A November Weekend in Hakone: Fabulous Views and Black Eggs

Saturday afternoon we circuited Hakone by ferry, foot, ropeway, foot, cable car, foot, train, and taxi. Along the way we caught some splendid views of Mount Fuji and inhaled some noxious fumes on a smoldering volcano.

We hopped off the ropeway in Owakudani because our guidebook insisted we should eat the black eggs cooked in the open sulfur pits. One of us took the guidebook seriously.

When it came time to crack open the first of his five black eggs on an old wooden table littered with broken egg shells, the Ancient Mariner experienced a brief "public health" moment but curiosity and hunger trumped that Johns Hopkins degree in the blink of an eye.

He pronounced the eggs "delicious". I took his word for it.

My Kind of Town, Hayama Is

It was a dark and rainy night. The fickle wind deposited the Ancient Mariner's jaunty cap on a thorny hedge and bent the ribs of my favorite umbrella. We were soaked by the time we reached the shelter of the Mercure Hotel where the Otsukas were waiting to whisk us, Big Bird, and her husband, let's call him Mr. Chipper, to the Otsukas' favorite Chinese restaurant in Hayama, a small seaside town on the other side of the Miura Peninsula. The five minutes I had devoted to styling my hair would have been better spent reading or knitting.

The Imperial Family maintains a villa in Hayama, something you already know if you are a fan of Sujata Massey's Rei Shimura mysteries.  The Chinese restaurant, owned by the family of Admiral Otsuka's longtime best friend, used to have a private room where the Emperor and his family dined when they were in town but these days the restaurant delivers to the villa.  Big Bird and I think the Oakleaf Club lunch bunch ought to experience the excellent cuisine and scenic views the restaurant offers.

Jellyfish was one of the appetizers.  I ate it.

Chinese Sake

We watched a waiter ladle a drink the color of whisky from a vat on a rolling cart into a small glass pitcher which he placed on our table with a bowl of ice. The Ancient Mariner and I shared a glass. Goodnight, Peevish!

Crowing About Fruit

The path to self-forgiveness is paved with persimmons.

This is probably news to you. It certainly surprised me.

A mere 24 hours after the mushroom incident at Mineko's house, while I was still suffering overwhelming guilt resulting from my boorish-to-put-it-mildly behavior, Shinagawa-san invited me to taste a persimmon. How could I possibly decline and still face myself in the mirror every morning? (Of course, some might question why I would even want to look in a mirror but there's nothing like counting wrinkles to keep one's brain active when crossword puzzles are in short supply.  Just another little pearl of wisdom with my compliments.)

The mothers in my midwest neighborhood didn't serve their families persimmons in the mid-twentieth century.  In fact, until I did a little fruit research for today's post, I wasn't even sure persimmons pre-dated my birth but now I know that they are native to the Eastern United States and were named by the Algonquians.

Until yesterday, persimmons were as alien to me as parsnips, kumquats, kiwi fruit, and pomegranates.  It's possible parsnips have snuck down my throat my hiding in a stew if they are the vegetable that looks something like a potato.  The first time I saw broccoli I was freshman in college.  I liked it and have been eating it ever since.

A persimmon looks like a tomato so I wasn't all that surprised to learn that they are both classified as "true berries", although I have no idea what that means. A persimmon tastes like a pear, at least that's what my taste buds insist. The texture reminds me of a pear as well.

In short, I've decided I like persimmons. I like them a whole lot more than I will ever like mushrooms. Had I lost my faith in God, the taste of persimmons would make me a born-again believer. He rewarded me for trying a new food far more than I deserved.

In Japan, persimmons are called kaki and people grow them in their backyards.  Oysters and fences are also called kaki so I probably will never work up the nerve to order persimmons in a restaurant.

Now that I have atoned for my sin, I am going to haul out the sewing machine and finish that scarf the American way.

Making a Kimono Scarf, Wherein Peevish Nearly Reprises the George H. W. Bush Vomiting Incident

Just when I was starting to envision a cushy post-Japan career as an overpaid State Department consultant, offering humble pearls of wisdom on international relations, reality arrived in the shape of a mushroom. Alas, it wasn't the cookie variety with a chocolate cap. It also wasn't a shiitake, but more on that later.

We went to Mineko's house today to transform kimono remnants into scarves.  The scarf at left is an example of the style I made. I can't show you mine because I still have three more seams to sew. By hand, so it might take me a few months.

Here's another example. We used black kimono fabric for the body of the scarf and then added swatches of colorful fabric. Artistic and Fearless were more ambitious.  (This is nothing new.)  Their scarves have about two dozen colorful squares running lengthwise.

Mineko folds furoshiki

Mineko treated us to a tea ceremony in the tatami room on the second floor of her house before we got started on those scarves. She had arranged four cushions on the floor and one stool. She invited me to sit on the stool. I was more relieved than embarrassed since kneeling on one of those cushions for longer than thirty seconds is sheer agony.

Artistic and Fearless assembling their masterpieces

While Misa and Yuko helped us with our scarves, Mineko bustled around her kitchen preparing an elaborate and educational lunch. This is when I learned that there are at least seven varieties of mushroom in Japan besides shiitake.

A bit of backstory: Mineko and I somehow touched on the topic of food preferences during last week's trip to Nikko. When I mentioned that Artistic is a vegetarian and that Fearless and I dislike mushrooms, Mineko asked, "Shiitake?" I assumed she meant "including Shiitake?" and said yes.

It seemed like a fairly reasonable assumption so I was surprised to open the foil packet on my plate and find a chunk of salmon covered with slender pale mushrooms. I surreptitiously scraped them off and hid them inside the re-folded foil while ignoring the silent laughter of Artistic to my immediate right and avoiding eye contact with Fearless across the table. Just when I was starting to congratulate myself on dodging a bullet, Mineko let loose a Gatling gun volley in the form of what looked like a macaroni-and-cheese casserole but, upon cutting, turned out to be a tofu-onion-mushroom medley topped with melted cheese. 

She served me three sizable squares of the casserole. I made quick work of the cheese and not so quick work of about half a square. When Mineko pointed out that I had not finished my casserole, the dish she had gone to such pains to make, I cast a desperate glance around the table and saw that Misa was the only other guest who had not licked her plate clean. Misa has undergone abdominal surgery and has the appetite of a sparrow. She also has about fifteen years on me, but I was willing to claim kindred elderhood to escape finishing my casserole. "Your appetite shrinks when you get older. Look at Misa's plate."

Yes, I am seriously ashamed of myself. That's why I'm not plugging in my sewing machine to finish my kimono scarf. Stitching by hand is my self-imposed penance for bad behavior.

Kanazawa: A Gay Old Time

The young lady behind the desk at the base travel office was curious. To the best of her knowledge, this was the first time anyone had booked a trip to Kanazawa.

Fearless explained our quest to visit Japan's three great landscape gardens: Kairakuen in Mito, Korakuen in Okayama, and -- considered the grandest by some -- Kenrokuen in Kanazawa.

(We took a day trip to Mito during plum blossom time last February, fortuitous timing on our part since part of that garden was closed for repairs after the March 11 earthquake/tsunami. Next spring we'll get to Okayama if the planets and deployment schedule align properly.)

Kanazawa (literally, "marsh of gold") is in Ishikawa Prefecture, roughly in the center of the west coast along the Sea of Japan, about four hours by Shinkansen (bullet train) from Tokyo.  Since it was the second largest city after Kyoto to escape fire bombing during World War II, many historical areas have been preserved.  We decided to spend two nights there so we'd have ample time to explore the garden and historical districts.  Three or four nights would have been even better.

We booked two rooms at the Dormy Hotel, just down the street from the train station and central bus depot.  Matsuzaki-san wanted a single room; Fearless and I shared a double room.  Much to our surprise, the rooms were identical.  Each featured one (1) double bed.  Eek!  Fearless politely hugged the left side and I teetered on the edge near the window, praying I would not snore or accidentally brush her foot with mine.

We've decided to splurge on single rooms when we go to Okayama next spring.    

Matsuzaki-san and Fearless in Higashi Chaya

It was late afternoon when our train reached Kanazawa so we had time to explore Higashi Chaya, one of the city's two preserved and still semi-functioning geisha districts.  The second floors in this district are taller than other Japanese houses of the period because that's where the the geishas entertained their patrons.  Many of the old wooden tea houses have been converted to shops, much to my companions' delight.


Matsuzaki-san is a multi-tasker.  As she examined the wares offered, she asked each shopkeeper for restaurant recommendations.  Toro, on the bank of the nearby Asano River, was mentioned three times so that's where we went.  We didn't think to ask about the menu options until the hostess had seated us in a private room on short-legged chairs she had dragged out to accommodate those of us unaccustomed to kneeling through a meal.

Raw ingredients for Nabe (Japanese stew)

Toro specializes in (ie, "serves nothing but") nabe, a vegetable stew popular in Japan during the fall and winter months. There are places that offer beef and/or chicken nabe but Toro serves the fish variety.

Our hostess placed a large pot of broth on a heating element in the center of the table and then carried a large platter of seafood and vegetables into the room. Fearless and I made nervous eye contact when we spotted the mountains of mushrooms. Not liking mushrooms is something we have in common (besides that bed at the Dormy Hotel). We decided to share a bottle of sake. It was a good decision.

Those round green things that look something like olives are produced by Ginkgo trees.  If you want to know how they taste, you'll have to visit the restaurant yourself.

First of three helpings of Nabe

The hostess did not simply dump the raw ingredients into the boiling broth. She carefully selected various vegetables and fish parts to concoct our first helping. While we were swallowing that, she whipped up an oyster version and so on until we had tasted three different stews. She cooked enough nabe to satisfy a half dozen sumo wrestlers.

Restaurant owner thanks us for stopping by

There were two ceramic pots on table that looked like miniature chamber pots. We were supposed to deposit fish bones and other refuse in them but managed to stuff a few mushrooms in as well when the hostess left the room to get us some water.

I did eat some mushrooms and, for the first time ever, chewed and swallowed a couple of oysters.

The sake helped. They brew their own. Ishikawa Prefecture is famous for tasty sake on account of its plentiful rice production and abundant rainfall.

Definitely one of the most memorable meals I've enjoyed in Japan. So far.

Iseyama Kotaijingu: A Nineteenth Century Antidote

Further up the hill from Enmei-en is Iseyama Kotaijingu, Yokohama's tutelary shrine.  Local residents visit this shrine in great numbers, especially at the New Year and for celebrations when children turn 3, 5, and 7 years of age.

I'll fill you in on the shrine's history as you trudge up those several flights of steps through three marble and one rustic torii with me.

When foreigners started arriving in Yokohama in the 1860s, one of the first things they did was build churches.  They also ate meat which was unheard of in this Buddhist area.  The local residents were surprised to see such changes in their area and feared the city would become polluted by foreign influences.  They wanted to build a shrine to serve as a talisman or counterweight to protect Yokohama from foreign ways.

The Meiji government approved their request.  The shrine was dedicated to the Sun Goddess when it was built in 1870.

The Kikkomen company apparently provides major financial support to the shrine. We can think of no other explanation for the large glass case displaying their products on the top of the hill.

Tutelary shrine means this is where the members of Yokohama Bay Stars, the city's professional baseball team, pray for a winning season.

Including the American players

After admiring a serene garden we were barred from entering, we headed downhill like a pair of bloodhounds and sniffed our way to Bubby's Pie Shop.

Yokohama residents are a bit more receptive to foreign pollution these days, at least when it comes in the form of pie.

Another satisfied customer. She ate a slice of Key Lime Pie while I wolfed down the same plus a wedge of Michigan Sour Cherry. She took four more pieces of pie home with her. She said she intended to share them with her husband and parents.

Sure.

Kamiooka: Another Parfait Day

Whew! A week has zipped by since the date of this post but I'm going to pretend it's still Saturday, October 15, and chronicle some of the highlights of the past several days before I board the Shinkansen for Kanazawa with Fearless and Matsuzaki-san the day after tomorrow.

Yesterday -- the "pretend" yesterday -- Artistic was introduced to the wonders of Takano Fruit Parlor in Kamiooka. She opted for the chocolate parfait, the only non-fruit option, which was not what I expected of the only serious vegetarian in my current social circle. Life is full of surprises.

The rest of us health nuts tried the three seasonal fruit versions:

Chestnut for Fearless and Hiroko

Grape (three varieties) for Hisayo and Yuuko

Pear garnished with white chocolate for the author

Our 10:00 am desserts were followed by a lovely and delicious luncheon at the house that belonged to Hiroko's deceased parents. A mansion by Japanese standards and with a kitchen sink enormous by even American standards, the house is still furnished and contains fascinating family mementos along with numerous awards and gifts presented to Admiral Otsuka during his illustrious career.

For me, the best part of the day was meeting Hiroko's youngest son who drove several of us from Kamiooka station to the house and then kindly zipped back to Kamiooka station to retrieve the hostess gift I'd left under my chair at Takano Fruit Parlor.

Once I figure out how to say "I'm such an idiot" in Japanese, I think I'll have it printed on a half dozen t-shirts.

A New Tradition for the Japanese Book Club

The Japanese Book Club settled into a routine years before I met them: a two-hour book discussion followed by salads at the Officers' Club. But the Officers' Club and the other clubs on our base were all shut down for several weeks following the March 11 earthquake/tsunami so I took them to Chili's instead.

We haven't been back to the Officers' Club since they tasted their first fajita and molten chocolate cake.

Today we talked about Emma Donoghue's latest book, Room, and decided to read 22 Britannia Road by Amanda Hodgkinson for December. I hope they like it more than I did.

Tomorrow Matsuzaki-san is taking Fearless and me to a kabuki performance in Yokohama. I think I'd better do a little research before I call it a night or I won't understand a thing that's happening on that stage tomorrow afternoon.

"Let Them Eat Cake!" cried Marie Antoinette

Just about everyone I know who lived within a 200-mile radius of the Fukushima nuclear reactor on March 11 had either gained or lost several pounds (or kilograms, whatever those are) by the time we turned our calendars to April. We've dubbed it The Tsunami Ten and chalked it up to stress, the modern era's favorite scapegoat.  Some have embarked on ambitious diet-and-exercise programs and I, who came down on the positive side of  The Tsunami Ten equation, fully intend to do the same at some vague future point which right now looks to be as distant as Mount Fuji on a hazy summer day.

Bemusement is one of my favorite forms of procrastination.  Rationalization ranks right up there as well.  Right now I'm bemused that most of the more ambitious diet-and-exercise programs these days require electricity.  Electricity powers the treadmills in the gym and plays a role in tracking our progress.  Were it not for electricity, we could not share our progress - every inch of pavement pounded and every gram of weight dispensed - with every Tom, Dick, and Harriet in our coterie of facebook friends.

I'll start dieting and exercising when I can recall the old-fashioned methods that served me in the past.  Heaven forbid I tax the limited energy of my host country by relying on Google to refresh my aging memory.  Heaven forbidder I be forced to limit my bread intake in this land of Bountiful Bakeries.  Heaven forbiddest I be expected to cut open a grapefruit as that was always my mother's job so eating them makes me sad and nostalgic and morose and a lot of other synonyms that I'll not bother to Google for the reason stated above.

But fruit, fruit in any form, might be a good first step.  Maybe I'll jog across the peninsula to Ofuna and load up on some of the fruit tarts I recently spotted in the train station.    

      

Apple, Kiwi, and Honeydew Melon?

Mango, Black Sesame, and Something White - No Thanks

Berries, Berries, and More Berries - I'll Take a Dozen, Kudasai!

Mango, Kiwi, and More of that White Stuff

Save Room for Pies: Topping Off Your Visit to Yokohama

Japanese desserts contain less sugar -- a lot less sugar -- than American desserts but that didn't deter us from visiting Bubby's Pies in Yokohama. Bubby has been haunting my dreams since late November when I first spotted his pie emporium near Landmark Tower. Kaji-san gets credit for this find since she suggested the route to the quilt show that took us past Bubby's. 

We sampled five different pie slices this afternoon.  Pip and I rationalized ordering two slices each by marching briskly for about two miles from the crack noodle restaurant in Chinatown to Bubby's.  This is what we call "pre-burning calories."  The Ancient Mariner had to settle for just one slice since he covered the terrain at his usual snail-like pace, lagging about a block behind us on the flats and catching up with us at red lights.

Someone dove right into that Key Lime Pie

The tartness of the Key Lime and Michigan Sour Cherry pies more than made up for the sugar shortage. The same can not be said for the Chocolate Pudding Pie but now we know and, fortunately, Pip had ordered the Mile-High Apple Pie as back-up.

The Ancient Mariner had Whiskey Apple Pie. Whether it deserves another try is anyone's guess because he finished his piece before Pip and I could get our forks to that side of the table.

The entree menu looked interesting (bacon-wrapped meatloaf, anyone?) but I can't imagine ordering anything other than pie at Bubby's. "Save room for pie" strikes me as sage advice and in my case that room needs to accommodate both Key Lime and Michigan Sour Cherry.

The Skinny on Those Hand-Cut "Crack Noodles"

Weather and Fearless at Kyokarou Honkan

My friends and neighbors have been raving about a restaurant in Yokohama's Chinatown that serves fresh hand-cut noodles in a spicy Szechuan broth. A legion of addicted fans have dubbed them "crack noodles." Weather Explorer is one of those fans and today she shepherded Fearless and me to Kyokarou Honkan where we treated our tastebuds to what might very well be the Eighth Wonder of the World.

My discerning mouth decided the broth is even more remarkable than the noodles.  It's deliciously spicy with a bit of an afterkick solid enough to purge your sinus cavities.  There weren't many napkins left in the table dispenser after Fearless and I finished blowing our noses, suggesting this is a place to take your friends rather than entertain your boss.


We had the two-pepper dish (upper right corner, above) for 700 yen. It looks like you'll have to pay 200 yen more for the dinner version.

Clicking on this post's title will take you to the restaurant's webpage. It's mostly in Japanese but you'll find an address and telephone number in English in the bottom right corner if you scroll down. Hours are 11:30 am to 9:30 pm.

We took the Minatomirai Line from Yokohama station to Motomachi-Chukagai, the last station, but the restaurant is just as easily accessible from Ishikawacho station on the JR Keihin-Tohoku or JR Negishi line out of Yokohama station. While you're in Yokohama station, be sure to pick up one of the latest English maps of the city at the information shop on the main concourse.

I hope you have an opportunity to experience "crack noodles" the next time you are in the vicinity of Yokohama's Chinatown. It's my distinct pleasure, not to mention civic duty, to share Weather Explorer's restaurant tip with you.

Osaka is All About Food ...

...and Chibo in Namba is the place to go for okonomiyaki, a cross between an omelet and a pancake. Depending on the regional variation, sometimes you'll find noodles inside and/or a salad on top.

For starters, I'd recommend seared scallops with an icy mug of beer.

We capped off our meal with an order of yakisoba (stir-fried noodles) that the chef dumped on the counter in front of us.

It's not all soy sauce in Osaka. The desserts are pretty tasty too. Next time I plan to save room for this:

Soft serve garnished with mushroom-shaped cookies

The Ancient Mariner ordered a cream parfait in a little coffee shop between our hotel and Namba station. We also sipped Viennese coffee there. We have become quite the fans of Viennese coffee so expect us to look like chubby retirees when we waddle off the plane a year from now.

Experiencing Sakura Fubuki in a Shonan Home

The Ancient Mariner and I are heading up to Tokyo this afternoon to spend three nights at the New Sanno Hotel and then he'll be leaving Japan again for at least a week. One of the few good things to come out of this earthquake/tsunami/radiation mess so far is that some of those embassy and military families that booked Easter Weekend rooms a year ago remembered to cancel their reservations before they left in the wake of the disaster. Another good thing, thanks to all those cancellations, is that the hotel is offering a 25 percent discount right now.

We plan to spend the weekend re-charging our batteries, checking out a museum or two, and gazing fondly at our Kindle screens (he's finally started reading The Girl with the Dragon Tatto). I hope to post the rest of my cherry blossom memories before the weekend winds down. There are quite a few still in the queue.  This is one of them:

Misa wanted us to see her two cherry trees when they were in full blossom but by the time we were able to coordinate our calendars tiny leaves were emerging to flick those blossoms into any halfway decent breeze that happened to float through her yard.  That was okay by me.  Is there anything more pleasant than sitting in a garden on a sunny spring day with cherry blossoms raining on your head and shoulders?  They call this phenomenon of drifting blossoms sakura fubuki. 

Mineko, Misa, and Toyoko

Another special treat for me was meeting Misa's nephew who stopped by to fetch something or other from the little house on the side of the property where Misa's mother-in-law lived until she passed away. Like several of my Japanese friends, Misa spent most of her married life in the immediate vicinity of her husband's parents. It seems to work out fairly well for all concerned. Maybe not so much at first, but eventually.

Cherry Blossom Tea

Misa served us lunch but first she served tea and cookies. The cookies were from Germany via Osaka. They were so tasty I took a picture of the box so I'll buy the right ones the next time the Ancient Mariner and I visit Osaka. They were so tasty Mineko and I sauntered back over to the coffee table and surreptiously polished them off after partaking of a hearty lunch of four kinds of bread, three types of meat, two platters of fresh vegetables, three varieties of cheese, and fresh fruit.

How do these Japanese ladies manage to stay so slim into their sixties and seventies? Perhaps by inviting American ladies to eat all their cookies.

Not Your Typical Japanese-Size Lunch

There's a shop a couple of blocks from Yokosuka-chua station that sells local products, including about two dozen different varieties of Japanese Navy curry. The stairs on the left lead to a second-floor cafe that offers curries and, my personal favorite, the Admiral Jamie Kelly Cheesecake.

Ishii-san and I sampled the Meiji-era curry when we visited the cafe the week before last. She chose chicken and I had beef. The curry was served with milk and Ishii-san asked the waitress to warm her milk. I thought that was interesting. I like my milk cold. Very, very cold.

A trio of young Japanese workers took a window table near us. They were all wearing identical pale blue jumpsuits which is how I knew they were workers. The tall skinny one ordered an enormous plate of curry with fried chicken cutlets.  I counted three chicken breasts on that plate. 

He ate the whole thing.  And he probably had cheesecake for dessert.  I didn't have dessert because Ishii-san thought that would be too much.  Sheesh.

I Should Have Had a V-8, But I'm Glad I Didn't

My Japanese friends who recommended Takano Fruit Parlor in the Kamiooka train station warned me the parfaits are pricey. Takano's is a special occasion sort of destination, the kind of place I can imagine taking my future grandchildren as a birthday treat just like my Grandma Crippen took me and my siblings to Loud & Jackson Dairy on our birthdays. This annual event was as anticipated as Santa Claus coming down the chimney, at least by two of her nine local grandchildren.

So, after my initial visit to Takano Fruit Parlor with the Ancient Mariner, I managed to wait all of eight days before returning there with Fearless and her winsome 12-year old twins in tow. For a few seconds I felt slightly guilty and gluttonous. Then it dawned on me: Grandma visited Loud & Jackson Dairy at least nine times a year and surely reprised this excursion with my out-of-town cousins whenever they visited Jackson.  I am honored to have inherited her sweet tooth. 

Fearless and I ordered the special Valentine's parfaits. The twins opted for the only non-fruit items on the menu, chocolate parfaits, even though I fretted that the cubes in the picture might be tofu rolled in chocolate.

Now I will shut up and show you what the waitress placed in front of us.

Pink mousse heart with red gelatin core front a brownie heart

Rear View: flaky frosted cookie and scoop of vanilla ice cream laced with strawberry sherbet

Whipped cream, strawberry pudding, vanilla soft serve, and strawberry (real) shaved ice

Monica's chocolate parfait.  The cubes are "Melty" chocolates.

I (barely) restrained myself from licking the bowl.

The special Valentine's parfait cost 1450 yen (about $18) and the price included tea or coffee.

With the money I saved by not having my Kamakura-bori lacquered, I figure I can visit Takano Fruit Parlor three more times.