NoahstillinTokyo: Denkushiflori

 Hey all,

(seems like a weird way to start a post nobody will ever read, but this is the easiest way for me to keep track of this if I want to look it up later)

Erm, yes, as the parenthetical implies, I'm writing this up only for my own records, rather than keep it as scribbles in my notebook.  Just seemed like a convenient place to put it where it will be accessible for me.  If you have come across this for any other reason, uhh, I guess you can enjoy a discussion of a meal you didn't eat that doesn't contain any pictures?  (pictures are lame)

So yup, Denkushiflori.  The brianchild teamup of the chefs behind Den and Florilège, #3 and #7 on Asia's Top 50 2020 (and the highest ranked Japanese and French restaurants, respectively, make of that what you will).  The "theme" they settled on was kushi, or bamboo skewers, and ever dish except the dessert was centered around it.  While this is certainly an aesthetic choice, it is also simultaneously a whimsical note to tie everything together and somewhat of a driving force behind the creation of the menu and the cooking methods.  They bought into the concept, the highest possible form they could imagine of things cooked on skewers.  And it worked

That said, the other theme that was resoundingly present was that of duality.  Whether intentional or not (though with these guys, I highly doubt anything on the menu is unintentional), the dishes had contrasting elements deliberately playing off of each other.  No dish had a single flavor without a contrasting flavor to balance it, and while individual elements can be classified as "a French take on a Japanese dish" or "French techniques with Japanese ingredients" or whatever, each dish (let alone the course as a whole) contained so much as to defy categorization so easily.  But I'll try, I guess, as I keep typing

The décor was modern Japanese, with dark walls and dark wood, but with a modern shape--nothing but straight lines and right angles, giving the space a clean finish.  The soundtrack was quite predictably lounge-style covers of Western pop songs (it's a thing at fine dining restaurants in Tokyo, I've come to accept that) from "Here Comes the Sun" to "Like a Virgin" to "Californication"--the version of "Killing Me Softly" only had the female vocalist, but I hummed "one time, one time" under my breath, I don't think anyone noticed.  The food, as I said, was superb

The first course started out exactly as they mean to proceed:  A boudin noir (blood sausage) lightly breaded in panko and fried, although not at all oily.  It was served alongside Aomori apples sliced paper-thin and marinated in sweetened vinegar as a play on pickled ginger and an artful dollop of very spicy mustard.  It worked out precisely as you'd expect, with the decadent richness of the sausage cut by the apple, and nose-clearing jolts of mustard clearing the palette every bite.  The pairing was a glass of Brut, because of course it was, if there hadn't been a pairing that's what I'd have ordered anyways.  Rich to start the course, but they decided not to pull any punches and I thank them for it

Second was what I've seen is often highlighted as one of the features of the menu:  A iwashi namatsukune, grilled to perfection, set alongside a chicken liver mousse.  Salted kelp and lemon powder on the mousse brightened it while also tying it to the fish--we were instructed that we were allowed to eat them either separately or together.  I wish the English language had better words to describe this stuff, because while the word "rich" applies to both the sardine and the mousse, somehow they were different types of richness, complimentary and forming a sum greater than their parts.  The pairing as well was absolutely fascinating, as the hostess brought me a glass of Tuscan white.  While it was a delightful wine that I would gladly drink by the carafe, I was surprised that they chose something so dry (again, not complaining, I love dry white wine)--I was expected something much sweeter to set off the mousse.  And then, sure enough, the second drink pairing arrived, a cocktail combining Okinawan citrus and vodka.  Top to bottom, they put thought into the disparate elements of this dish coming together.  Absolute masterclass

(side note, but amusing to recall, I took one smell of the cocktail and asked, <is this sweetened with Cointreau?>.  The hostess laughed like I'd done a magic trick and told me I was correct.  I just demurred politely, まあね.  The "trick" of course was just that I had already been musing that the dish needed a drink slightly sweet to cut the mousse especially, and that these were chefs, not cocktail bartenders--so given the French influence on the menu and assuming they'd go with the simplest choice, Cointreau was a pretty easy guess for their choice of sweetener.  Part of the secret to get people going, "wow Noah, you know so many random things!" is that I just pass of educated guesses confidently--if I'm right, I look like a wizard; if I'm wrong, oh well everyone makes mistakes)

(another side note, these first two dishes were served on the same plates:  Pure white, perfectly circular, completely flat.  I assume this was a deliberate choice specifically calculated to make my mother in particular worried, dishware fanatic that she is.  Don't worry, Mom, they brought out far more interesting dishware for the subsequent courses)

The third dish was a surprise:  Bouillabaisse, completely oldschool style.  The traditional orange-pink color, and even though this was a fancy restaurant that could have served a perfectly clear refined broth, they brought it out with the proper cloudiness (cuz, you know, the boill-ed it and then abaisse-d it).  It was warm and decadent with just a hint of saffron and I can only imagine how many exotically delicious types of fish involved, with just a few drops of bright green scallion oil.  Rather than the toast, they served it with skewered and grilled ebi-imo (lit. shrimp-potato, no actual shrimps were involved in the making of this taro root that just happens to be the shape of a shrimp) which had the perfect little crispness of a grilled (probably deep-fried first) potato on the outside and warm but dense taro texture on the inside.  But bringing it back home, yes, they served it with a completely traditional rouille, just a little thicker than a mayonnaise and so good I licked the spoon when nobody was looking.  Yet, my favorite part of the dish was the pairing--they paired the most classically French dish on the menu with a glass of nihonshu, just to fuck with us.  And obviously it worked, everyone knows that nihonshu is criminally underrated and belongs on any pairing list to go with seafood of any preparation.  Well done, very well done

The fourth dish brought it down a little bit back to more predictable territory, certainly not in a bad way:  Ganmo (uhh, tofu cake, I guess?  There's not a good way to translate how tasty this traditional Japanese dish is) skewered, grilled, and with a few dollops of lemony mayo.  It was served on a bed of shredded carrots which you just knew were going to be lightly pickled with a touch of curry, and that's exactly what you got.  But the care with which they assembled this dish shone through in every aspect, from the masterful touch necessary to make a simple food like ganmo, to precision with which the chefs tweezered pieces of thyme onto the nest of carrots (I was sitting right in front of the final staging area, which was amazing--I asked what my seat number was so that I can request it next time I go).  But, lest anybody think that they were getting too traditional, the pairing was a tequila highball, just a nice silver tequila and soda.  Bright and effervescent, this whole dish was a palette cleanser that led into the final round

The fifth dish was what most would consider the main, and it was an absolute treat:  Grilled squab and botan ebi, skewered squab-shrimp-squab and grilled over charcoal.  The squab was a bit dry, as squad usually is, but still hahahaha obviously I'm kidding, it was moist and absolutely delicious.  Ruby red and just a touch sweet from the miso marinade, the squab was perfection and the soft texture paired perfectly with the soft snap of each bit of shrimp.  They pulled out all the stops on this one, with a dollop of pigeon liver mousse (amazing) and green onion sauce (how did they do it, I accept I will never know).  Not only that, but the served it with a cup of handmade pasta served in a pigeon broth, a nod to the chef's (the two master chefs' protégé) background in Italian cuisine.  Looking like a cup of soba bust tasting like the perfect pasta in brodo, it rounded out a dish that felt like a high-wire balancing act of stumbling from one amazing bite to the next.  Oh and with a rosé from Hokkaido of all places to stand up to the squab, blend with the shrimp, and brighten up the pasta . . . I already used the word "perfection" in this paragraph but it's hard to think of any other words

The sixth dish was fun:  A warm egg custard, cooked French-style, with a turnip purée on top.  Though French in conception, this was quite obviously a chawan mushi, traditional Japanese steamed egg custard.  The kushi on this was fascinating, a ball of buffalo mozzarella (obviously house-made, with a wonderful texture you don't get otherwise) placed gently into the cup.  Warm and creamy and perfect, this dish was just giving you a hug as we meandered to the final bit of the meal.  The pairing was a crisp and clean nihonshu from Kyoto, which just put a smile on my face.  Because that's what that dish was about

The seventh dish, and final savory dish, was the one I sheepishly admitted to the chef was my favorite:  The clay pot rice.  At Den (and at most high-end Japanese places) the final dish of the course is always some kind of rice dish, usually this style of clay pot rice with whatever the chef can create.  I'm a simple guy at heart, and a no matter what else is put in front of me, there's a good chance that the bowl of rice will be the highlight.  Although when the bowl of rice has chunks of duck breast braised in red wine and the finest green onions out there mixed into it, and is topped with a softboiled egg (marinated in soy sauce and then skewered and grilled) . . . I'm not at all ashamed to admit that I'll be dreaming of that dish.  Let me say it again.  Clay pot rice, cooked to an al dente that preserved each grain distinctly, with chunks of duck and green onions and a egg yolk gently spreading across it . . . and a big glass of a very full-bodied red wine.  Yes.  I could eat that every day of my life.  For breakfast.  I'm not at all ashamed

And finally, dessert:  They call it a pudding, but it's a flan in the finest sense.  I don't typically like sweet things all that much, and it was like they designed this dessert just for me.  A firm texture on the flan and not too much sugar, covered in a deeply bitter burnt sugar syrup and whipped cream infused with sencha (with a few leaves on top, for good measure).  This dessert was deeply, aggressively, audaciously bitter in its accents, and after the full course of rich and decadent savory dishes, it was exactly how I wanted it to end.  Plus a nice glass (ok I had a few) of roasted green tea.  And there we had it.  Stuck the landing, of course

And so.  I'm typing this up at home, enjoying a glass or two of some very nice whiskey that I drink when I'm feeling like the evening deserves a nice whiskey.  This evening deserves a nice whiskey

This was an ambitious project.  Their stated goal was to do something fun and accessible, bring some fine dining to everyone in the midst of a tough year, and just enjoy themselves.  Between the menu and the price point (no really, all told it was less than $150 including the drink pairing, which at 4,500yen for 8 drinks is shamefully good value.  I told the chef that he was not charging enough for the drinks, but I hope he doesn't listen)

I'll probably head back in the springtime for their new menu ;)

Noah out

NoahinSapporo: Hankouji Sawada

Hey Everybody,

It's been a while, hasn't it?  Welcome to a one-time revival of my old blog.  Last month, I took a trip up to Hokkaido to visit family, and while I was there I had one of the best Japanese meals of my life.  In Sapporo, I visited Hanakouji Sawada, which recently got awarded its 3rd Michelin Star (amusingly, chatting with the chef, when he got the letter from the Michelin Guide he was worried that it was to let him know they were downgrading him from 2 stars only 1 . . . he was as surprised as anybody that it was an upgrade instead).  They're not pretentious, they're not even that fancy, but everything they do, they do perfectly

Everything is calculated, everything is calibrated.  I remember laughing out loud as I watched one of the chefs go to the steamer trays (checking the thermometer and adjusting the heat to make sure it was at the right temperature) to remove not any food, but simply the dishware used to serve another dish--every aspect of the meal is decided down to the very degree of the plate on which it is served.  And, well, that's the kind of care that shows

I still don't have a camera (part of the reason I stopped updating this thing), sorry.  So while I can't show y'all pictures (and the food was, you know, come on--it's high-quality Japanese food so of course it was incredibly beautiful.  Ugh), the next best thing I can do is try to describe it to you.  This is obviously going to be way too long for a facebook post, and this blog is the only venue I have in which I can do my inadequate best to try to share this meal with you all.  Thanks for reading

This is the experience you get at a world-class Japanese restaurant.  Made me proud to be Japanese



Hankouji Sawada is located on the third floor of a nondescript building that wouldn't be out of place in Seattle's International District (all of you reading probably have different go-to comparisons for a slightly seedy commercial district, that one's mine).  It started pouring as I got off the train, and the walk from the station to the restaurant got me soaked, so I ducked into the stairwell to at least change into a dry collared shirt--and yup, linoleum stairs with a metal rail and fluorescent lighting.  Certainly not the kind of building you'd expect to find a restaurant of this caliber.

Fine, you can have some photos to look at.  I stole this one from Tabelog, i.e. Japanese Yelp

Inside, on the other hand, is exactly what you'd expect.  The restaurant is quiet, just a few private rooms and a 5-seat counter overlooking the open kitchen.  When I was there, at 7:30 on a Saturday night, the staff outnumbered the customers (I counted 5 servers, 2 dishwashers, and 4 chefs).  They were pleasant and polite, greeting me and whisking away my soaking wet jean jacket and backpack.  And yes, if you're familiar with the Japanese aesthetic, you can picture exactly what the decor looked like--simple unadorned wood, one piece of calligraphy on the wall, and an alcove containing an arrangement of a single flower.  Really, that's exactly what I felt from the start to the finish of this meal--the purest distillation of the simplicity on which Japan bases its sense of beauty and skill, in every conceivable presentation thereof

I got to sit at the counter, and spent most of my meal enjoying the show in the kitchen, as the chef/owner's station was literally within arm's reach for the entire meal.  The service was impeccable but friendly (the staff kept looking at my notes over my shoulder, my tiny bilingual scrawl, and laughing).  For readers concerned with technical details in the kitchen, it was a pretty basic setup:

• One person on pantry, who I swear looked like she was barely out of high school, if even (she later told me that she just started in April--she's living the dream);
• One person bouncing between supporting pantry and the hot stations, ditto looked to be 25 at the oldest, that's me being generous (The chef later told me that that's his son!  He says he's not sure if he wants to take over this restaurant or open his own);
• The sous chef, working both saute and grill, touches of gray at his temples (as is tradition for sous chefs, only once in two hours did I see anything even resembling a smile on his face--which was when I learned that he grew up in the same small town my family is from, so I told him I'd be hopping on the train after the meal and I was planning on visiting the local favorite fried chicken shop.  He grinned at that.  I mean, it's really good fried chicken); and
• The chef/owner, mostly in charge of plating (in contrast with the sous, he was never without a smile--and why shouldn't he smile??  He's one of the best in the world at his chosen craft, and he knows it)

These four worked in near-silent cooperation, putting an equal level of care into my individual dishes as they did into the trays they filled with rounds of dishes for the private room of 6 people.  Each course timed perfectly so that I never felt rushed and never had to wait.  What I'm trying to say is, yeah, they know what they're doing.  Here's what I ate:

The first course was ikura, for which Hokkaido is rightly famous.  It was served on a mountain potato cake, with a gluey texture and subtle sweetness.  The barest garnish of numbing sancho leaves and aggressively citrusy yuzu rind kept the whole dish bright, and the dashi jelly tied it all together.  The choice of nothing but soft textures was a surprising one (reinforced by the uniform temperature, cool but not cold), and yet the lack of distraction highlighted the unbelievable quality of the ikura--each distinct salmon roe had a firm texture that resisted for just a fraction of a second before bursting with primordial briny goodness.  And yet, strangely enough, the unexpected star of the dish was the dashi jelly--echoing the flashes of brine from the ikura, it held up for the barest moment before melting on the tongue and releasing the savory dashi flavor.  The kind of dish I can conceive of but will never have access to the ingredients or the technique to balance out so perfectly.  So uhh, yeah, that's how we started

The second dish was a fried set.  Interestingly enough, the tempura ingredients were served piping hot, while the dry-fried ingredients were served at room temperature.  Contrast in flavors, textures, and temperatures is a hallmark of Japanese fine dining, making each bite a separate little joy.  The kabocha pumpkin tempura was predictably excellent, the dry-fried ginkgo nuts were perfect little bits of autumn flavor, but the clear rockstar of this dish was the corn tempura--which, at the end of summer when I was there, was at its peak of sweetness.  Rather than separate kernels mixed into a fritter, the corn had actually been delicately sliced off the cob into a little 2"x2" square of batter-fried corn goodness.  You could pick it up with your hands and take a bite like a cracker, not that I would do such a thing (I absolutely did such a thing).  No dipping sauce or anything like that, just a touch of salt to accentuate this presentation of the top-quality produce that everyone in Japan associates with Hokkaido

The third dish was in many ways the highlight--kegani crab, perfectly in season, a few pieces of the legs and a generous portion of the body meat: Steamed and chilled so cold it hurt my teeth; served with nothing but a wedge of lemon and a small dish of rice vinegar into which they had blended a touch of dashi to make a lightly flavored savory dip that I would literally be willing to drink by the bottle.  Hokkaido people are justly proud, belligerently so, of their crab.  As someone who grew up in Seattle, I like to think I know a little bit about crab myself.  And wow.  Wow.  The crab started off as cold as possible, and the flavors changed and the sweetness developed as I slowly savored the generous portion.  And of course, as I consult my notes, one of the only ones I made on this was "texture perfect.  Duh".  Some of the best chilled crab I have ever eaten--and if you know how special that dish is to me, you know that's saying something.  Wow

The fourth dish, I mean, how do you follow up that crab?  Only one way:  Their signature dish.  This is the dish mentioned in the Michelin review, the one that is always on the menu.  Two cylinders of eggplant, delicately roasted and skinned--and then of course finished with a massive blowtorch, you can tell the pantry chef enjoys that part.  After that, the chef carefully spoons on a portion of white miso sauce, and then tops it with ocean-fresh uni.  Three ingredients (ok fine, with the understanding that the miso sauce contains like a dozen ingredients, but still), one warm, one room temperature, and one served chilled.  For the first, I carefully used my chopsticks to try a bite of easily the best uni I had all trip (and if you know me, you know I spent the next two days eating uni at every single fish market in Sapporo and Otaru--but I never tasted a bite as good as this one).  Rich, tender, and like everything good from the ocean condensed into one absurdly flavorful bite.  Next, the miso added a touch of sweetness that amplified the natural flavor of the uni, rather than hiding it.  And then the warm eggplant added a comforting blanket to bring everything together.  I savored the entire first piece tiny bite by tiny bite, trying to make it last and interspersing it with sips of sake.  The chef humored me, but when it came time to tackle the second one he laughed and said, <ok, this one you have to eat in one bite>

Yes, yes, it's their signature dish so you guys can have a photo to look at.  Also stolen from Tabelog

<One bite?  Seriously???>  <Yup, one bite.  Enjoy.>  Decadence.  Sheer and utter decadence

The fifth dish was simmered kinki rockfish in a clear broth, served on a singe piece of simmered daikon and garnished with a generous pinch of shredded green onions.  Fatty and juicy, kinki is only found in the Northern Pacific, and because of fishing limits its become a serious luxury in recent years.  This piece was beautiful red and white with the slight rainbow sheen to show its supreme freshness.  Cooked so that it flaked perfectly at the touch of chopsticks, yet held a firm texture, the sweetness paired beautifully with the simple daikon and bite of fresh green onions.  And yet, to be honest, after coming in from the rain, it was the warm broth that truly suffused me with happiness and comfort.  The clearer and simpler the broth, the harder it is to make.  Suffice to say, these guys know what they're doing.  Oh, and this is as good a place as any to point out that of course the dishware was gorgeous--in this case, elegant black lacquer with a golden (gold) wave pattern splashing across it.  You probably didn't need me to tell you that

The sixth dish was the sashimi set.  Oh yes, the sashimi set.  Maika (squid), crosshatched literally by the millimeter in a wholly unnecessary concession to making squid easier to eat, since this piece was so soft and buttery that it would have been easy to bite even without the hatching.  Botanebi (shrimp), so fresh that it had almost no fishy flavor, just a delicate saltiness that seemed deliberately evolved to accentuate the unbelievable sweetness.  Tsubugai (erm, type of clam, similar to geoduck), which was actually almost crunchy in texture, to the point that I worried that I was making too much noise chewing inside the quiet restaurant--which sounds weird, I know, but you have to trust me it was amazing.  Obviously, I never expected to get through a formal Japanese meal without a sashimi plate, but this generous set (two super giant pieces of each) blew away my expectations.  Hokkaido is famous for it fish, and this restaurant is going to make sure that nobody leaves without knowing why.  And of course, I followed the chef's instructions:  salt only for the maika, my choice of either salt only or a slight touch of shoyu for the botanebi, and shoyu with a touch of fresh wasabi for the tsubugai.  Exquisite

The seventh dish was hokke mackerel marinated in miso and charcoal grilled.  The miso was incredibly subtle, never overpowering the fish but enough to bring out the savory flavor.  The fish was fatty by the skin, but faded to a firm texture elsewhere.  Served with nothing but lightly steamed turnip and two pieces of simmered kelp, this dish was supremely Hokkaido-style in its execution.  Interestingly, the fish was so bold as to be almost meat-like in both texture and flavor, with a generous bite and a satisfying richness which was welcome even after the 6 previous courses.  Oh and the owner's son, #3 or maybe #4 in the kitchen, actually got to grill it himself!  By which I mean he got to stand there constantly fanning the coals to keep them at the right temperate, glancing every few seconds at the sous chef to make sure he was doing it right.  In turn, the sous was a foot and a half away at the stove, stone-faced but clearly keeping an eye on the kid.  Hey, it came out delicious, I think he did a good job

The eighth dish surprised me--shark's fin hotpot, in a traditional (stunningly executed) dashi-mirin-shoyu broth.  To be honest, this was my first time every having shark's fin in a Japanese presentation, and while the standard Chinese preparation of "the king of dried goods" attempts to maximize the richness and impact of the entire dish, this Japanese presentation kept the broth light and balanced.  The fin itself was fall-apart tender, but with each striation maintaining a firm texture that made it a joy to tenderly munch on.  As a bonus, the hotpot contained a generous piece of house-made sesame tofu, and the chef actually cracked up at when I identified the ingredient (hey man, I'm a guy who loves his gomadofu, I'll not apologize for that).  I had no idea it was possible to make a dish both overwhelmingly rich in flavor and airily light in presentation.  I still have no idea how.  Amazing

The ninth dish brought the whole course into its final act, starting with handmade soba.  They use both wheat and mineral water from nearby Kuromatsunai (the quality of their water in particular is famous), and its of course flawlessly realized.  What is there to say about this dish?  The noodles were the perfect texture, the broth salty and pleasantly strong, and they didn't do anything fancy with toppings:  Paper-thin green onions, punchy fresh wasabi, and crispy shredded nori.  Only one thing made this presentation slightly unique--rather than in a large pot, they clearly boil the noodles in the barest amount of water necessary.  This means that the water gets a thick, almost porridge-like consistency as the wheat disperses through it.  How do I know this?  Because, as is tradition, they set out a teapot full of this water, and as always once you've finished the noodles you pour it into your remaining broth (still spiked with a hint of wasabi) and enjoy it as a soup.  What is normally a clear and nice little broth is instead a warm and comforting cup of creamy joy, something that feels like your food is giving you a hug from the inside out.  I'm just saying.  It was delicious

The tenth, and last savory dish, was of course soup, rice, and tsukemono pickled vegetables.  Every single formal Japanese meal ends with this trinity, although of course its the chef's prerogative to put his or her spin on it.  Of course, they didn't do anything too fancy.  The soup was a light miso soup, with fried tofu skin and mizuna greens sprinkled in to keep it bright and pleasant.  The rice was a takikomi-gohan that had been cooked with maitake mushrooms, although having made this dish myself I truly have no idea how they managed to keep the texture of the mushrooms so firm (do they have some secret technique?  Or are they just using better quality mushrooms?  I may never know).  The tsukemono was obviously made in-house, with simple cucumber, daikon, and konbu seaweed--each with a different blend of sour, salt, sweet, spicy, and bitter.  Duh.  Exactly how you want to finish a meal, it would have been unsatisfying to have anything else

The eleventh and final dish was the dessert, and it was more or less exactly what I expected it to be.  It was more or less what any of my Japanese friends or family would have expected it to be.  Because, stunning quality aside, this wasn't a super fancy meal trying to change the landscape of Japanese cooking.  It tasted like a home-cooked meal (if, you know, your home had an amazing chef and access to the highest quality ingredients and oh you know what I mean).  As someone who grew up in a Japanese home, I have countless childhood memories of sitting at the kitchen counter, after all the dinner dishes had been cleared away . . . when my mother would take out a cutting board, a paring knife, and a nice fruit.  She would carefully cut each slice, peeling it by hand, and give it to me piece by piece (and if you know my mom, you know it was like 3 or 4 pieces handed to me for every one she ate.  Thanks, Mom).  And so I got to sit at a different kitchen counter, thousands of miles away from the one at which I grew up, as the chef stood just a few feet away from me and we chatted to end my meal.  I sipped warm barley tea as he used his thumb to guide the skin of a few pieces of mango and pear against the blade of his knife.  And even though the pear was unreasonably sweet and tender, the grapes were like tiny bombs of unbelievable flavor, and the mango was fresh and piney and the perfect ripeness (and grown in a hothouse in Hokkaido!  I didn't mention it until now, because I assumed that you all would know, but of course every single ingredient I ate that day was grown, raised, or caught in or off the coast of Hokkaido) . . . and even though he put it a gorgeous jet black ceramic dish that made the white and green and orange pop, and spooned white wine jelly on top . . . it was still basically the same dessert that I and every other Japanese person remembers eating as we grew up.  That was how we ended the meal

After the meal, the owner and his wife (who manages the front of the house) walked me to the stairs.  We finished up the conversation we'd been intermittently having over the previous two hours about my travels and my family and all of that, and they bowed me into the elevator

I love food, and I jump at any opportunity to have a unique food experience.  I've had some of the coolest and craziest and fanciest preparations of which any Japanese chef has ever conceived, and this meal wasn't that.  I don't know how they do it, but somehow they manage to make a restaurant with these laurels still somehow feel and taste like a home-cooked meal.  It was amazing, and incredible.  And, yeah, utterly and indescribably delicious.  It was an honor, and I look forward to heading back there.  My highest recommendation

Noah out

"Each single day is short, yet when you come to count them you find that time's strange process has forged them all together into years"

Hey guys,

It's been a while, huh?  I'm sorry, and I knew this was a risk.  As discussed previously, once I got out of the habit of posting it slid precipitously all the way to nothing.  Although in my defense, that post also mentions how terrible I am at early mornings, and the fact that my last post coincides with the start of a gig that has me teaching at 9am 2-4 times per week . . . probably not a coincidence (it's a fun gig, and the consistent money is great, but that 7:30am wakeup just doesn't jive with me)



But this is worthy of a post.  Today, August 12th, marks one year since I landed here in Tokyo (I actually thought it was the 15th, only to look it up tonight to realize that it was actually the 12th!  Huh, memories are funny like that).  One year

On one hand, I cannot believe that it has already been a year.  It absolutely seems like just yesterday, last week at the earliest, that I rode in from Narita on the Keisei line, looking out at the fields and farmhouses and thinking, "welp, this is it.  This is what I've always wanted."  And yet . . . when I think of everything I have done, everything I have learned, everything I have experienced, I can't believe I managed to fit all of that into a year:



A year ago, I had never experienced from-scratch toripaitan ramen, hotaru ika tempura, or top-quality gyukatsu

A year ago, I had never drunk sake out front of a liquor store in the middle of old Tokyo, nor canned chu-hi out front of a convenience store in downtown Tokyo

A year ago, I had never celebrated my birthday in a foreign country (and this year, I did it twice hehehe)

A year ago, I had never been to an international Costco!

A year ago, I had never experienced the Saikyo train en route to Shinjuku station at 8:30am (not saying I'm glad to have done so now, though, god that is a miserable experience.  The Saikyo line from Akabane to Shinjuku makes the Keihin-Tohoku line from Omiya to Akihabara look like the Inokashira line from Shibuya to Kichijoji--hashtagTokyojokes)

A year ago, I had only been to the touristy parts of Akihabara

A year ago, I had only been to the touristy parts of Shinjuku

A year ago, I had only been to the touristy parts of Ueno

A year ago, I had never met any JRock stars, Japanese actors, or Ikebana masters

A year ago, I didn't know what it was like to be a regular at a salaryman hangout yakitori bar (now I'm a regular at two)

A year ago, I was not able to look myself in the mirror and know that I have the ability to pick up my life, move to a foreign country with little language skills and no job, and make a life work



It's been a hell of a year.  And those things I mentioned are . . . just things.  Just things.  When I think of all the people that I know and love now, people that I had yet to meet a year ago . . . it boggles my mind

It's hard to definitively say something like "best year of my life", because I've had so many amazing, wonderful things happen in my life.  But I will say this much:  The snapshots of my life on August 12th 2014 and August 12th 2015 are incredibly, mindblowingly different.  One of the biggest possible changes you could find with any gap of 365 days for my entire life.  And honestly?  It's been the best change I can think of.  Point A to Point B, this has been the best 365-day change in my life.  And this has been one of the best decisions I ever made




Thank you to everyone that has supported me, rooted for me, or at least stood on the sidelines and offered a polite golf clap every once in a while.  I hope you'll all stick around with me going forward into this next year

Oh, and I'm going to keep this blog on hiatus, but as soon as I'm able I'm going to make a real effort to go back to updating this blog.  Stay in touch, I'll be around.  Call it a New Year's Resolution :D

Noah out

Tsukemen: The old curmudgeon in me fights it, but my taste buds don't lie

Hi guys,

Wow there is so much I need to write up!  Friends visiting me, adventures had, all sorts of stuff like that.  But first, it has been waaaay too long since I put up a food post.  And let's be real, I don't know about you guys but that's what interests me the most about this blog (if you're interested in something other than food posts, maybe this just isn't the blog for you to be reading)

So today we're going to talk about Tsukemen.  I'm going to feature two different shops that specialize in this type of ramen.  This is a relatively new style of ramen, one that has gotten very popular in recent years.  Although Tsukemen can be made from any style of broth (miso ramen, which we've previously discussed is usually my favorite style, is very commonly found as tsukemen), because it's at its root a Tokyo phenomenon I chose two different places that specialize in broths from here in Tokyo

Mendokoro Musashi Bukotsu has a classic setup, a small, low-ceilinged room with a counter around the kitchen

Fu-unji on the other favors the long and narrow approach, the entire kitchen strung out so that everyone can watch the show

Here's a picture of the *other* side of the restaurant, yeah that back wall is pretty much constantly full.  More on that later

The first is Mendokoro Musashi Bukotsu, one outlet of the Musashi chain of ramen shops (each with a different style, of course).  To get technical, they have a pork-bone based broth but, typical to Tokyo ramen, they add in a strong fish broth flavoring to give it depth

The second is called Fu-unji, which rose to prominence behind its rockstar-styled head chef and its slew of awards.  No seriously, they got awarded "Best Ramen in Tokyo" three or four times in the last few years--hence the giant crowd in that photo up there.  Most tsukemen places stick with a pork broth, but they blend in chicken broth to lighten it up as well as dried fish powder to really give you a punch of flavor

Let's take a look, shall we?

Musashi Bukotsu,  tsukemen (large size)

Fu-unji, tsukemen (large size)

WAIT A MINUTE.  Something has gone terribly wrong here!  They forgot to put the noodles into the broth!!!

Yup, that's what tsukemen is.  Rather than mixing the two together, the broth and noodles are served separately.  The broth is much, much strong than its more traditional cousins, to compensate for the fact that you don't get as much in each bite.  In turn, the noodles are usually a little bit thicker in order to stand up to the presence of strong flavors

So, what do I think of tsukemen?  Well, as I mentioned in the title of this blog, the old curmudgeon in me doesn't always approve.  A lot of the old guard, both diners and chefs, think of tsukemen as kind of a cop-out.  New wave, trying too hard to be cool, a way of avoiding having to do the delicate balancing act of placing noodles in soup while still maintaining the proper texture and strength of broth.  So yeah, a lot of me doesn't approve.  But on the other hand, I gotta admit . . . having a small amount of very strongly flavored broth to play with and mix with noodles to my own palette?  It's not bad

And places like these two do their broth pretty goddamn well, so I'm not gonna complain too hard if they want to go overboard and really punch up the flavor.  The pork flavor with Musashi Bukotsu is strong but the broth is not heavy, which is an amazing balancing act of controlling the level of fat.  Throw in stewed pork to add richness and raw onions to cut the strong flavors, and this plays very well.  Similarly, the fish powder floating on top of Fu-unji's pork and chicken broth mix would be overpoweringly strong in a traditional presentation, but here it works pretty damn deliciously to make for a very smooth and rich experience

I still like my traditional ramen, still respect that as the trickiest and most impressive presentation of broth and noodle.  But hey, I won't turn down good tsukemen.  Plus, not to be too much of a wimp, but as the weather gets warmer and warmer every day here in Tokyo, I gotta admit the slightly lower temperature consumed with tsukemen can be kind of nice . . .

Noah out



I've decided to start adding an "in this post" section to provide information about all these places that I visit.  I realized that I've benefited from others' blog posts in the past, and I think it's only right to pay it forward (plus, bizarrely, a friend discovered that some of my posts actually come up if you Google the English names of some of these places.  This is weird).  And hey, if I get really ambitious I'll even go back and add this to my old posts

In this post:

Menya Musashi Bukotsu
Tokyo, Taito-Ku, Ueno 6-7-3 (on the Southwest corner of the block)
11:30-22:00 daily (although they occasionally open up a bit earlier)

Funji
Tokyo, Shibuya-ku, Yoyogi 2-14-3
11:00-15:00; 17:00-21:00
Closed Sundays and holidays

Happy Mother's Day!

Hi everybody,

One last post from my mother's visit.  I think I'm a little late getting this up in time for Mother's Day, but I wanted to post it regardless.  Here's the deal:  My mom is awesome

And while she loved going on our little adventures together, she also had a goal:  She wanted to help me out getting my apartment together.  She wanted to get me the little things to make my apartment more comfortable, more homey.  We walked around (which wasn't easy for her after foot surgery) Ikea and Costco, neighborhood places and big department stores.

I didn't take a picture of everything, because most of the great stuff she got me were just little things (a dish rack, a board to place over my washer for extra counter space, a hall tree).  But here are a few of the things that make me smile to look at them, because they came with thoughtfulness and love!

A lamp, because she wants me to be comfortable sitting on my couch reading a book

A car rug, because every damn apartment is better with a rug that allows you to pretend that your feet are cars

She even tracked down a table that's the *perfect* height for my couch!

Oh, and she actually dragged out two of my pots, a skillet, and a massive heavy pan *on the airplane*.  Because she is my mom

That's my mom, she's pretty amazing.  She outfitted my apartment, both with things she bought and things she brought over



This last one I wanted to post, however, isn't something my mother got me.  It's something she instructed me to purchase once I moved into my apartment (and actually, my friend Brittani beat me to it by getting it for me for my birthday!).  It's a toaster oven, and I have it for a very specific reason

"Do you have an oven?"
"No, just a stove"
"You should pick up a toaster oven"
"Nah I don't think I need one"
"No, you should pick up a toaster oven"
"How come?"
"Because at some point, you're going to want to make nachos"

. . . how do mothers get to be so wise????  It's amazing



This is a post about my mother, and how she worked to do the little things to turn my house into a home

Noah out

NoahandMominTokyo 2: The Sequel (Hatonomori Park, Sendagaya)

Hi all,

Continuing from my last post, another post featuring my mom!  I didn't take a lot of pictures, we were too busy running around for me to photo document it a lot.  But one more thing I wanted to share with you all

We headed on back to Sendagaya, the neighborhood our family lived in when she was born.  And we headed to Hatomori Park, which my mother remembers playing at when she was only 5 years old.  I know, I know, you guys are probably tired of seeing yet another little park in Tokyo, regardless of the emotional value for me and mine ;)

But this one is pretty cool.  It's famous for its Fuji-zaka hill, which is to say a miniature model of Mt. Fuji.  Complete with tiny models of some of the shrines on the mountain, it's a great little landmark that's popular with both tourists and the ubiquitous little kids running up and down it (my mother used to be one of those!)

Guide map and everything, so you don't get lost on the trek up.  Oxygen tanks not provided, sadly

Remind me to come back later in Spring and Summer, when the flowers are blooming!

Great view from the top, too!

A very nice little day hike, all things considered!

As for the rest of the park, I don't know if it would necessarily be a spot for every tourist coming to Tokyo, but it's a very pleasant way to spend a warm Spring afternoon.  There's a wonderful little shrine and even a stage for Noh performances on summer evenings.  Nice little spot, for sure

Wash your hands before paying respects, of course

A small donation is customary, I like to think of it as fee to get to ring the bell

A beautiful setting for a neighborhood park

Anyways, nothing major to say.  One of my favorite parts of living in Tokyo is participating in the generations of my family's history that have taken place here.  This one is a pretty recent bit of family history, but just as precious!

Noah out

NoahandMominTokyo (Coscto adventure!!!)

Hi everybody,

I would like to introduce the most special of special guests:  A wonderful lady, who has gone by many names in her life, from Your Honor to The Reverend Irene . . . but I prefer "Mom"

In order to celebrate the anniversary of her nativity, my mother flew out here to Tokyo.  Although she's visited many times, this was her first time celebrating her birthday in the city of her birth since her 5th.  A very special birthday, for a very special lady!



So what do Noah and Mom do in Tokyo?  Well certainly there are the standard touristy things, as well as taking her to meet my friends at all of my favorite eating establishments and watering holes.  But my family has another fun hobby whenever we have an opportunity while travelling:  Checking out Costco to see what different stuff they have (mostly food.  Let's be real, almost entirely food.  If this blog didn't give you a hint, food is pretty important in my family)

Hawaiian Costco sells all sorts of great Asian products that mainland ones don't.  Costco in the American South sell chicken coops (which totally counts as a food product, if you're patient).  And Japanese Costco?  Awesome

"Even the Hawaiian Costco doesn't have shoyu [soysauce-simmered] pork!"

"These prawns are amazing!  They're not even from Japan, they're from Argentina, why don't they have these in other Costcos???"

"Well it makes sense that they don't have shiokara [fermented squid] at other Costcos.  White people don't usually like this"

"Oh man, we need a picture of this.  Grandma pays like $10 for a tiny, tiny jar of this"

"Ochazuke no moto!  [Japanese comfort food, green tea poured over leftover rice and other seasonings.  Probably worth a post later, huh?]  This is it, I want this for my souvenir picture from this trip!"

Every family is different.  Every family has different things that are important to it.  My family?  My family is about the food--what to eat, how to prepare it, and of course where to get the ingredients.  That's how we roll :)

Noah out