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Edamame (fresh soybeans) and tomatoes. The edamame had been rubbed with kosher salt to remove (somewhat) the fuzz on the outside of the pods.
All my garden plantings have been experimental and freeform. As much as I would like to perspire through my kerchief while squinting knowingly at the sky, all I did in April was search for last frost dates for Zones 6b-7a, then push seeds in the ground and wish them well.
Although my first “crop” of tended-from-seed edamame only half filled a cereal bowl, the soybeans were of course absolutely delicious, buttery and nutty. Frozen edamame taste ok, but these took me back to Japan for the short time it took the two of us to devour them. Upcoming Crop Two will be eaten Japanese style, accompanying a frosty mug of beer.
Corn, perhaps a strange hybrid of “Sugar Pearl” and “Luscious.”
Mama’s trying not to love the tall pretty babies more than the stunted cobs. I planted Sugar Pearl and Luscious sweet corn, but I think the Luscious scrambled up first. Or the ears were a marriage of the two. A friend from the Midwest said I needed to wait a bit longer, but some of the cobs were opening at the silks and I had already lost one or two to bites from squirrels or some other Del Ray mammal (I have now seen an opossum, a rabbit, and a raccoon). The other week a storm had blown over some stalks. I righted them and tied the weak to the strong in a cat’s cradle of twine. All these challenges were making me suspect I had better take the corn that was ready now.
The corn was plump and medium sweet with a clean corn taste, which sounds obvious, but have you eaten picked-within-the-hour corn recently? Even farmers’ market corn seemed flaccid and old compared to this. In all, a “Fuck yeah!” kind of meal. Munching along, I thought about when I planted this corn 85 days ago, how I had watched it grow and watered it, that I had made the corn’s life force part of mine, and I started to feel a bit like a cannibal. Needless to say, I ate on.
Photo: Dwarf Chinese apricot (Prunus armeniaca ‘Chinese’ ?), but it looks and smells like my favorite ume (Prunus mume).
Last spring we had the entire yard redesigned by Paul Henderson, a local landscape designer, who showed up at our house with green Wellies and a fabulously plummy British accent. I showed him a few pictures of Japanese gardens, irregular stone paths, and such, but told him I didn’t want a Japanese theme park. I wanted something that used native Virginia species with a few exotics to hint at Japanese principles. I didn’t want cherry trees and a koi pond, as pretty as they are. I’ll leave the hardcore stuff to Hillwood Gardens. I wanted birds to visit, some fruit, and a place to plant a vegetable garden. And I wanted something that looked good all year.
We ended up with a lovely garden that features an arbor of apple serviceberry trees, and includes (among other things) a stand of dogwoods, several different kinds of azaleas, a wide variety of evergreens including a Japanese cedar, camellias, tricolor beeches, a redbud, a witch-hazel bush, highbush blueberry shrubs, clumping bamboo, and a dwarf Chinese apricot tree.
The apricot wasn’t in his original plan. Paul had a habit of showing up with new babies: “I thought this would be fabulous in this spot.” The tree was Charlie Brown—pathetic, a little stick thing that Paul said would fruit. I thought it looked a bit wan and bet it wouldn’t survive the winter. I didn’t even think about what the flowers would look like…
…until two days ago, when my little apricot tree exploded in white blossoms. I put my nose to the blossoms this morning and they smelled of very much like my favorite ume trees in Japan, the aroma of which is a combination of bubblegum and tea roses and talcum powder. This tree is a different species and, if Paul is right, will give me apricots. We’ll see about the fruit, but it has already earned its keep in eye candy.
Sunny late afternoon, riding the bus home from work. I’m reading my Japanese textbook and murmuring the words. I’m on the aisle and beside me is a woman with a flat American accent talking to another woman in the seat in front of us. Although I’m trying to concentrate on the new grammar using uchi ni [while a certain situation holds], I keep getting distracted by “new job,” “need the hours,” “we’re spoiled because we all have our own bathroom,” “it would be nice to be able to afford Dupont Circle.”
The bus stops. Suddenly my seatmate says brightly, “Shitsureshimasu!” [Excuse me]
I stand up to let her pass and, without thinking, I say, “Hai, dōzo.” [Please go ahead]
And she’s off the bus before I can say anything else.
Photo: 重箱, jūbako, multi-layered box to serve food at New Year’s.
The jūbako is like a Ph.D. in Japanese culture in a box, how to start? The oshinagaki (menu) lists 43 items, in Japanese, so there was some kanji dictionary work for the names. But nothing on the palate was completely unfamiliar, a lot of comforting friends in that box.
A whole baby sea bream swam in a sea of preserved vegetables and fish. A jar of kuromame (sweet cooked black beans) was nestled one one side, like grandma had sent over her blue-ribbon preserves. To fully appreciate this bounty one must study the traditional meanings of the foods, the name puns (see below), the visual appeal and arrangement, the complex recipe preparations, the history of foods that have been eaten since ancient times (black soybeans, sardines) and the modern additions (black pork, beef).
And then you just tuck in.
Photo: Top layer, 22 different items, including sea bream, ankimo tofu (monkfish liver pate), smoked salmon wrapped in many layers of thinly sliced daikon, kuri kinton (chestnuts in sweet yam paste), kinkan mitsuni (kumquat that was sweet simmered), tataki gobo (smashed burdock root with sesame sauce), house made karasumi (preserved bottarga, i.e., mullet roe), red and white kamaboko (fish paste), kararashi renkon (lotus root stuffed with mustard, ginko nuts, and more.
Arrangement of the food: The top layer of the box actually has two layers of food, laid out in a traditional format of celebratory foods on top, with a second layer of preserved foods beneath, the second box having the third and fourth layers of seafood and meats and then stewed vegetables. The visual appeal of the box is heightened by the names that are puns for good luck and success in the new year.
Photo: 田作り, tazukuri, soy-glazed baby sardines. The name is a pun for “fertility.”
Photo: Bottom layer, 21 items, which included winter Spanish mackerel yuan yaki, black pork belly miso yaki, chicken balls, house made datemaki (a fish and egg sweet omelet), sabazushi (a pressed mackerel sushi), salmon roe in a bamboo cup, and much more.
Photo: Detail, bottom layer.
We’ve been feasting for several days. It’s preserved food meant to save the women (ahem, the cooks) of the house from having to prepare food in the first days of the new year. Some standouts: the black pork miso yaki, the sweet-simmered kumquats, the house-made karasumi (mullet roe), roasted duck, the glaze-grilled Spanish mackerel. Quite an experience, maybe next year I’ll make some myself…
Dining at Sushi Taro the night before Veterans Day: a treat in honor of my husband’s present (and my past) service to our country. It was also his ploy to stop temporarily my obnoxious keening for Japan.
Photo: First appetizer, gomadōfu (sesame tofu) in dashi with garnish of uni, adzuki bean, and wasabi.
I had tried Sushi Taro last summer, during one of my ongoing, but here scantily reported, tastings at several Japanese places positively noted by the local Washington, D.C. foodie news. I was, and remain, skeptical at each new outing. Japanese food in the DC area is—how shall I say?—not always in full blossom.
I headed to Sushi Taro the first time last summer when I read that it had been transformed from a beloved neighborhood sushi bar (with a good quality, standard-in-America sushi menu) into a kaiseki ryōri joint. The Yelpsters were screaming how it was now too expensive and fancy, which I took as possibly a good sign. Tom Sietsema, in the Post, quoted the new chef (son of the former chef), Nobu Yamazaki, justifying the change, “Chicken teriyaki and spicy tuna roll are not exactly authentic Japanese food.” Not that I have anything against chicken teriyaki, but Yamazaki-san was calling to me.
On that lovely summer evening, I ordered a la carte: baby ayu (sweetfish) tempura, takigawa dōfu (homemade tofu cut into long strands and arranged like a river flow in a dashi broth), and my personal quality tester nigiri sushi: yellowtail, salmon roe, and tamagoyaki [the last one is a good way to see how much care the chef takes with the humblest ingredient, egg]. Everything was excellent, everything was served on seasonally appropriate dishes. I was transported. As I sipped my Suigei tokubetstu junmai sake, I said a little toast to the chef and intoned, Itadakimasu. I humbly receive.
Last Tuesday night I finally went back with my man. We drank:
Photo: Kubota koju tokubetsu junmai.
The Kubota had a big mouth feel with a kick on the middle of the tongue, then a long bamboo-lime finish (I know, sounds weird, tastes delicious). The bottle was chilled, but I would let a glass warm slightly on the table to taste the transition from crisp grassy start to a banana smoothness. The sake list is very nice, but the prices are a bit nutty. [But premium sake prices in the U.S. make me sick. I found a deal today at the Super H, but that's for another post...]
The food, on the other hand, I consider good value (for kaiseki). We each had a 10-course meal including 3 special courses of madai* AND 2 courses including matsutake mushrooms, for $90. The photos show most of the courses.
*Sushi Taro’s menu and various Web sites identify madai as snapper, but my Hosking Dictionary of Japanese Food has it as “sea bream.” It was written in Japanese on the menu as madai. Hosking also tells me madai is best in spring, hmm.
Photo: Second appetizer, soft cod roe tempura with a lotus root fritter dressed with thickened yuba sauce.
Photo: Third appetizer, slow braised female ayu, fishcake-stuffed ginko nuts, green beans.
[Not pictured] The soup course was matsutake mushroom dobin mushi (served in a little tea pot, good explanation at Kyoto Foodie) with anago (eel) meat, shrimp, and ginko nuts.
Photo: Sashimi course, chūtoro (tuna middle belly meat, that night of remarkably excellent quality), madai, hiramasa (yellowtail?), sea bass, and cucumber-wrapped monkfish liver (ankimo).
Photo: Hassun (“tray of tidbits”) course, madai head and collar, grilled sanma, miso-marinated egg yolk, pickled daikon-wrapped salmon, lotus root stuffed with mustard sauce, tuna kakuni, pickled myoga.
This giant fishhead on a platter struck me as kaiseki on steroids (cue the Schwarzenegger Suntory ad). I’m still wondering if the chef sent it out waving his carbon-steel, yelling, “Banzai! Take that California-roll eaters!” We picked it clean. Back at you, badass.
Photo: Same course, showing the other side of the plate: miso-marinated egg yolk, pickled daikon-wrapped salmon, lotus root stuffed with mustard sauce, tuna kakuni, and an unidentified chinmi dish (a “delicacy” that I couldn’t quite identify). I think it was ankimo mixed with something.
Photo: Sushi course, buri fatty belly meat and oyster.
[Not pictured] The next course was lotus root stuffed with fishcake, coated with Japanese “crispies” (mijinko, I think) and deep fried. This course reminded me of izakaya pub grub, but it was delicious.
Photo: Oshokuji (rice, soup, and pickles) course, matsutake mushroom and madai infused rice, served with miso soup and pickles. The miso soup was a thick country-style soup with enoki mushroom, cabbage, and scallions. The pickles were a bit disappointing. (Soup and pickles not pictured.)
Photo: First dessert, purin (Japanese custard, like a loose flan).
Photo: Second dessert, the art of fruit in kanten.
Despite the news that Sushi Taro is too “fancy,” for a kaiseki place it’s quite casual. The waitstaff are dressed in samue, which makes me think of a slumber party. Across from us a couple was absorbed separately in texting while the waitress placed dishes on the table. The pacing of the meal was a bit rushed. We gulped down the soup course when she brought the sashimi. Something ineffable about the experience of kaiseki hasn’t been translated. I wonder…next stop Makoto!
Nevertheless, for a few hours, I gazed out on 17th Street, the warmth of sake in my belly and head, my husband smiling across from me, and I was royally feasted.
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Note: Sushi Taro is offering osechi (New Year’s food). They give the link to the order form only on the Japanese-language version of the Web site. I assume they mean to weed out casual inquiries from those who don’t know osechi well (especially because even Japanese can become weary of it). I love all the different tastes. We made an order and I’ll write a post about it in January.
