Random

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Hanami Lunch

A friend and I stopped into Shinjuku Gyoen for lunch yesterday. We found a spot under a tree with big draping branches, so it felt like we were inside a sakura-lined fort. Every so often, someone would duck in, say hello, wander by. We ate sakura mochi and drank tea like two civilized ladies.

[husband editor’s note: While Ang was being a fancy lady, she used her hanami placemat – coincidentally, on sale now on Esty – while her doting husband dined on two-day-old sushi at home.]

This is probably the cutest thing I have ever made. I am both ashamed and proud.

Hopefully we’ll get to hanami again. It’s fleeting!

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A Hanami Lunch

A friend and I stopped into Shinjuku Gyoen for lunch yesterday. We found a perfect spot under a tree with big draping branches, so it felt like we were inside a sakura-lined fort. Every so often, someone would duck in, say hello, wander by. We ate sakura mochi and drank tea like two civilized ladies. [husband editor’s note: she tried out her hanami placemat – coincidentally on sale now at Etsy – for the first time, while her doting husband dined at home on two-day-old sushi.]

This is probably the cutest thing I have ever made. I am both ashamed and proud.

Hopefully we’ll get to hanami again. It’s fleeting!

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Pink is the color of my White Day.

Today was White Day in Japan. Because I’m a bit spoiled, I got these:

A messy desk with fabric thrown over the piles of craft seconds as a photo studio. See Dan? there is a method to my madness.

Those macarons were amazing. Are they always? I have no idea. I usually opt for fruit tartlets, or dark chocolate with salty bits, or pie. But these macarons were ridiculously good. I didn’t shove them all into my mouth at once, even though I thought about it. I really did.

White Day is March 14th, the day when men who received chocolates from their lady friends a month ago are suddenly faced with an awkward and stressful dilemma: to return the favor and possibly send the wrong message (too much! not enough!), or pretend they forgot and hide under the desk all day.

While White Day was maybe a little stressful for Dan (many coworkers, many awkward moments), it was darn good to me. I left class with a sugar rush and a pocket full of Melty Kiss.

Not to mention, I had my classy snack set waiting for me at home.

My fancy pink teacup, a raspberry macaron, and my newest sashiko kit (coming soon!), a sakura-covered picnic mat. It was a very sweet day.

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Snowkyo ❅

It was a snowy day in Tokyo.

Most people here carry umbrellas when it snows, but my proud Minnesotan roots won’t allow it. I love when the snow hits my eyelashes.

But today’s snow was wet and thick, and 10 minutes after I left the house I was soaked. So I gave in and pulled out my flimsy pocket umbrella.

Two blocks later, a giant ice bomb fell from a nearby building and landed on my umbrella, destroying it.

I cursed the umbrella for its usefulness.

I still feel a little smug in my snow boots. You can’t beat me there, Japan.

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Setsubun

As I mentioned in my New Years post, I went back to school. So far it has been great: Class is a challenge, but not too hard. Homework is enjoyable. I’m meeting funny new people, and they’re Korean and we’re forced to talk to each other in Japanese. I’m loving it.

They like Stevie Wonder and I like grilled meat, so we have a mutual respect for one another. We can’t say much, but friendship is more than words. Friendship is also teaming up against your teachers to pelt them with beans.

Friday was Setsubun 節分 in Japan, and being a student means I get to experience all holidays with the enthusiasm (and comprehension) of a 5 year old. Setsubun is the welcoming of Spring and the casting out of all things bad. According to tradition, you can keep the demons out of your house by throwing roasted soybeans at them out the door while singing おにはそと！ふくはうち！“Oni wa soto! Fuku wa uchi!”

♫  Get out you bad things! Welcome in, good luck!  ♫

Another Setsubun tradition is to eat a giant makizushi roll while facing the year’s lucky direction. A compass is printed on the packaging to help you out.

We did our part, throwing beans and eating our lucky makizushi. Good thing, because I’ll need that luck for my test on Monday.

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2012

Happy New Year everyone! あけましておめでとうございます！

2012 snuck up on me. I was so busy planning the end of 2011, that I forgot 2012 came next. 2012, you dirty little dog! Name-calling is probably a bad start.

I’m not big on resolutions, but I am big on to-do lists. I LOVE to-do lists and make one every day. I love crossing things off and adding things willy nilly, copying things from yesterday onto today’s list just so I can cross them off again. It’s not cheating.

Instead of resolutions for 2012 I’ve decided to come up with a list of measurable goals, like a to-do list. And in the spirit of accountability, I’ve decided to post some of them here. Having all you watching me is bound to guilt whip me into shape. So, for 2012 I plan to:

  • Cook 12 new recipes, one per month.
  • Read 5 books. This seems low, and I thought about hiking up the number to look smart but then remembered this list is about achievable goals, so 5 it is. Even if I have 7 in my pile. And no, the Hunger Games trilogy I read over Christmas doesn’t count. But maybe Swamplandia!, which I started just after Christmas does.
  • Visit 6 new places. Cities or countries, it doesn’t matter. And walk around these places without a map.
  • Make a quilt for myself, for fun.
  • Have a conversation with a stranger in Japanese.

I’m feeling a little bit cocky about starting on my list, since today I found a new recipe via my friend’s blog and I start my full-time Japanese classes. That’s 5 days a week, baby! I even have a new backpack, fresh notebooks, and an erasable pen for the occasion.

2012, bring it on.

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Noodles Mess With My Head

A ramen shop destroyed a dream today.

Ramen Jiro is one of Tokyo’s more famous ramen chains. The original shop is just a few minutes away from my apartment, but I have never gone in the year and half we’ve lived here.

I never wanted to wait in the shop’s long line, so I did the only sensible thing and talked about the shop like a grandmother watching the squirrels outside of her window:

“Oh, pretty good line today. That’s at least an hour and half wait.”

“Oh, it looks like they ran out of noodles today. Did they get a new cook?”

Ang normally nods, and says something sweet like, “You know, you could just go there sometime, dum dum.”

What Ang failed to understand was that I had turned Ramen Jiro into Holy Mount Ramen. I was never hungry enough to appreciate the notoriously large portions or didn’t have enough time in the afternoon to relax in a ramen-infused daze. It had to be right, which sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud, but so does any word if you say it out loud long enough. Shark. Shark. Shark. Shark.

Yesterday, everything lined up perfectly. I woke up at noon, hungover and starving – living the dream! – and decided to call it a day right there. I cleared my non-existent calendar and to-do list. “If I can put on pants, leave my apartment, and stumble to Ramen Jiro, I can count this day as a success,” I thought.

I waited in line at Ramen Jiro for over an hour. I’m pretty sure the smirks of passersby were smirks of respect and not smirks that said, “Look at those grown men standing in line for a bowl of noodles.” Still, I was feeling good about my plan, because I was having a memorable experience, and then at the end I’d get to eat delicious ramen.

The line wrapped around the tiny, triangular building. Lots of teenagers in school uniforms coming from Saturday class, and lots of adults taking full advantage of the time they are given on this earth. I was starting to get hungry by the time I got to the front of the line and I didn’t like the way the guy in front glanced back at me. To be fair to him, I don’t think he was actually looking at me, but point-counterpoint, I was ready to hunt down his family and eat all of their faces off. Maybe that was just the low blood sugar talking. Jesus, I hope it was just the low blood sugar talking.

No matter, I was finally getting to try this ramen that dominates every English language article about ramen in Tokyo. Go on, try to find an article that doesn’t mention Ramen Jiro. I’ll wait.

Let’s draw this out some more. I’ve loved ramen since my Oriental-flavored Maruchen days…Oriental-flavored! I looked past dated, possibly racist phrases for packs of dried ramen. And now I live in Tokyo, the best ramen in the world (Sorry, China). And now I’m getting to eat at the famous Ramen Jiro. I was still hungover – living the dream! – but was a happy man when I sat down.

Ramen Jiro is a tiny shop, and you have to politely shove your neighbor’s face into his soup to get to your seat. They have a reputation for big portions, garlic, and a broth that’s practically gravy. People go nuts over it.

But when I sat down, all I saw was a giant vat of gurgling gray pork mess. The ramen chef had a tub of pork meat, and would occasionally pull out a hacked-off piece of cooked pig. The fat slid down his arms. All of his fingers were heavily bandaged. I took a sip of water to stop thinking about what his fingers looked like under those grease-trapping bandages.

I love Tokyo’s ramen shops, and I’m familiar with boiling vats and grease, but Ramen Jiro looks more like a dare than a beloved shop.

Is it possible for food to be ragged? The chef set a massive bowl on the counter in front of me. Torn cabbage, torn bean sprouts and slabs of meat still clinging to other parts of the pig spilled over the sides of the bowl.

It tasted like pig. Not pork, or chashu, but the essence of pig. It was gross, and I felt gross for being there. And goddamn it, why did that guy keep looking back at me?! Uh oh, might not be low blood sugar.

I shuffled home defeated and with a cholesterol level a few points higher. The sun was starting to go down, and the night’s chill was setting in. The fat from the broth that I had gotten on my fingers started to congeal. The ramen was taking me to a dark place. Am I wrong about all the things I thought I loved? How many times have I convinced myself I liked something that was actually awful? God, my haircut is stupid.

“Is ramen stupid?” I asked myself. Just then, in the window of the convenience store I saw the newest edition of a ramen magazine I like. It was a sign. Just because one ramen shop was disappointing, it doesn’t mean I have to stop seeking out new places. Also, I have really, really small goals.

Then I had to quicken my shuffle to a stride to get home, because of pork fat physics.

Ramen Jiro: Mita 2-16-4, Minato-ku

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Gratesgiving

I tried to explain Thanksgiving to a Japanese acquaintance.

“So the Indians and Pilgrims were having a party?”  … “Hmm, sort of,” I replied.

“So you have a party to celebrate the party?” … “Eh, I guess. Sort of.”

“You shove the stuffing WHERE?!” … “I suppose it is a little gross when you think about it that way…”

Celebrating American holidays in Japan is a little strange. The holidays are often acknowledged, though the interpretation is a little off, like you’re looking at the holiday through kaleidoscope glasses. But Thanksgiving flies under the radar. Japan jumps right from Halloween to Christmas, so I was delighted when some friends offered to host Thanksgiving dinner.

I love to cook the whole meal — preparing everything from scratch, of timing it so it’s all hot at the right moment, of baking pies and then eating pies and then having pies and stuffing for breakfast. But this year we did something I thought I’d never do. We had it catered. Martha Stewart would be so ashamed. Well screw you, Martha Stewart.

Our friend Miri (who I met at this time last year) cooked our dinner, and it was amazing.

Photos of food at Thanksgiving dinner are always kind of gross, with their heaps and gravies. You’re welcome.

The gathering was also fantastic. Friends from the States, Japan, Australia, and the UK made fun of jellied cranberries and told inappropriate small pox jokes over turkey gravy and plates of pie. At about the 4th bottle of wine we decided our day-before-Thanksgiving gathering should be called Gratesgiving. Those Brits always have to do their own thing.

It also happened to be my birthday. A great day for a Gratesgiving.