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Posts from the ‘Asia’ Category

Shovel Time: Sushi Ya

I had a mid-life epiphany a few years ago, one that I am only coming to terms with now: I don’t actually like writing about how food tastes. Obviously, I care about how food tastes–untasty food is very upsetting–and I have the critical facilities to describe dishes for paid assignments, but I’m more naturally inclined to write about atmosphere or the hows and whys.

And honestly, taste doesn’t appear to be the motivation behind the bulk of mainstream food content anyway. Food blogs are dying a slow death because people prefer pictures over words. Well, also because people like streams of content now, not going to a zillion individual sites, which by the way, RSS feeds did perfectly (I still use them for work and sometimes pleasure). Instagram is where you show off.

Which is why I’ve turned my attention elsewhere. But allow me one last superficial update on my Japan trip that took place a full four months ago.

In 2016, I did my first Tokyo sushi splurge at Sushi Tokami. In 2017, Sushi Ya (sometimes spelled Sushiya, which is just the generic term for a sushi restaurant which makes Googling not easy). These are high-end, not normal every day sushi restaurants, but not the tier where you need to be a regular or have an in to score a reservation. Even so, you can’t make a reservation yourself because Japanese don’t like to deal with foreigners, which would get blowback in the US but somehow adds to the mythos of these specialized restaurants where you’ll easily spend a few hundred dollars per person. Also, many including Sushi Ya don’t even have websites. Good luck trying to call. I tried that at Tokami, got an English-speaker, and was told I would have to go through a hotel. Shrug emoji.

Which is why it was so mind-blowing that a party of four middle-aged women who I’m pretty certain, who were Chinese but not necessarily from mainland China, did everything you’re not supposed to do at these very rule-oriented places. I cringed when one mentioned up front that she “Didn’t want too much raw fish.” Um, in a sushi omakase meal? Then left half-eaten pieces on her plate and talked on her cell phone while sitting at the counter. You’re not even supposed to talk on cell phones on the subway! The chef (Takao Ishiyama) is relatively young, and clearly good-natured, because I was fearful that they would get thrown out. There might have been a bigger problem if there were any Japanese diners present. There weren’t. Only me and my guest and a solo man, Asian but not Japanese. (For some reason, I always assume that non-Japanese Asians in Japanese sushi bars are Singaporean because they are into food that way.) This behavior is one of the reasons why it’s hard for foreigners to get reservations and need to go through concierges as if somehow that vets out boorishiness. Believe me, I tried to use concierges from my fancy Amex and the Park Hyatt (two free nights!) to snag hard-to-get tables. I was told they no longer could help with wagyu paradise, Sumibiyakiniku Nakahara, because foreigners no-showed too many times. 

Anyway, I couldn’t even begin to recall the precise details of all of the courses. That’s the point, right? Below are the notes I quickly typed as the sushi was served. 

Bonito lightly smoked. Super rich and buttery.

Snow crab. Fresh seawater flavor.

Cod milt creamy clam chowdery

Tuna cheek. Rich but tart sauce.

Mackerel.

Botarga with rice cake. Bitter

Monkfish liver with pickles. Amazing. Foie gras.

Sea perch nodoguro

Red snapper firm mild

Wild yellowtail. Citrus tart rice strongly vinegared.

Chu toro medium fatty tuna  

O toro

Mystery tuna

Squid with hit of lime

Shrimp

Kohada shad. Firm. Maybe lightly pickled

? Green pesto Shiso scallion? Aji horse mackerels

 

? Clam?

Eel

Winter melon kampiyo

* * *

Ok, so I don’t see the winter melon and I didn’t even mention the uni or tamago. Clearly, that was an epic parade of sea creatures but I can’t even begin to convey that. That’s fine.

I’ve since eaten sushi at upscale for Queens, Daizen, Sushi Ginza Onodera, and Satsuki (above, fresh because it was just the other night) and I only feel the need to mention those in passing, which is freeing.

Sushi Ya * 1F Yugen Bldg., Chuo 104-006, Tokyo, Japan

Shovel Time: Kura Sushi

The beauty of being anywhere outside the US on Thanksgiving is that you can avoid turkey because turkey is not good, though I love stuffing, gravy, and all the accoutrements. (Well, they did have outrageously priced frozen turkey at the Carrefour in the Mall of the Emirates.) It’s one of my favorite weeks to travel, plus if you have an office job it’s two days off paid.

There is also beauty in conveyor belt a.k.a. kaiten sushi in Japan because it’s not all horrible. It was perfectly fine to eat pre-made sushi at a chain on Thanksgiving in Kyoto. This particular restaurant, which was walking distance from my Airbnb and next door to the best 99-cent (yen?) store I’ve encountered in Japan (even better than Don Quijote because the aisles were spacious and it wasn’t crowded) already had a wait even though it was early.

99-cent store haul

Most of these places aren’t terribly English-friendly (and when they call your number for a table, you probably won’t know it) but if you have basic sushi knowledge it’s easy to deduce what’s what based on the photos displayed on the laminated menus and touch screen. You can also just grab a container with different colored plastic plates as it goes by. If it’s not to your liking, it’s a pretty cheap mistake.

Bacon sushi might’ve been a mistake

You could also order noodles and cooked dishes but why would you? But then, I’ve taken to ordering fries at these places, so…

Surprises: I didn’t realize shiraki a.k.a. cod milt a.k.a cod semen was so pedestrian that you could pre-make it, send it on its way, and assume someone would pick it, since it’s more of a specialty item here. Also, monkfish liver (ankimo) is a standard offering.

When you push your empty plates down a chute at each table (at first, I was scared to do this because it wasn’t clear that the metal door was for this purpose) a video is triggered for your enjoyment and each color-coded plate is tallied and added to your bill. I guess we put away 17 plates. 

There are hundreds of locations (I had no idea) and even a bunch in California and Texas. There is, however, no cod sperm on the American menus.

Kura Sushi * 440 Ebisucho, Nakagyo-ku, Kyoto, Japan

 

Un-American Activities: Starbucks in Kyoto

Japan has no shortage of high-design Starbucks locations, some where you would have to strain to even see a logo. I’m neither a Starbucks person, nor much of a coffee snob despite growing up in the Pacific NW, the epicenter of second-wave coffee culture. Pre-ground Cafe Bustelo is my morning jam, followed by two cups of watery office coffee of unknown provenance on the days I go to the office.

But I almost always end up at a Starbucks when traveling to other countries. Mostly to gawk at any localized beverages or snacks. I was introduced to an unknown-to-me sweet, lamingtons, little Australian square cakes, frosted, and coated in coconut flakes, at a Starbucks in Hong Kong. I would always get one in the airport (it makes it sound like I regularly hit that airport; I’ve been in and out of it maybe eight times, none in recent history).

So, it was not a leap to seek out the Starbucks in Kyoto that took residence in a Taisho-era teahouse last summer. Even though there is a sign hanging beneath the shingled eaves, it would be easy to miss the Starbucks on the cobblestone path up to Kiyomizu-dera Temple, a UNESCO World Heritage site in a city lousy with shrines, temples, and Michelin stars. The wood-clad building on the corner blends into the surrounding shops stocked with more pickled things than you could ever imagine being pickled and souvenir cans of Pringles in takoyaki flavor, the octopus balls that are a regional claim to fame. (I am still kicking myself for neither trying takoyaki nor buying these Pringles.)

Look past the Japanese tourists dolled-up in rented kimonos, though, and you’ll see a slate-blue noren with the familiar mermaid marking the entrance, as well as the original racy topless, two-finned logo on an iron lantern that looks as if it has been there for more than a century but could’ve been crafted in 2017.

The interior is dim, understated, with cement floors, wood beams, and neutral tones that lend a spartan quality more aligned with an art gallery than coffee shop. Rock gardens and bamboo fountains occupy outdoor nooks. It’s genuinely a respite from the weaving mobs outside that neither favor walking on the right or the left. I don’t understand this about Japan. Even subway stations would sometimes have arrows indicating to walk on the right, which pleased the rule-lover in me, then sometimes on the left. That’s chaos.

Starbucks has a long history in the country, as it entered Tokyo, its first international market, in 1996. The Seattle-based company has added 1,303 stores since. Kyoto alone has 33.

The newer world’s biggest Starbucks in Shanghai has been grabbing recent attention among the followers of chain-related happenings. That’s all fine for more-is-more China, but they do things a little differently in Japan where hypermodernity clashes with analog traditions. The country clings tightly to phone-only reservations and a preference for cash transactions, inconveniences for digitally reliant foreigners. (Of course, you can pay by app at Starbucks in Japan..)

Upstairs, customers patiently wait on benches for their turn in one of three tatami rooms covered in the traditional straw mats and zabuton cushions for seating. There are friendly reminders to remove your shoes and low shelves to store them. No worries about anyone making off with your footwear–this is Japan, the lost and found capital, after all.

(My travel companion left his iPhone in a cab, and we got it back the next day, only with the help of a Japanese speaking friend who communicated with everyone and filled out the paperwork–did I say they like analog transactions? This amazing turn of events, spurred us to pay it forward the next day when we found a phone dropped on the sidewalk and turned it into a police station on the corner. They had to get an English-speaking translator on the phone to explain we had a right to claim any reward money as well as being reimbursed for travel to turn it in!)

Maybe in other parts of the world you might feel embarrassed for showing interest in an American chain rather than immersing yourself in authenticity, but most Japanese citizens aren’t judgmental like that. No one in Tokyo is ashamed to line up for Shake Shack or overpay for nacho fries at Taco Bell. A few gawkers were taking photos of this 100-year-old-plus structure and young women with expensive SLRs had no problem striking poses or setting up shots of pastel drinks, presumably to share on Instagram, or more likely, Line.

Perhaps not my best photo, but it does capture something essential to my character.

Blessedly, pumpkin spice has not yet infiltrated the autumnal Japanese consciousness (though they are mad for sweet potatoes). Instead, seasonal beverages included Grapy Grape and Tea Jelly Frappuccino with blobs of gelatinous black tea and sliced grapes bobbing around, Hojicha Cream Frappuccino, made from the roasted green tea, and a Christmas colored Candy Pistachio Frappuccino sprinkled with raspberry cookie crumbles. This nutty beverage might be the only treat in Japan of that pale green hue not flavored with matcha. No surprise, the glass case at the counter is a sea of green tea scones, pound cake, and doughnuts. There is no Thanksgiving buffer outside of North America so songs like “Winter Wonderland” and “Sleigh Ride,” reworked by The Platters and Earth, Wind & Fire were on rotation the fourth Thursday in November.

Un-American quirks abound, like the advertised existence of a smaller size than “tall.” It is called “short.” There are tiny thimble-sized plastic containers of milk, no self-serve pitchers, and no almond or coconut pseudo-milks (soy milk is 50 yen extra). Perhaps the most un-American thing about the Kyoto Starbucks, though, was the clientele. Westerners made up fewer than half of the customers and I didn’t hear one familiar accent.

Starbucks * 349 Masuyacho Kodaiji Minamimondori Shimokawara Higashi Irushiigawa, Higashiyama-ku, Kyoto, Japan

Shovel Time: Matasaburo

I was thinking Kobe beef might be a better thing to eat in Osaka than Tokyo since Kobe and Osaka are geographically close to each other, though I don’t know if that’s true. It might be like how I assumed there would be good Thai food in Malaysia since those two countries share a border and was sorely disappointed.

I was really tempted to try Steak Misono because it’s the original teppanyaki restaurant a.k.a. The O.G. Benihana. It originated in Kobe but is now a chain, so I thought better of overpaying for something potentially gimmicky and touristy. Also, wagyu sandwiches seem to be all the rage. Well, at least they were a few years ago and now this $180 nonsense is washing up in America. I’m curious but not that curious.

Anyway, I ended up choosing a modern yakiniku style restaurant, partially because its tagline was so irresistible: “The Beef Wonderland.” Also, you could make online reservations, an anomaly in Japan, as long as you could decipher the Google translated text.

You can order a la carte but I didn’t trust myself to pick the optimal cuts (plus, my dining companion isn’t as enamored with tongues and intestines, “horumon” in Japanese,  as I am) and I have an awful time mentally converting grams to ounces and an afraid of getting charged like $100 for a petite piece of meat, so I went with a set meal.

The show piece is dry-aged Kuroge wagyu (there is also Tosa-Akaushi, a brown cow from Koshi) which is cooked for you on the charcoal grill. The marbled piece of meat gets tended to periodically, turned, placed closer and farther from the flame, and strategically covered in foil.

I was kind of overwhelmed by the whole meal (and was spatting off and on–no, not about offal). Strangely, the meat was just a fleeting memory. I should have parsed the flavor and savored it more.

Meanwhile, other dishes are presented like wagyu tartare on toast and boiled peanuts, which I had no idea was a Japanese thing. Oh, plus smaller cuts of beef we got to grill ourselves.

The savory portion of the meal is finished with curry rice, which seemed odd as that’s a substantial dish, but was odder when we were warned it was spicy. Nothing in Japan is truly spicy so I mentally called bullshit. It really was spicy, though!

This is the point I would split a dessert if I had to but probably wouldn’t order one at all. They thought I was nuts saying we could share one, so I picked an eclair even though I wanted the sundae I had seen brought to many tables. The dining companion ordered it and turned out to not be a sundae at all. The parfait glass contained a god damn fruit pile (and soft serve). Fruit is not a dessert and there is no such thing as nature’s candy!

Matasaburo * 2 Chome-13-13 Nagai, Sumiyoshi Ward, Osaka, Japan

Shovel Time: Menkuikinya

Everyone–at least Americans–seem ramen-crazy. I like ramen, but I might like udon more. Soba? I could take it or leave it. So, I tracked down this counter that was walking-distance from one of the gazillion temples in Kyoto.

 

 Even though it was prime lunch time, there were two open spots at the far end of the counter, which was great but not so great for fat-asses sucking-in and shuffling sideways between the open foot of space between the customers’ backs and the coats hanging on the wall. (I felt better when I Google-translated some Japanese-and-Korean-language reviews that made reference to the narrow space.) I do like that there are always coat hooks in restaurants in Japan, though. 

I just ordered a simple kitsune udon because I love the sweetness of the broth and eggy texture to the big flat sponge of tofu. But the thing here, apparently, was udon with a big tuft of tempura green onion. It was a total Kyoto-style Bloomin’ Onion.

Tending to the noodles


Later on the subway, I thought I was clever for noticing the resemblance to the screens used for draining tempura to shelves for bags (I couldn’t even imagine shelves on the NYC subway). Then I started noticing food-like objects everywhere. The sponge in our Airbnb had a very tamago-like quality.

Who are you calling a baby?

Menkuikinya *112-2 Hakatacho, Higashiyama Ward, Kyoto, Japan

Un-American Activities: McDonald’s Japan EBI Filet-O

 

I’m not one of those McDonald’s nuts who has to pay a visit in any city, but it was late and the Marriott I was staying at for two nights in Osaka had a skybridge attached to the train station  with a McDonald’s on the other end that happened to be still open right as I was heading home. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity.

And the EBI Filet-O a.k.a. shrimp burger seemed to highlight the differences between American and Japanese tastes best. It’’s a classic, always on the menu, not a limited edition. Shrimp is a perfectly fine thing to make a patty out of, though this is more like a flattened croquette, crusted in panko and fried. The sauce was kind of tartar and kind of thousand island. For some reason in Japan, fried food doesn’t seem like an unhealthy choice.

These cheesy potato puffs, a.k.a. American Cheddar Potato, were part of an “American Deluxe” promotion. Less like tater tots, these were mashed potato mixed with cheese and fried. Yes, like another croquette.

Shovel Time: Bar Masuda

I am a planner by nature, leaving little to chance or happenstance on vacations. I mean, I wander, but I often already have places in mind to eat or drink in the area I’m going. I didn’t, however, research drinks in Osaka. No idea why since I had a list of bars for Kyoto, none of which I ended up going to.

While joining the early evening crowds roaming Dotonbori, I did spy an unexpected fat-fetishy hostess bar, La Potcha Potcha, which is the kind of place I wouldn’t try to enter without prior research. Maybe I could write about it? Strangely, one of the only English language articles I found about it was in Vice from a few years back and it made it sound like white guys would be turned away, and definitely no women would be permitted. I don’t know if that’s true, but as a socially anxious lady, I wasn’t bold enough to test it out. I’ll never know if this was a missed opportunity. I’m no gonzo journalist.

But just down the street, there was a stone arch marking a non-flashy bar. It just seemed right, and by accident we stumbled into maybe the best bar in Osaka, Bar Masuda.

It had just opened so we had no problem getting a seat at the long narrow bar. There was a menu, which opened to a page that I think was meant to emphasize the importance of drinking water with your alcohol.

Osaka was the land of dubious drinking claims (though I’m not saying staying hydrated while drinking alcohol is dubious).

The menu also contained lists classic cocktails by primary spirit and Bar Masuda originals. Only titles were in English, ingredients were in Japanese so the so-called classics I’d never heard of like the King’s Valley or Emerald Cooler remained mysteries. Unlike in New York (or Tokyo, though Tokyo is surprisingly less expensive on many counts than NYC) the drinks were completely reasonably priced, many in the $10-$12 range.

There was a leg of what looked like serrano ham on the counter. This was promising.

It turned out to be Kagoshima Black pig, a local specialty, served in slices with cilantro, Japan by way of Spain.

And then I noticed a bunch of enamel pins high on a shelf, one of “Uncle Tory,” the ‘60s-style Suntory mascot, that I had just bought at the Yamazaki Distillery in Kyoto.

The bartenders were also wearing a few Bar Masuda pins on their lapels. I used my Google translate app to ask the young man behind the bar if I could possibly buy one. He went and got Mr. Masuda (son of the original Masuda) himself, silver suit jacket to match his hair, to come over. And just like everyone in Osaka, though we could only communicate in piecemeal English, he was chatty and generous. He reached down under the bar and pulled out a long piece of fabric with pins attached and gave me both that I had been asking about. Normally, this would call for a nice tip but no one even accepts them.

Boiled peanuts. I had no idea this was a thing in Japan.

When the lights dimmed and a pyrotechnic show started at the end of the bar, I was convinced to switch from my simple, well-made martini to a Blue Blazer. 

The drink really isn’t more than a hot toddy with scotch–at least in the US–but this version, a Blue Blazer II, added Grand Marnier and swapped lime for lemon. It is served warm in tin cup, heated by a flame that gets dramatically transferred from one metal mug to another as the liquor is poured from a great height. This is the specialty of the house, and I say it was worth the theatrics.

Bar Masuda * 2 Chome-3-11 Shinsaibashisuji, Osaka, Japan

Shovel Time: Kushikatsuryori Katsu

There are a handful of regional specialties unique to Osaka and environs, takoyaki being the biggest one, which I completely forgot to eat. That’s crazy. I’m also still kicking myself for not buying takoyaki Pringles that every single souvenir shop was selling.

Lesser known (at least to me) is kushikatsu, a.k.a. kushiage, which is kind of tempura on sticks. It’s deep fried meat, seafood, and vegetables, so yeah, the only difference is breadcrumbs in the crust where tempura is more puffy.

This was an accidental pitstop since we were in Osaka station, just wanting a snack, but around 5pm every restaurant was packed wall-to-wall. You’d think as a near-New Yorker I’d be used to squeaking into cramped seating arrangements but Japan takes close quarters to new extremes.

This place, which had no English name (that I have since deduced with 95% accuracy is Kushikatsuryori Katsu, based on many image searches), had open seats. The menu was a little bit confusing (no English, but pictures) so I ended up picking a set meal to split rather than going blindly a la carte, so it was a little pricey (for train station food) but it came with soup, a lot of cabbage and raw sliced vegetables, and a surprise scoop of ice cream at the end. It was also a little fancier than other kushikatsu restaurants I’ve seen online as there is no communal dipping sauce.

 

I have no idea how the chef decided what to place in front of my vs. my travel companion. We just went with it.There was a prawn, a giant stalk of asparagus, ham wrapped around a giant oyster that wasn’t battered at all. The fun is kind of in the dipping sauces like hot mustard and worcestershire-heavy tonkatsu sauce, some which we were advised went with specific skewers.

The star, though, ended up being a seasoned salt that just looked like salt with maybe a grayish hue and scant dark specks. I have no clue what was in it (Googling kushikatsu salt gets you nowhere) but probably MSG because it made everything taste more savory and amazing.

I only spent two days in Osaka, but my impression was that staff, while we couldn’t communicate well, were super friendly, more so than in Tokyo or Kyoto. We ended up with parting gifts at three establishments: chopsticks at a yakitori place, enamel pins at Bar Masuda, and here, the mysterious salt blend. We were talking about it while we ate but I’m fairly certain no one was eavesdropping. Maybe everyone gets salt to take home?

This was a very exciting part of the trip.

Kushikatsuryori Katsu * 1-1-3 Shibata, Kita-ku | B2F Hankyu 3-Bangai, Osaka, Japan

Chains of Love: Ichiran

I used to get excited about foreign chains in NYC but lately I’m more indifferent. Case in point, Ichiran opened right around the time I went to Japan last year for Thanksgiving and I still haven’t checked it out and it’s almost the end of 2017. I don’t want to go to Bushwick to eat overpriced ramen, as in $19, even in a so-called flavor concentration booth. (I’d liken them more to library carrels, which I just spelled “carols” even though I’ve worked in a zillion libraries.)

Bowls of ramen are practically all under $10, even with tip, in Tokyo where novelty comes cheap and with the territory. Ichiran in Tokyo is 24 hours, you buy a ticket from a vending machine with large photo buttons kind of like a cigarette machine (you do remember those?), look for an open seat on the big electronic wall display, then proceed into a hushed room flanked by two rows of stools. You can fill out a card with preferences like degree of noodle doneness, richness of broth, garlic or no garlic, spice level, and extras and add-ins. And of course there is a red button if you want service. 

Each seating space has an individual water dispenser which is amazing. If you order a ramen that comes with a tea egg, it will be presented first in a little dish. At least I don’t think this is an appetizer as much as it looks like one. You will only see hands and lower bodies beneath the screen and once the hands place your order in front of you, they will drop the screen altogether.

As to the ramen, I never have the wherewithal to go nuts with flavor descriptions. I don’t think I’ve yet to encounter a meh bowl of ramen in Japan, and Ichiran’s was better than average. What makes it so? The tonkotsu-style broth is rich and assertive as a pork broth should be, but it’s not overpowering.  There is a balance to the amount of noodles and sliced not-that-fatty pork with just a pop of salt and heat. 

I hate to say that ramen isn’t my first choice unless I’m starving, but it tends to make me feel too stuffed and tired afterwards. I’m sensitive to carbs, though. I’m also not usually a food-sharer–in fact, I’ve been called a “food hoarder,” disparagingly– but I ended up giving some chashu and noodles to my travel companion (you can also fold the wooden walls to make a shared space). I can’t even imagine ordering extra noodles, which you can. I was the only one at group meals (even with super fitness-y women) to order a small rice instead of the standard and was the only one who didn’t finish it.

More to the point/less about my adorable eating habits: I would recommend Ichiran for the full immersive experience if you happen to be in Japan. There are 60+ locations around the country so it’s likely you’ll pass by one.

Ichiran * 3-34-11 B1F Shinjuku Shinjuku-ku, Tokyo, Japan 

Unamerican Activities: Taco Bell Japan

 

One of the most recent American fast food (re)entries in Japan is Taco Bell, and there was surprisingly little difference on the Tokyo menu from our standards. I was led to believe there was a localized shrimp and avocado burrito, which I didn’t see, and taco rice. There was beer (though we’re catching up). 

There were loaded fries (Taco Bell Japan are no racists) which I did order, though the nacho cheese was strangely low on flavor. Maybe it just needed more salt.

The biggest difference between the Taco Bells on two continents was price. Two hard shelled tacos, fries, and two Asahis cost over $20. I guess that’s the trade-off for $8 ramen that would go for $15 in NYC. There are no self-serve salsa packets, perhaps because Japanese don’t have spare kitchen drawers to store extra condiments and abhor litter. You have to specify spice level when you order.

A tacocat was posing out front, fortuitously. He (or she–the mane might’ve fooled me) was gone when we left.

P.S. A new Tokyo Taco Bell just opened today!

Taco Bell *  2 Chome-25-14 Dogenzaka, Tokyo, Japan