock, nutmeg, juniper and spruce were common. So while this beer is cosmopolitan and contemporary in its selection of international ingredients, this method of flavoring also recalls ancient brewing traditions. Especially interesting is the inclusion of honey, since the vikings were fond of a sort of mead-beer hybrid that was also flavored with odd spices and herbs.

Utzon Blond is an amber-gold ale with a pillowy white head, and it actually does hit all the notes described on the label: Australian lemon myrtle and kaffir lime leaf provide a pleasantly soapy, citric top note, while the honey gives the beer a sweet foundation. Floral, savory saffron floats by in the background. All around it is very fruity, slightly tangy and rather robust – probably not as arresting as Utzon’s designs, but just as intriguing and unique!

“Syd-Øst for Paradis” means “Southeast of Paradise,” which refers to an apparently lovely beach town called Hullehavn southeast of Svaneke on the island of Bornholm. The beer’s label describes Hullehavn as a place of “volleyball and genuine comfort” and cheerily boasts: “We have bottled the summer for you.”

In need of some sunshine during this increasingly dark and grey English November, I cracked open a Syd-Øst tonight and I poured it into three different glasses. Why three? Because I wanted to conduct a little experiment. I am something of a glassware geek, but only partly because I just think good glassware is fun and pretty. The main reason I own twice as many glasses as all three of my flatmates combined is because good glasses make for good drinkin’! I recall once drinking an Ommegang Three Philosophers, a blended Belgian-style dark ale brewed with cherries. In my Delirium Tremens tulip glass, it smelled of bananas, Scotch, and amaretto and tasted of ripe cherries and caramel; poured into to a pilsner glass for a friend, it smelled and tasted of yeast, earth, and allspice. It was entirely different – and much worse, in my opinion.

So proper glassware is important. And to prove it, I’ve chosen three very different glasses from which to enjoy my Syd-Øst, all of them from Holmegaard: the Skibsglas goblet, the No. 5 beer glass, and the Det Danske Ølglas. Oh, and by the way: Syd-Øst for Paradis is brewed with elderflowers!

In the Skibsglas:

Smells primarily of honey, biscuits, and lemon-lime, with a mild but certainly detectable elderflower fruitiness. Tastes very sweet and very elderflowery, almost more like an elderflower cordial with some white wine notes and a trace of lemon in the background.

In the No. 5:

Much more resinous and much less fruity in the nose, hop-forward with notes of hay and lemon, but the elderflower is still there. Somewhat less sweet and more tart on the palate, but the overall flavor profile is the same.

In the Ølglas:

Surprisingly, this globe glass seems to combine the aromas of the Skibsglas and the No. 5, but subdues them both while adding unexpected smells of grape juice and herbs. The inward-turned lip of this glass delivers the beer to the front and sides of the palate, emphasizing bitterness (but the beer is still predominantly sweet).

Overall, this 3.5% ale is a bit too sweet to session, but served chilled it would make an excellent apéritif or pairing for buttery, earthy foods like foie gras or Brie. As for the best glass, it would be something between the No. 5 and the Ølglas – specifically, a narrow glass with an inward-turned lip, which would amplify hop and fruit aromas while downplaying sweetness on the tongue. A champagne flute, come to think of it, would be perfect.

If you’re reading this post on the actual site instead of through an RSS reader, then you’ll have already noticed the dramatic redesign. This is because I am relaunching I am a viking in its new iteration as a Danish beer and food blog!

I am now a “Senior Sales Account Manager” (i.e., travelling salesman) for a company called 95% Danish, importers of fine Danish design that have recently branched out to include fine Danish craft beer in their portfolio. I’ve been brought in as the company’s beer guy – my job is to sell the beer to upmarket retailers, restaurants, and bars in Greater London. The beer, I must say, is very good – highly idiosyncratic and well-made, as one might expect from a country known for its traditions of agrarianism and craftsmanship.

This week I was spirited away to Denmark for a whirlwind tour of the breweries we represent, and have to admit I found the country rather beguiling. It isn’t somewhere I’d like to live, I don’t think, but there were several things Danish I found strangely compelling. The land, for starters, is remarkably Wisconsin-like; low, cold, and rural, molded into rolling kettles and moraines by ancient glaciation. No wonder, I thought, that so many Danes wound up settling in Wisconsin and Minnesota. Then there is the food, somehow reminiscent of Japanese cuisine in its simplicity, its fresh flavors, and its fondness for the sea, but also hearty and pig-centric in a way that reminded me of American comfort food. And of course, there is the beer, which was a revelation even to me, a hardened beer geek with over 500 reviews under my belt.

So from now on, I am a viking will be strictly an exploration of Danish culture through its food and beer. I’m still brainstorming ideas for another blog, but until that comes to fruition I’ll be posting on non-Danish topics at my very old, journal-style blog over at Xanga. I’ll also be migrating my portfolio to a new site as soon as I register a new domain name.

I understand that this is something of a departure from this blog’s original theme, but I hope that my loyal readers will stay with me as I change course. I do think that Danish culinary culture is quite interesting – and I hope that you do, too!

Cheers, kanpai, and skål!

A snack in New York is a meal in Chicago.

Middle American Proverb

The aphorism quoted above doesn’t mean that Chicagoans eat meals so insubstantial that New Yorkers would only consider them snacks. Actually, the meaning is something close to the inverse: Chicago is known for appropriating, embellishing, and augmenting New snack foods to the point that they must be called a meal. I have a theory that Chicago’s “second city” status has driven its citizens to assert themselves against the hegemony of Gotham in sometimes outlandish ways; it’s connected, I think, to the fact that Chicago is the American capital of comedy. I have read somewhere that being in a “second fiddle” cultural position (e.g. being a comparatively small country right next to a much larger country) creates a sort of collective inferiority complex that engenders a good sense of humility and humor. Canada, always drowned out by their loud, angry neighbors to the south, has also produced droves of famous comedians. I hear New Zealand is also famous for comedy, as is Osaka, Japan’s second city.

So, like being funny, perhaps turning ordinary New York food into bold, italicized Chicago food is a way for the Windy City to declare cultural independence. However, in truth I can only think of two foods that substantiate the proverb. The first is pizza. Both first and second city are famous for pizza, but Chicago deep-dish is so much more deserving of that fame. It’s two or three inches high, dense as a black hole, drunk with sauce and toppings, and it achieves a sort of Golden Ratio of crunch-to-chew. Chicago pizza is to New York pizza as a bowl of Ippudo Akamaru ramen is to Cup Noodle.

But of course, the Chicago specialty most distinguished from its New York counterpart is the hot dog. Hot dogs are fundamentally uncomplicated things, and this is exactly what makes people want to complicate them. Hot dog localization isn’t a Chicago-only phenomenon, of course. But as far as I know, the Chicago hot dog is the only variation that has any sort of reputation outside of its own metro area. The words “hot dog” follow “Chicago” as naturally as “cheesesteak” follows “Philly.” It is among a very select group of American local foods that are truly famous on a nationwide level (Wisconsin cheese being another).

Unlike burgers, I think hot dogs actually demand to be festooned with all manner of toppings. Hot dogs, even high-quality, well-prepared ones, are just too bland to eat on their own. The Chicago hot dog addresses this inherent flavor deficiency with the “Chicago Seven,” an arpeggio of tangy, lively fixings that harmonize with the mellow umami of the sausage: onions, tomatoes, cucumbers, a dill pickle spear, sweet pickle relish, yellow mustard, and celery salt all piled into a poppy seed bun.* These ingredients alone would actually make a pretty tasty veggie sandwich; the hot dog itself is just a foundation, a meaty gesso onto which crisp, zesty colors are painted.

Strangely, I have never had a Chicago hot dog, even though I grew up in Chicagoland and visit the city often. It has long been on my culinary to-do list, but for some reason it has escaped me every time I’m back home. It’s probably because Chicago offers an overwhelming abundance of dining choices, and I’m usually tempted by pizza or Mexican or Chinese or Japanese or vegetarian or Italian or whatever it may be while I’m down there.

But not this time. This time I was determined. I had always thought I would have my first Chicago dog at the Weiner’s Circle, a local institution where they serve a textbook sausage with a hearty side of profanities. Stephen Fry went there when he was touring the United States. But after consulting with local friends and perusing the internet, I settled on Hot Doug’s, consistently named Chicago’s best weinermonger – and it had a block-long line outside to prove it. Lines are always a good sign.

Hot Doug’s ain’t just a hot dog stand – they are a self-proclaimed “Sausage Superstore,” and much of our 45-minute wait was spent mulling over what to order from the surprisingly exotic and epicurean menu. For me, there was no question that I would have “The Dog” with everything. But I couldn’t leave without trying one of their specialty sausages: I considered the tequila and black bean chicken sausage, the cherry-apple pork sausage, and of course, the Salma Hayek (“Mighty, mighty, mighty hot!”). Ultimately I decided to splurge on the foie gras and Sauternes duck sausage with truffle aioli, foie gras mousse, and sel gris (a recent re-addition to the menu following the repeal of a citywide ban on the king of offal).

The resultant feast – a Chicago Hot Dog and a Foie Gras Duck Sausage – was like a culinary odd couple, an utterly wrong combination that nevertheless must exist, if only to act as foils to one another. The Dog was brash, spicy, and snappy, but also humble and inviting. It does have something to prove, that’s for sure, but it can’t disguise its Midwestern geniality. The Duck was silken, ripe, and decadent – yet somehow just as loud as the Dog, an ostentatious display of conspicuous consumption. Both sausages were perfection, especially between sips of the perfect accompaniment: old-fashioned birch beer.

I cannot recommend Doug’s duck fat fries, which sound awesome and smell fantastic, but taste like nothing at all. But the fries are immaterial anyway, since the Dog really is a meal in itself. Certainly, it is one area where Chicago is second to none.

Hot Doug’s
3324 North California
Chicago, IL 60618
773-279-9550

In response to comments graciously informing of new beer developments in Fukuoka, I have updated this article on September 23, 2009.

Kyushu is known across Japan as a veritable Shangri-La of shochu, with distilleries galore and a glut of shops and bars well-stocked with the beloved spirit. But many foreigners may be unimpressed with such a wide selection of shochu when all they’re craving is a decent pale ale.

Fortunately, Fukuoka prefecture is not the beer wasteland it may appear to be upon first glance; you’ll just have to make a bit of extra effort and spend a bit of extra money to get your beer of choice into your gullet. Unlike most Western countries, bars and restaurants in Japan usually serve only one kind of beer – or, if they do serve more than one, all of them tend to be pale Pilsener-style lagers. Though there is currently a budding interest in craft beer throughout the country, imported and microbrewed beers are still in fairly low demand and are considered a specialty item, so expect to pay a bit more for them. The Sam Adams or Sam Smith’s you may have enjoyed back home as an everyday beer will most likely be twice as expensive here, so be prepared.

Now then, let’s enjoy beer in Fukuoka. Kanpai!

Beer Bars and Breweries

If you’re looking for beer diversity, your first stop should be Cotton Fields コットンフィールズ in Fukuoka City’s salaryman-packed nightlife district, Nakasu-Kawabata. Cotton Fields has only one beer on tap – Sapporo – but their bottle selection is truly formidable, with over 400 varieties of beer from around the world, including some rare gems like Aventinus Eisbock from Germany, Lion Stout from Sri Lanka, and Anchor Old Foghorn from the United States. Bottles run fairly steep at about ¥600-1200, but bear in mind they’re pretty much the only game in town for many of these beers. Cotton Fields is also well-known for their ribs, tacos, and (among Americans) controversial décor.

Your next best bets for beer will be Fukuoka’s English- or Irish-style pubs, especially if you’re craving a silky-smooth Guinness on tap. Draft Guinness may seem like a fairly common thing in Japan, but be warned that many bars advertising “draft” Guinness (nama 生 or tarunama 樽生) actually pour the stout from a bottle and then employ a contraption called the Guinness “Surger” that sends electromagnetic waves through the beer to froth it into a pathetic forgery of real nitro-tapped Guinness. These draft Guinness impostors are disturbingly common, and the Surgers are made to look like real taps – so bars can get away with charging draft prices for bottled beer. Beware!

Rest assured that your draft Guinness is the real McCoy at this sextet of charming pubs: Morris, The Craic and Porter, and The Three Kings in Fukuoka City; Ye Olde Little Monkey in Kurume; and Booties and Bravo! Public House in Kitakyushu.

In addition to Guinness, Morris offers Yebisu lager, Vedett White, and Old Speckled Hen on tap. They also have a respectable bottle list with the likes of Fuller’s, Hoegaarden, Sam Adams (Boston Lager), Grolsch, Bass, and Newcastle, and their happy hour is a fantastic bargain – only ¥590 for any draft beer, including Guinness or their tasty half-and-half (ordinarily ¥850 a pint). Just up the road in the entertainment district Oyafuko-dōri, The Craic and Porter’s Irish-American owner Mike has amassed the best draft selection in town: Kilkenny, John Smith, Paulaner Hefe-Weissbier, Heineken, Marston’s Pedrigee and a rotating Rogue beer in addition to the standard Guinness (¥650-850 per pint) are all available on tap here, plus a handful of special bottled brews. The Three Kings is Fukuoka’s newest player on the British pub scene, and the first to bring authentic, cask-conditioned real ale to the city. Rotating offerings such as Old Speckled Hen, Greene King IPA, and Abbot Ale (¥800 or ¥600 during happy hour) are all well-kept and properly hand-pumped for that soft real ale mouthfeel. They also pour a variety of ales on normal tap and operate a retail store in Maebaru.

Ye Olde Little Monkey, or “the Monkey,” as it is more commonly known, is perhaps the only UK-style pub in the Kurume area, so if you live in Chikugo and don’t want to truck it to Fukuoka for real draft Guinness, this is your bar. It’s near Nishitetsu Kurume Station but it’s easy to miss – look carefully for the painted hanging sign with two monkeys next to a car rental shop.

Up north in Kitakyushu, Booties is an easy-to-find Irish-style pub in Kokura with Guinness, Kilkenny, and Yebisu on tap, and they make a satisfying basket of fish and chips (complete with fake newspaper) with big hunks of blowfish in an herb-flecked batter. They also have a lengthy list of Irish whiskeys. Bravo! is a new pub run by an outgoing bartender named Oti, who trained under the owner of Booties before setting off to start his own bar in Kurosaki. Bravo!’s only draft beers are Guinness and Yebisu, but the menu also lists Hoegaarden, Bass, Heineken, Orval, and Chimay in bottles. Prices run fairly high, but there is a daily happy hour from 6:00-8:00, and Oti is sometimes willing to organize a trade if you get to know him and bring in a rare beer for him to sample.

A couple blocks away from Bravo! is a little bar called Daimaru, which has only two taps, but one of them rotates each month, usually with offerings from Belgium – in the past, they have had Belle-Vue Kriek and Orval. Also in Kitakyushu is Kokura Genghis Khan 小倉ジンギスカン, which pours two beers from the local Mojiko Retro Brewery (Mojikō Ji-bīru Kōbō 門司港地ビール工房) – a pilsener and a Hefeweizen – to wash down mouthfuls of fat-broiled lamb and vegetables. Other options for trying locally brewed beer can be found in Fukuoka at Suginoya 杉能舎 in Hawks Town, which offers a tasting set of all four of Hamachi Brewery’s excellent “Suginoya” beers, or at the award-winning Okura Brewery in Nakasu’s Hotel Okura, which specializes in wheat beers.

Back in Daimyō, two closeby restaurants feature surprisingly good bottle lists: Base Camp and Goo, just a few doors down from each other on the same road. Base Camp offers a large curry menu along with a few other Japanese homestyle Western dishes like omuraisu, with a decidedly non-homestyle Western beer list focusing on Belgium. Grimbergen, Delirium Tremens, and more are all available here for your drinking pleasure. Goo maintains an eclectic bottle selection of beers from around the world, like Franziskaner (Germany), Traquair (England), and Baltika (Russia) to accompany their eclectic tapas-like food. In Kurume, about a ten-minute walk away from the Monkey (see above) is another eatery worth checking out for beer: Brava, by all accounts an excellent Italian restaurant with bottled Guinness and a few Italian lagers.

There are also a few state-of-the-art industrial breweries in the area. Hakata is home to the Asahi Beer Hakata Brewery アサヒビール博多工場, which offers 90-minute tours daily that include a 20-minute tasting session (three glass limit per visitor). From April through September there is also a beer garden serving fresh Asahi and a variety of red meat-based dishes; a two-hour nomihōdai is only ¥1650 and includes Asahi’s hard-to-find, easy-to-drink dark lager (food sold separately). In Tachiarai-machi, near Amagi, you can visit the Kirin Beer Park キリンビアパーク, a gigantic factory complex that includes brewery tours with free samples and a nearby restaurant called the Kirin Beer Farm pouring several varieties of terrifically fresh Kirin beer to accompany hearty homestyle dishes like ribs, Genghis Khan, and roast chicken. The complex also includes one of the largest cosmos fields in the country, which comes into bloom around late October. Slightly further afield in Hita (Just outside Fukuoka prefecture, in Oita), there is the sprawling Beer Forest Sapporo ビアフォレストサッポロ, Sapporo’s answer to Kirin’s Beer Park, offering free tours and tasting sessions, a Hita souvenir shop, a beer and barbecue garden, and a retro-style beer hall.

Bottle Shops

Within Fukuoka prefecture there are two bottle shops that should pretty much satisfy your beer demands: Hiromatsu Shōten ヒロマツ商店 in Kitakyushu and World Beer Hiroshima ワールドビール廣島 in Fukuoka City. Hiromatsu’s several beer coolers and shelves are packed with beers of all different styles from both Japan and abroad: Young’s Double Chocolate Stout (England), Delirium Tremens (Belgium), Unibroue Trois Pistoles (Canada), Negra Modelo (Mexico), and many more comprise a very comprehensive import selection. They also sell Samuel Adams’s 25% alcohol Utopias, 750ml bottles of Duvel, and magnum bottles of Chimay – perfect for parties. Hiromatsu also boasts what may be Kyushu’s best selection of Japanese craft beers (called ji-bīru 地ビール, “regional beer”), with offerings from Echigo (Niigata), Hitachino Nest (Ibaraki), Suginoya (Fukuoka), Ginga Kōgen (Tokyo), and Ezo (Hokkaido). The owner does not speak English, but he is very friendly and may be willing to order something special for you if you get to know him. He also runs a yakitori stand next door.

If Hiromatsu doesn’t stock what you’re looking for, chances are you’ll be able to find it at Hiroshima, which has an equally impressive and surprisingly different selection. While there are almost no Japanese beers and only a few North American beers at Hiroshima, Belgium, Germany, and England are all extremely well represented. They also have an entire wall of official brewery glassware and some random breweriana such as signage, posters, bottle openers, and bar towels for sale. Both Hiromatsu and Hiroshima are slightly off the beaten track, so if you’re looking to pick up a few rare brews while you’re out and about on your usual shopping route, try Alliq オーリック in Daimyō. Alliq’s name is a portmanteau of “all” and “liquor” and its selection of wines, shochu, and liquor is quite impressive. The beer cooler isn’t quite as large or exciting as those at Hiromatsu or Hiroshima, but it does stock some out-of-the-ordinary treats and its convenient location near central Tenjin makes it well worth a visit.

Department store basements are also good sources for good beer. Colet Izutsuya in Kokura has a small but consistent stock of Japanese craft beers and a few miscellaneous imports, and Iwataya in Daimyō usually stocks regional Kyushu brews and a handful of imports. Sometimes uncommon beers turn up in common places, so keep your eyes peeled while perusing the shelves of liquor stores, grocery stores, and even convenience stores. In the past year, certain branches of Lawson have sold Guinness, Hoegaarden, Corona (with a packet of lime juice!), and Yona Yona Ale from Nagano; am/pm has sold Suginoya Beer; and 7-Eleven has recently sold Coedo Beer from Saitama and Hideji Beer from Miyazaki. Special beers often turn up at convenience stores around holidays, especially New Year’s and Father’s Day. Costco stocks cases of Coopers ales from Australia, among other imports, and random branches of Red Cabbage, Maruwa, and Spina sometimes sell a Belgian or two. The imported food chain Kaldi (see article on foreign foods in Fukuoka) also sells a small amount of imported beer. And in Canal City, there is a Fukuoka souvenir store called The Hakata Gift Shop that offers beer from two of Fukuoka’s most famous microbreweries, Suginoya and Brewmaster.

Online Shops

The following are websites that sell imported and craft beers in Japan. Prices tend to be high, but shipping is often surprisingly cheap – sometimes free – and most offer beers that are otherwise unavailable in Fukuoka. Unfortunately only a couple of these sites are in English, but if you ask a friend who speaks Japanese for help, you’ll tap into a whole new world of beer!

Hiromatsu Shōten ヒロマツ商店
This is the online version of the Kitakyushu shop; inventory changes every now and then and the website sells beers that the actual store doesn’t stock, so check back often! To order, send an e-mail to info@hiromatsu.co.jp.

Beer Café Ueda ビアカフェウエダ
Based in Osaka, Beer Café Ueda is one of the most respected sources for imported beer in the country. The proprietor is dedicated to bringing the finest beers from Europe and America to Japan, which means the site often sells rare or exclusive items such as Anchor’s Our Special Ale and Dupont’s Avec Les Bon Voeux. Shipping is free if you spend over ¥6000 yen (a rather easy mark to reach), and they sometimes include free breweriana with large orders. Keep your eye out for limited beers and sale items!

Rakuten Ichiba 楽天市場
Rakuten Ichiba is something like Amazon.com, but with a greater focus on food and drink. Rakuten brings many different retailers together into one big online marketplace, including various liquor stores, breweries, and importers, so its beer selection is wide and varied. Weird katakana transliterations of beer names make searching difficult, but you can browse the entire list of beers as a broad department or by country or prefecture.

Ezo Beer 蝦夷麦酒
Ezo Beer is actually the Japanese label for Rogue Ales, brewed in Portland, Oregon. In addition to Rogue flagships like Chocolate Stout, Shakespeare Stout, St. Rogue Red, and Old Crustacean (sold as Choco Bear Beer, Brown Bear Rich Beer, Northern Fox Red Beer, and Phred’s Nightcap), Ezo also distributes for a few breweries from the Netherlands, Belgium, and Scotland. Shipping is expensive as they are located in Hokkaido, but it’s free if you buy two cases (48 bottles).

Tokyo Food Page (bento.com)
Bento.com is one of the best online English-language resources for learning about Japanese food, and it also offers a long, comprehensive list of online beer sources, with special attention to Japanese craft breweries.

Local Brewery Listing

Asahi Beer Hakata Brewery アサヒビール博多工場
(see description above)
Fukuoka City Hakata-ku Takeshita 3-1-1
092-431-2701
Tours offered 9:30-15:00; closed around New Year’s and the second or third Wednesday of the month (call ahead to confirm)
Asahi Beer Garden
Fukuoka City Hakata-ku Takeshita 3-2-19
092-482-7887
11:30-22:00 (last order 21:30); closed around New Year’s

Bengala Mura ベンガラ村
Bengala Mura in Yame is a unique recreation and relaxation complex consisting of private hot spring baths, a swimming pool, a farmers market, green tea and herb gardens, a restaurant, and a microbrewery. It is a bit out of the way, but its beers are only available on-site, and the baths and gardens make this a unique place to unwind while quaffing fresh, tasty beer.
Yame City Miyano 100-Banchi
0943-24-3339
10:00-22:00; closed Monday

Sapporo New Kyushu Brewery/Beer Forest Sapporo サッポロビール新九州工場・ビアフォレストサッポロ
(see description above)
Ōita-ken Hita City Ōaza Takase 6979
0973-25-1100
Tours offered weekdays 9:45-16:00, weekends and holidays 8:45-16:00; closed every Wednesday in December and January and December 24-January 5
Restaurant open 10:00-22:00

K’s Brewing (Brewmaster) ケイズブルーイング（ブルーマスター）
K’s is perhaps the smallest brewery in Fukuoka, and their beers are few yet creative and flavorful. In addition to a standard pale ale they also brew a porter with coffee and a blonde ale with honey and kabosu (a lime-like citrus fruit) juice. Their beers are on tap at the brewery’s small bar in Befu, and their bottles are available at The Hakata Gift Shop in Canal City and occasionally at department stores.
Fukuoka City Jōnan-ku Befu 1-19-1
092-841-6336
12:00-18:00; closed Sundays and holidays

Okura Brewery (Hotel Okura) オークラブルワリー
(see description above)
Fukuoka City Hakata-ku Shimokawabata-machi 3-2
Hakata Riverain, Hotel Okura B1F
092-262-1172
11:30-14:30, 17:30-21:30; weekends and holidays open from 17:00

Kirin Beer Park キリンビアパーク
(see description above)
Asakura City Mada 3601-Banchi
0946-23-2132
Tours offered 9:30-17:00; closed Mondays or the following day if Monday is a holiday and around New Year’s
Kirin Beer Farm
Asakura City Mada 3205-7
0946-23-2993
11:00-22:00 (last order 21:30); closed December 31-January 1 and erratically throughout the year for maintenance (call to confirm)

Mojiko Retro Beer 門司港地ビール工房
At least for the time being, Mojiko brews just two beers, but in the past they have offered three along with a seasonal special. Their brews can only be found at Kokura Genghis Khan and at the brewery itself, which is worth a visit for its remarkably tasty pizzas and pleasant view of Shimonoseki across the Kanmon Strait.
Kitakyushu City Moji-ku Higashi Minato-machi 6-9
093-321-6885
11:00-22:00 (last order 21:15)

Hamachi Brewery (Suginoya) 浜地酒造（杉能舎）
Under the name “Suginoya,” Hamachi offers a pale ale, an amber ale, and a stout, plus seasonal releases. They are one of the more expensive breweries in the area (about ¥450-500 a bottle) but they are also consistently delicious. Suginiyoya is also notable for their sparkling sake and their non-alcoholic golden ale, called B-Drive. Their beers can be found on tap at their izakaya in Hawks Town (information below), at the brewery’s small restaurant, or in bottles at Hiromatsu Shōten, Iwataya, Alliq, and other random liquor stores and souvenir shops in the Fukuoka area. They occasionally turn up at conbinis as well.
Fukuoka City Nishi-ku Moto’oka 1442
092-806-1186
Open Saturdays, Sundays, and holidays only; 10:00-19:00

Bar, Restaurant, and Bottle Shop Directory

Fukuoka City

Alliq (Daimyō Shop)
Chūō-ku Daimyō 1-3-41
092-737-6240
14:00-02:00

Base Camp
Chūō-ku Daimyō 2-2-51
092-721-6044
Weekdays 11:00-15:00, 18:00-23:00 (last order 22:30); Sundays and holidays 11:00-15:00, 18:00-22:00 (last order 21:30); closed Monday and every second Sunday

California Cotton Fields
Hakata-ku Nakasu 4-2-15
Main Street Building B1F
092-271-5130
18:00-02:30

Costco
Kasuya-gun Hisayama-chō
Ōaza-Yamada Aza-Takayanagi 1152-1
092-931-9092
10:00-20:00; December 31-January 1 10:00-18:00
http://www.costco.co.jp/eng/whs_876.htm

The Craic and Porter
Chūō-ku Tenjin 3-5-15
http://craic.mine.nu/

Goo
Chūō-ku Daimyō 2-2-47
Ono Building 1F
092-741-9560
Lunch 12:00-15:00; dinner 17:00-24:00; Friday and Saturday dinner only, closed Sunday

The Hakata Gift Shop
Hakata-ku Sumiyoshi 1-2
Canal City B1F
092-263-2205
10:00-21:00

World Beer Hiroshima
Jōnan-ku Befu 2-9-1
092-821-6338
Hours erratic; call ahead to confirm

Iwataya
Chūō-ku Tenjin 2-5-35
092-721-1111
10:00-20:00

Morris
Chūō-ku Daimyō 2-1-4
Stage 1 Nishi-dōri 7F
092-771-4774
Monday-Thursday 17:00-01:00; Friday, Saturday, and days before holidays 17:00-0:300; Sunday 17:00-24:00

Suginoya
Chūō-ku Jigyōhama 2-2-1
Hawks Town Mall 1F (Map No. 128)
11:00-14:30, 17:00-22:00 (last order 21:30)

The Three Kings
Chūō-ku Daimyō 1-11-22
Metro Building 1F
092-403-3622
Monday-Thursday 17:00-00:00; Friday and Saturday 17:00-late; Sunday 17:00-22:00
http://www.avondrinks.com/pub.htm

Kurume City

Brava
Tenjin-machi 152-4
6th Tomitaya Building 1F
0942-34-3917
11:30-14:00, 17:30-22:00 weekdays; 11:30-14:30, 17:30-22:30 weekends

Ye Olde Little Monkey
Tenjin-machi 33-2
0942-35-0108
18:30-00:30

Kitakyushu City

Booties
Kokurakita-ku Kyō-machi 1-4-21
093-551-6160
17:00-02:00; Fridays, Saturdays, and days before holidays until 03:00; closed the first and third Tuesday of each month

Public House Bravo!
Yahatanishi-ku Kurosaki 4-1-2
093-642-1555
18:00-03:00

Colet Izutsuya
Kokurakita-ku Kyō-machi 3-1-1
093-514-1111
10:00-20:00

Daimaru
Kitakyushu City Yahatanishi-ku Kurosaki 4-6-1
093-631-8157
17:30-23:30

Hiromatsu Shōten
Yahatanishi-ku Kumanishi 1-5-1
093-641-3489

Kokura Genghis Khan
Kokurakita-ku Kyō-machi 3-7-14
093-531-6885
18:00~, closed erratically; call ahead to confirm opening hours

Not content to passively partake in the rest of the fests, my Uncle Erik and Aunt Sarah have created their own: Rib Fest.

Rib Fest is exactly what it sounds like: a festival of ribs. Each year, friends and family are invited to enter their barbecue pork ribs in a competition, to be evaluated and ranked by a panel of judges. This year, probably because of my reputation as the family snob, I was chosen as a judge in this epic “Battle of the Bones.”

Ribs were to be scored in four categories: appearance, bone release, flavor, and overall impression, all weighted equally. Each of the seven ribs I sampled were categorically delicious – to paraphrase a fellow judge, any of the ribs, if eaten in almost any other context, would have been the best meal I’d had that day. It was a tough job, trying to find flaws in really excellent hunks of meat.

But somebody had to do it, and I did my best. Ultimately, my top score went to a saucy, spicy, brawny entry cooked by someone named Juanita; her ribs were intense and satisfying, with well-articulated layers of smoke, cumin, turmeric, and chili powder. But in the end Juanita took second place – the other judges preferred the ribs made by a man named John. Flaky and tender and visibly falling from the bone, John’s ribs were also outstanding, pink and black with fire and smoke and mysteriously fruity from a can’t-put-your-finger-on-it secret ingredient (I later learned it was pineapple juice and sweet tea-infused vodka).

After the winners were announced, the inevitable debates arose. Most people seemed fairly content with our picks, but the “bone release” category was hotly contested. I was of the opinion (as were the other judges) that rib meat is best when it pulls cleanly from the bone without much effort. However, I also feel that meat can reach a point where it is too loose, or where the tissue connecting meat to bone has become more tender and loose than the meat itself, so that when you bite into it, you tend to pull the entire strip of meat from the bone rather than just the bite you wanted. I marked ribs down for this sort of overly eager bone release.

However, some cooks and diners argued that ribs are best when the meat doesn’t fall from the bone, and requires a little chewing or gnawing to get the meat off. I could not understand this; their explanations were filled with words like “technically” or “officially” – except for my Aunt Lisa’s, who simply said: “I like it when you have to gnaw at ‘em.”

Still, I’m not satisfied to chalk it up to “personal preference.” That’s a cop out. “There’s no accounting for taste” is a terrifically stupid axiom – there are all kinds of ways to account for taste! So this is very vexing to me. I just think there’s something wonderfully satisfying about ribs that lift off the bone with a gentle tug. It is one of life’s greatest small pleasures. Having to gnaw or tear at ribs isn’t the worst thing in the world, but I can’t understand why anyone would prefer it. And yet… people do.

Show of hands: who likes ribs that fall off the bone? And who likes ribs that don’t fall off the bone? And if you’re the latter: for goodness sake, why?

P.S.: Sorry there are no photos of the actual ribs; I didn’t want to clog my camera with sauce.

Wow, what a month it’s been. My entire August was gobbled up by the wedding – which was a rousing success, by the way! And now I can (hopefully) get my visa. Yaaaaay!

But I’ve neglected the blog, and indeed, I’ve neglected the sort of activities for which the blog exists. A lack of both time and money has precluded extravagances in culinary tourism, not to mention any creative endeavors aside from making invitations and placecards. Even so, August has seen several newsworthy discoveries and exploits on the viking front. Before I recommence posting proper, here is a recap of the past four weeks’ more interesting items:

• August began with the Great British Beer Festival, where I sampled a dozen or so excellent and almost-excellent ales from around the UK and around the world. I also tried the East London specialty, jellied eels, which sound, look, and taste like something from a Roald Dahl story.But the real revelation was the selection of beers from Italy, of all places. Like the brewers of Japan and America, whose beer cultures aren’t mired in “traditions” like those of England, Belgium, and Germany, Italian brewers adopt a playful, experimental attitude and a love of the local. I am convinced that Italy is the next frontier in craft brewing. Consider the three bottles I picked up at the festival: Shangrila Fumé, a strong amber ale brewed with spices and peat-smoked whisky malts; Barley BB10, a barleywine made from the reduction of a prized local wine; and Verdi Imperial Stout, infused with the heat of chili peppers. I plan to crack these open soon and have them with Italian cheese – stay tuned for tasting notes.
  
• I am a professional food writer! I’ve now reviewed two restaurants and one pub for View London, and I will be writing more for them in the future.
• Speaking of restaurants, I’ve been to a few recently that I must recommend. Head to Abeno or Abeno Too for perfect Osaka-style okonomiyaki and miscellaneous izakaya fare that’s only slightly overpriced. Sakura and Tokyo Diner are also wonderfully Japanese, both embracing the whole universe of Japanese cooking from katsukarē to mentaiko. Tokyo Diner in particular is fantastic – modest yet superlative, and dirt cheap. Cans of Kirin and Asahi are only £1.90!A bit further into Chinatown is Leong’s Legends, a Taiwanese-Chinese joint where the service is brusque but the food is special. You must try the xiao long bao (soup dumplings), but let them cool a bit before tucking in or you’ll scald your mouth something awful. Finally, we were pleasantly surprised with Anatolian Flame, a place we hungrily stumbled into after viewing some flats in northwest London. The service was charming and the charcoal-grilled Turkish food was excellent, such as the relentlessly juicy and flavorful  lamb kebab with tomatoes served on a whole grilled eggplant with dill cream.
• I’m still going to the awesome, free life study sessions at Beach Blanket Babylon Shoreditch, and I wrote about it for a contest (which I lost) on Trazzler. If you’re in London and even a little bit arty, check it out. And if you’re not sure about the whole drawing thing, you can still enjoy a cocktail or two.
• I just finished reading Hops and Glory, a surprisingly non-geeky (alright, it’s a little geeky) book about the history of India Pale Ale. Author Pete Brown weaves meticulous historical research together with a spirited personal travelogue as he drags a keg of IPA on a journey from England to India that approximates the sea route along which the original ales were shipped. The book is peppered with sharp gastropolitical commentary and enlightening factoids, and in some places is actually suspenseful – not what I expected from a book about beer. Highly recommended to beer geeks, history buffs, or fans of good travel writing.

And now I’m off to the motherland for six weeks, where I will fork over nearly a grand to the British consulate in order to get my visa. Blogging shall continue while I’m there, and before long I’ll be able to post about trips around the UK and the rest of Europe!

Hold your judgement. If you are told ‘they are all this’ or ‘they do this’ or ‘their opinions are these’, withhold your judgement until all the facts are upon you. Because that land they call ‘India’ goes by a thousand names and is populated by millions, and if you think you have found two men the same amongst that multitude, then you are mistaken. It is merely a trick of the moonlight.

Zadie Smith, White Teeth

Independence Day has always been my favorite holiday. Here’s why:

1. Sunshine.
2. Pork.
3. Beer.
4. Fireworks.

Of course, just about any Japanese summer festival also features this same happy quartet. And Japanese festivals are fun, too, but they just aren’t the same. I like Independence Day partly out of nostalgia, but I also like it because it’s uniquely American. It’s a holiday I can call my own.

We Americans don’t have a lot we can call our own. Apple pie? Dutch. Hot dogs? Austrian. Mexican food? Mexican. Sure, we have jazz, Pixar, and Mr. T, and as for holidays, we have Labor Day,  Memorial Day, Martin Luther King Day, and a smattering of other minor holidays. But all of them are pretty lame. When was the last time you threw a party and lit sparklers for Washington’s Birthday?

So it’s nice have an American holiday that’s actually fun. Thanksgiving is fun, too, but it’s in November, a month that burdens the human soul with an inescapable air of doom and melancholy. Thanksgiving food is arguably better (and perhaps less ordinary), but Independence Day is no slouch when it comes to cookery: ribs, burgers, bratwurst, and potato salad are pretty stiff competition for turkey and stuffing.

When I lived in America, it was the specific customs of Independence Day that I enjoyed (like the food and the fireworks – the parade, never really excited me). Its Americanness was immaterial, extraneous, unnecessary – I just liked hanging out with my friends and family, stuffing myself and watching things explode in the sky. But now that I’m a minority in a strange, inscrutable island nation, the fact that the Fourth of July is a distinctly American celebration is suddenly crucial. I feel as though I must assert my culture against the indifferent shrugs of British hegemony!

It’s not like I’m some kind of patriot. Alright, maybe I am some kind of patriot, but I’m not the gun-totin’, Limbaugh-lovin’, “Never Forget” kind of patriot. This bit of Fry and Laurie pretty much sums up how I feel about that sort of thing:

I can’t even really say I’m proud of America, or proud to be American. I can’t take credit for the achievements of other Americans, and my nationality is mostly a geographical accident. I am also not proud of America in any political sense, although the Constitution is pretty brilliant, and this Obama character seems fairly capable. But if I’ve developed a certain affection for America, I think it is a direct consequence of my expatriation. For one thing, I’m just nostalgic for America – I miss it. I miss my friends and family, but I also miss very particular American things, like In-N-Out burgers, enormously wide roads, the LA skyline, honeycrisp apples, and cheap ska shows. So there’s that sort of homesick aspect to my patriotism, but then there’s also a defensive quality to it. America gets picked on a lot – rightly so, in most cases. But sometimes criticisms of American culture are provincially ignorant; I am reminded of those French girls I met who dismissed all American cheese as abhorrent yellow trash. (Then again, I suppose the fact that processed cheese is usually labeled “American cheese” doesn’t help our reputation.) When confronted with attitudes like that, my reaction is “Hey, wait a minute! America isn’t all bad!” But of course, what I’m really saying is “Hey, wait a minute! I like America!” or even “Don’t tread on me!”

So as I trawled the world wide web for Fourth of July celebrations in London, I was thrilled to discover an event that will let me celebrate American cultural autonomy, indulge in one of my favorite American specialties, and subvert certain misconceptions about said specialty all at the same time! I’m talking about beer, people. American beer. The White Horse, an airy, elegant, ale-centric pub in Parsons Green, is having an American beer festival this weekend, coinciding with Independence Day. They boast the largest selection of American draft beer ever seen in the UK – and while some pubs would be satisfied to fill their lineup with any number of InBev-distributed, mass-produced lagers, the White Horse has corralled an impressive lot of craft beers from across the USA. Some of the featured breweries are Stone, Flying Dog, Victory, Sierra Nevada, Goose Island, and Dogfish Head.

These are some of America’s finest breweries, and it’s exciting to have them represented in England not only because their beer is delicious, but because it provides an opportunity for Londoners to glimpse the innovation and diversity that have become hallmarks of American craft brewing. Like American cheese and American politics, American beer is misunderestimated abroad – few people are aware that the United States produces anything but Bud, Miller, and Coors. I see this festival as an exposition of beer that has the potential to change perceptions about American gastronomy, at least in some small way. I also see it as a chance to drink dangerous amounts of Stone Smoked Porter with Vanilla Beans… mmm.

American Beer Festival at The White Horse
3 July – 5 July 2009

1-3 Parsons Green
London
SW6 4UL
020 7736 2115

Though I spent almost all of high school and college consistently dreaming about moving to Japan, the specifics of my Japanophilia have changed over time. At first, I was enthralled by the general exotica of Japan as well as nerdy-yet-awesome pop cultural imports like J-pop, Super Nintendo RPGs, Pocky, and anime – I never did become a full-fledged otaku, but I love and have always loved FLCL, Cowboy Bebop, and Hayao Miyazaki movies. In college my penchant for things Japanese became more expansive yet also more focused. As I learned more about Japanese culture via classes at Occidental and trips to Little Tokyo, I became less excited by “Japan” in a broad sense, but much more excited by particular things like the aesthetic concepts of wabi, sabi, and mono no aware; art both traditional and modern by Akira Yamaguchi, Yoshitoshi Tsukioka, and Yoshitomo Nara; the literature of Natsume Soseki, Haruki Murakami, and Banana Yoshimoto; and the music of Tokyo Ska Paradise Orchestra, Plus-Tech Squeeze Box, and Pizzicato Five. And then, of course, there was the food. What started as an infatuation with the theatrical eccentricity of Iron Chef developed into a personal quest to eat and to understand as much Japanese food as I could, from humble ramen to haute kaiseki ryōri.

When I lived in Japan, it was a joy to indulge my interests on a daily basis, and I left feeling fairly satisfied with my time there. But I also came to love other things that I still pine for almost one year later. I probably won’t ever get to live in Japan again, but I do hope I get to visit at least a few more times, so I can re-experience some of the day-to-day pleasures of life in Japan.

Karaoke

Larry David had a great line in Curb Your Enthusiasm about karaoke. He called it the “third thing” that you can do after dinner: you can go to a movie, you can go bowling, or you can go to karaoke. Obviously, karaoke exists outside Japan, but in so many ways, it’s just not the same. The standard setup in America and the UK is a completely bastardized version of the Japanese original; I have no idea why people figured it would be an improvement to change karaoke from a private affair to an all-too-public one. American karaoke bars seem designed to annoy: extroverts don’t get to sing as much as they want to because there are too many people, introverts don’t sing at all for fear of public embarrassment, and just about everybody who isn’t singing gets irritated with the noise. What a bad idea! It is nothing like the sweet release of secluding yourself in a dark room with a handful of friends, drinking heartily and singing your lungs out while admiring the absurd background videos on the karaoke monitor.

Unfortunately, unless you live somewhere with a pretty large Korean population, Japanese-style karaoke boxes are hard to find outside Japan. There are quite a few in Los Angeles (mostly thanks to Koreatown), and in New York it is a budding trend. But in London it’s slim pickings – slim, expensive pickings. You’ve got to book ahead of time even for small groups (the towering karaoke complexes of Japan can almost always accommodate an impromptu singing session) and be prepared to shell out up to £20 per hour, plus loads more for drinks – an astronomical cost compared to the all-you-can-sing-and-drink deals that many Japanese karaoke joints offer for around ¥2000. Japanese karaoke is cheap, hassle-free fun, and more often than not, it isn’t the third thing at all – it’s the delightful default option for after dinner entertainment.

Convenience Stores

Like karaoke, convenience stores do exist outside Japan, but by comparison, they suck. I read something about Japanese conbini on the internet a while back that sheds some light on why they’re so awesome. They use a distribution model called “dominant strategy” that entails placing as many stores as possible in a small area, which cuts shipping costs so that they can make more deliveries throughout the day. This allows them to use less store space for storage, so they have more room to sell more stuff, and it also keeps fresh food coming into the store throughout the day. The egg sandwiches up for sale at the end of the day aren’t the same ones that were up for sale in the morning – they’re a fresh batch, or maybe the second or third fresh batch. I remember my favorite donut shop in LA was so great partly because they were in there cooking the donuts all day long – most just make their donuts in the morning and let them sit out, growing ever staler by the hour. But cooking them in smaller batches throughout the day kept them fresh and tasty – we’d even go for tipsy donut runs late at night, and the maple old-fashioneds and apple crullers were still soft and moist with a freshly-fried crispy crust. You get the same result from “dominant strategy.”

But the joy of conbini goes beyond fresh shrimp-mayo onigiri, yuzu-chicken salads, and ham-and-cucumber sandwiches; they are also treasure troves of Japanese junk food. Ordinary potato chips and candy bars don’t excite me much, but that’s just the thing – Japanese junk food is constantly changing and far from ordinary. Stocks change on a seasonal or even weekly basis – if you want that limited-edition mentaiko-tonkotsu Baby Star, that choco-melon KitKat bar, or those monjayaki rice crackers, you’ve got to act fast. I found it nearly impossible to resist the thrill of old snacks outfitted with exciting new flavors – and I’m not the only one.

Regional Specialties

Some of the new or limited edition snacks that appear on the shelves of 7-Elevens and Family Marts across Japan are based on regional foods – like Miyazaki chicken onigiri, Uji green tea chocolate, or Hiroshima okonomiyaki crisps. But of course they cannot compete with the real McCoys, and culinary tourism is big in Japan; travel agencies advertise package tours focused on food and drink, while Japan Rail offers special discounts (called “day trip gourmet” tickets) for excursions to restaurants specializing in local foods in nearby prefectures.

Maybe I was just suckered in by the marketing, but I also got caught up in the food-as-destination mindset of Japanese tourists. Whenever I vacationed in a new city or prefecture, I researched the local food and drink as much as I could before I left, and only vary rarely did this lead to food that was less than excellent (as in my disappointing experience with Kobe beef). Usually the food I found was not only delicious, but special – not necessarily something you can’t get somewhere else, but something that tastes better the context of the region, because it’s fresher, or just because it “fits” the local climate and atmosphere. A meal of Genghis Khan and Sapporo beer would be good anywhere, but sizzling-hot lamb is simply more enticing in the cool Hokkaido air, and when it comes to Japanese lagers, the fresher the better. The same goes for soba in Nagano, takoyaki in Osaka, or pork in Kagoshima. And one of the best things about train travel in Japan are the ubiquitous food souvenirs and ekiben (station bentō) that act as samplers of local dishes or ingredients – so just in case you missed out on the meibutsu while you were away, you can still enjoy them on the journey home, a nice way to consummate your trip and soften the blow of returning to normalcy.

Hospitality

On my first visit to Tokyo, the kindness of strangers made an impression on me as indelible as the neon of Shinjuku. For our first meal in Japan, my dad, a friend, and I tried to order set meals at a First Kitchen; without a word of Japanese, we pointed and gestured and struggled our way to burgers and bags of “Flavor Potatoes.” The cashier was clearly distressed by the ordeal, and yet she tried her damnedest to help us, mustering all her fractured high school English and a patience that American cashiers seem to never have even when they do understand you. Later on, an elderly woman beckoned me off a train, smiling sympathetically as she realized I had no idea I had reached the end of the line. When I visited Japan to do research and later moved there to work, Japanese hospitality continued to impress me – in fact, it often made me feel vaguely guilty, like I didn’t deserve such generosity and helpfulness.

The pleasant (but meticulously performed) politeness of Japanese clerks, bus drivers, bartenders, and waitresses was something I didn’t fully appreciate while I was there. It wasn’t until I returned to America, where rude is simply the default setting for most customer service types, that I realized bowing, keigo, and service with a smile make life just that much more livable, even if it is fake. I became so accustomed to a certain standard of courtesy that occasionally I interpreted mere disinterest as surliness. But of course formal niceties were nothing compared to how giving and accommodating my Japanese friends and close co-workers were. Even before they knew me very well, members of my taiko team and other teachers at my schools opened their homes, cars, and refrigerators to me. Though Japan was by and large an easy place to live, it wasn’t without its stresses. I could always count on the warmth of my Japanese friends to lift my spirits, and often, to make me forget that I was a foreigner.

Novelty

One of the greatest things about living in Japan is not really Japanese at all. The sheer newness of living in another country was a daily delight. On a daily basis, and without even trying, I learned new words, sampled new foods, and discovered new places. Though the Japanese language is frustrating, it was exciting to deduce the meaning of kanji compounds based on their basic parts or to follow conversations further than I ever thought possible. There was something really fun and rewarding to realize that I could read just about every sign in my neighborhood after two years living there.

And of course I had a wonderful time exploring the peripheries of Japanese gastronomy, through samples in department store food halls and faraway train stations’ souvenir kiosks. The local pride in Japan is something that has stuck with me – I’ve developed a fetish for the local, not only because regional food is usually really fresh and tasty, but because it’s new and unique. But of course, that neophilia has also led me in the opposite direction and given me a taste for the distant and alien – which is part of why I couldn’t be happier living in London. I do miss the quotidian exotica of a Japanese existence, but I don’t think I’ll go wanting for novelty anytime soon -for if I do, then I fear I will be truly tired of life.