Hokkaido Foodist

Chicken curry with shimeji mushrooms.

Hokkaido Foodist is actually the name of a regional specialty restaurant, but I think it may also be my new political affiliation. The cafeteria-like shop is near the Yaesu entrance of Tokyo Station. It's one of many regional eateries attached to a shop--you have lunch over on one side and shop for food and souvenirs on the other. There are shop/restaurants that sell and serve goodies from Okinawa, Akita, you name it. It's like slow food meets museum gift shop. Genius!

Hokkaido is kind of Japan's Alaska--snowy weather, wide-open spaces, and plenty of salmon and crab. And you can see Russia from there! The food is a major tourist draw, along with the scenery. Observe the big plate of Japanese comfort food above. Oddly, curry is the go-to choice for cold weather as well as a summertime staple. There is just no wrong time for the mild, slightly sweet stewiness of Japanese curry. The famous style of ramen up there is a hearty miso broth, sometimes with corn and a pat of butter. A pat of butter. Just melting there casually, like, "Hey, pork soup? Sure. Throw some butter on that." This time, however, I went with a plain pork broth, which was plenty rich on its own. The noodles had some whole wheat mixed in there, giving them little spots and a nutty flavor.

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They also have sweet milk soft serve ice cream, which would be pictured here if not for the impatience of my children. Soft serve gets its proper due here in Japan. Think about it: it's the perfect ice cream texture, cold enough to hold its shape, but warm enough for the milk fat to really spread on your tongue (think of how much better cheese or chocolate is when it's room temperature), and yet it's never made with top shelf ingredients. Sorry, Mr. Softee, but the truth hurts. Years ago, I read an article about someone who was driven to rent a machine and crank out their own homemade cones at home, and I admired the obsessive drive. The sweet milk cones here are made with Hokkaido milk, for which the region is famous. It's pure, creamy bliss, and it can bring you entire minutes of silence from your children.

Stewed squid stuffed with rice. If you can hang with the Italian pasta with black ink sauce, this may just be for you.

Fres Hokkaido ramen you can whip up at home! Say it with me: "I deserve better than Top Ramen."

All kinds of lamb--even offal!

Hokkaido is also famous for its lamb. Last time I was here, the Professor ordered the Ghengis Khan bowl, which is rice covered in a layer of grilled, thinly sliced lamb. There is a theory that Ghengis was actually Japanese. I know. Why would anyone want to claim him? Two words: Mongolian barbecue. Seriously, it's kind of worth all the pillaging.

Tokyo Farmer's Market

Compare and contrast! We happened upon a little farmer's market over by Yurakucho Station on the way to Ginza. It was about a tenth of the size of the one we went to in LA, which makes sense, given the space available and the way that produce is grown, prepared, and eaten in Japan.  At a US open air market, as on our tables, it's all about plenty: the overflowing cornucopia, the bushels of fruit, the great platters of food filling a table.  In Japan, it's about small acts of perfection: the fruits and vegetables come in little bundles, oddly free of dirt, and seemingly untouched by human hands. The offerings at the stalls and yaoyas (vegetable shops) are only slightly more rugged.

Perfect little cherries, grapes, and melons--swaddled like babies.

Not the famed $100 melons--these are only about $37 each.  The single bunch of grapes are a little over $25, and the single layer of cherries in a box are about $32. I still swoon a little, but you have to think about it like a bottle of wine you bring as a gift to some one's home. Everyday produce is far cheaper (apples are about a dollar/ 100 yen a piece), but this is special. When you peel one of those black grapes (yes, they peel here) and taste that clear, green globe of sweetness that is the Platonic ideal of grapeness, it' not crazy.

Fresh apple juice from Aomori Prefecture.

It was in this mindset that I bought this juice, which was fantastic. I know. How can apple juice be fantastic? And yet it was like actually eating a fresh Fuji apple. Outside. In the sun. Wearing nicer clothes than I own. It was like the cider we used to get at the orchard in upstate New York, but brighter. Indeed, it cost more than a glass of the house red, but it yielded what you want from wine, minus the buzz--to be surprised by a taste and its power to transport you, and pleased to recognize what you suddenly remember you love, like sitting on a porch and smelling a cold apple just before you bite it.

Los Angeles

Asparagus skinny enough to make it in LA. 

Our trip to California started out in LA, where we hit the farmer's market in Torrance like it took our parking space. (No, it's not Tokyo, but now and then I take time to devour other cities as well.) I love farmer's markets, especially now that slow food has given me a political license for gluttony. We do have markets in Japan, and a few in Tokyo, but the sheer abundance of a US one is striking.

And here is Japan's vulnerable underbelly: an aging population coupled with a low birth rate AND a profound lack of Mexican and South American food. Don't get defensive, Japan. The thing is, I know you would love it if only you tried the real deal. I once didn't get Mexican cuisine. My disinterest even made me think their pyramids were a little shoddy. Then I left the east coast and it's goopy, brown, red, and yellow combo plates and had my mind blown by soft tacos, tamales, and burritos. I mean it, Japan, just recruit some serious chefs and taco truck folks on some kind of diplomatic exchange. You will thank me later. Get a load of these beauties from the market.

Papusa! Wonderful stuffed tortilla-esque little Salvadorian pancakes that call to me from across the Pacific.

Frying up papusas--you are doing God's work, ladies.

Blue corn pork tamale with tomatillo sauce. I need a moment. Ok. 

There would be shots of our meals at El Burrito Jr. in Redondo Beach, but I lacked the self-control to photograph anything before eating it down to the foil wrapping. I may have eaten a little foil, which would explain my airport security delay.

My mom also got the lowdown on a truly good deli (something I never could find when I lived in Southern California) called New York Deli 2. Pastrami? Corned Beef? Why choose? She brought home the double decker and a side of potato latkes. Unbelievable. It's another thing you just can't get in Tokyo. Sure, there are a couple of lonely Kosher joints, but the sandwiches are delicate little things on mild bread. Mom used to actually schlepp rye bread from New York to Japan for her mother about forty years ago. Mashugana for the rye and Pumpernickel, my grandma.

The slaw on this was not bad, either. 

Rich and delicate--fabulous even without the sour cream and apple sauce. 

Monster Nidra in Bulgaria recently had an "Austro-Hungarian-huge" potato pancake that made me question my desire for more and larger latkes. Question, but not relinquish. I KNOW Japan would go latke crazy, since the potato croquette is so big here. Well, popular, not Russo-Chinese big.

And of course, it's not a trip to America without a burger. The Evil Genius and Robo-Cindy grilled up a feast of grass-fed goodness, including home-grown lettuce and tomatoes, and the crispiest oven fries ever. The burgers were stuffed with cheese and bacon, which Mini Z tried to suck out of the middle. It was not an Emily Post moment, but how could I scold her for that which I would do myself?

How We Roll

The usual suspects: toro, tai (sea bream), red clam, and roe.

So we are in California for a couple of weeks, enjoying the weather and lots of home cooking. But before we leave Tokyo, we always do a mini-farewell tour of our favorite Japanese foods. It's a little like junkies who binge before rehab. My dear friend Dango-ra, who knows all and shares all, had me over her place in Tsukiji for sushi the day before departure. Her apartment actually overlooks the famed Tsukiji fish market where die-hard fans go to see the frenzy and eat sushi at cramped counters before Starbuck's even starts grinding beans.

The big lacquer boxes from Sushi Iwa arrived stacked and wrapped at her apartment.  From the market, to the restaurant, to the table was probably about five miles. And it shows up so pretty every time. As usual, it rocked the house. We must not be the only ones getting our dose of sushi before a trip abroad, because Sushi Iwa has a shop in Narita airport. Just before you go through security, you can get your last fix.

The ikura and uni were so good I feel like I should have digitized the photo.

I know some of you don't love the salmon eggs and/or the sea urchin. But maybe you need to try it in Japan. Neither the Professor nor his brother, the Evil Genius, liked it on American soil. In the US, people tend to use words like 'bitter," "strange," and "acquired taste," the last of which translates to, "I am going to discreetly spit this into my napkin now and drink sake until I forget it was ever in my mouth. I hate you." And yet, on a recent trip to Tokyo, the Evil Genius declared uni "the butter of the sea."  The fishiness that troubles people when they eat ikura is also not present in the best of it here. Instead, creamy, delicate little globes.

Amai-ebi--again with the creaminess from the sea!

Sushi nazis will get you all nervous about what to order, how to dip, when to eat the ginger. Ignore them and relax.  Dango-ra, like many Japanese, picks her sushi up with her fingers. And there is no delicate way to eat futo-maki, or "fat rolls," which was our nickname for Mini Z when she was an infant, by the way. They are so stuffed with goodies like eel, egg, shrimp, and pickled vegetables, that you just have to take bites and hope your companions are looking at their own plates. The kids love them, but it ain't pretty.

Futo-maki are just the thing when you show up hungry.

When it's all over, you stack the empty trays, tie them up in a cloth, and leave them outside your door to be picked up by the delivery guy. What could be better? And yet I can't help but wonder how fast the trays would have disappeared in our old neighborhood in Brooklyn. Oh, like you wouldn't pick one up.

Sushi trays ready for pick-up. So much prettier than those pizza boxes that pile up accusingly in the kitchen.

Hanami Picnic

Revelers at the park

On the street the other day, a gust of wind blew the flowers around us like we were in a snow globe. The season is over, but we got in a solid weekend of hanami (flower viewing) picnic fun. We went to a very small park--just a few families with kids--but other places get a little crazy, what with the huge crowds and the pop-top sake.

This is the high-end version--single serving sake goes for a buck or two at convenience stores and train station kiosks. I can't decide if that's more or less classy than a pint in a paper bag.

Should booze be this cute? And that panda is wasted.

The company picnics are a whole thing, and newly hired freshmen are often sent out into parks with giant tarps to stake out space for after work parties. Some people complain about it, but I don't get it. Send me out of the office to go hang out under the trees! It beats Starbuck's runs and jury duty (both of which I totally made work for me). I didn't have time to whip up a homemade picnic spread (cue grandparents silently judging from beyond grave), so the Professor picked up some supermarket goodies.

Fried oysters from RF1, so plump and crispy. Try them with ponzu sauce!

Son of Z scored this ridiculously tiny bento lunch.

I love fried chicken from the supermarket. Only God will judge me.

Not a picnic without edamame!

 Daigaku-imo: when you are ready to get serious about sweet potatoes.

The literal translation of daigaku-imo is "college potato," which makes no sense until you take a bite and flash back to the heady days of packing on the "freshman fifteen." These are beyond candied yams. They are actually candied, as in coated in a crunchy layer of caramelized sugar that is thick enough to resemble molten glass. I have seen them made once, and the recipe involves peeled sweet potatoes (purple outside, chestnutty yellow inside), butter, sugar, a pact with Satan, and sometimes black sesame seeds. When they are hot, they are life-changing, but even cold they blow minds.

More Blossoms!

The fleeting beauty of the cherry blossom. Is it wrong that I want to eat it?

The cherry blossom juggernaut continues to roll on through Tokyo, and I am not helping matters, folks. Every minute a seasonal item sucker is born, and that would be me. Tell me bricks are only going to be around for two weeks, and I will eat one. Fried. So when every shop on the street starts hawking sakura goodies, I'm in.

The wabi-sabi, bittersweet beauty of spring...in doughnut form.

Wait, is that a... yes, it is. It's a sakura glazed doughnut with a little flower on it. Yes, I had to know. And yes, it rocked. It may not have been hot from the fryer, (which has been scientifically proven to turn even a modest doughnut into an EMOTIONAL EXPERIENCE) but it was fresh with that slightly crisp edge and springy, moist inside that is the hallmark of a good cake doughnut. And the glaze was not overpowering with blossom. Hands down, it was the most romantic doughnut I have ever eaten, which is saying something given my idea of romance. Granted, I paid about four US dollars for it at one of Doughnut Plant NYC's Tokyo outposts, and I could have put myself into a diabetic coma with four dollars in Queens back in the day, but I am at peace with that. Because I am ready to respect the doughnut as fine pastry. And because of that thing I mentioned before about being a sucker.

Jellies with flowers and butterflies suspended inside. Somewhere, a pineapple Jello mold weeps.

Under all that cream, sakura chocolate petals, and petal-shaped berries is the softest sponge cake ever, layered with berries and more sakura cream. Zen restraint is overrated.

The cakes and parfaits may not be traditional either, but don't hate. The jelly roll you remember from the shoddy supermarket bakery--the sticky yellow cake that looked like it was rolled by a carnie with one hand working the cotton candy spinner--has been reborn in Japan as something impossibly light and delicate. So, too, have puddings and jellies (made here with plant-based gelatin, not Seabiscuit) been restored to their former glory.

The array of things to whip up at home is endless, too. I made it home without the salt and the rice, but I think I will be back for the jam, which has petals in it and makes a lovely hot drink when you add water. So glamorous--the kind of thing I would put on my J. Lo-esque contract rider. You know, white sofa, Diptyque candles, and cherry blossom jam tea in my dressing room. And no one looks me directly in the eye.

Sakura salt

and rice!

Sakura jam/tea--very post-Cosmopolitan.

Happy Easter!

No relation.

Really, I don't know which one looks more smug. The Peep is contraband from a visitor's suitcase.  The tall one with the tan is a hiyoko, meaning chick, a souvenir sweet I remember well from childhood.  I love the minimalism, the blank expression that, like the Peep and Hello Kitty, conveys unearned superiority. The outside has that brown-crust-of-the-pound-cake flavor, and the inside is white bean.  I just read that there's some supplement made of white bean extract that keeps your glucose level from shooting up, science, science, science, and thus keeps you from getting fat.  So the Japanese are eating it in their goodies, and tossing their heads back, laughing over their low rates of obesity, heart disease, and cancer.  You win this time, Japan.

Homemade butter cookies

Easter is not much of a thing here in Tokyo, which makes it a little tougher to stock up on goodies, but also kind of sets you free.  You can reinvent the holiday free of commercial influence, secular symbolism, even sugar.  Ok, that last part was creepy and I take it back.