Hop aboard the shinkansen (bullet train) and plunk an obento (lunch box) on your tray table from Tokyo Eki (station), with its dazzling assortment. A premium ticket (think: airfare) affords an assigned seat or, for less, take your chances for the unreserved car. Half an hour into the ride a snack seller in snazzy uniform pushes a trolley through the car and bows deeply at the exit. Zip 100 miles northwest and switch for the last 100 miles to a slower train; four hours over tracks ends up in the capital of Ishikawa Prefecture, namely Kanazawa ( "gold marsh")--a town built on wealth. When the kaze (winds) are strong, as this past week, prepare for delays. A fellow passenger with a gray beard kindly translated the lengthy announcement that warned of a 45 minute late departure. Unpack a 1,000 page novel by James Clavell, Shogun.
Such a rainy town is the home to the Kenroku-en ("garden of six elements"), one of The Three Great Gardens of Japan. For two centuries the Maeda clan refined this 25 acre gem that includes the oldest water feature, a fountain that operates by natural water pressure. Who doesn't know the six aspects include space, serenity, scenic views, coolness, design and, of course, venerability? End of May means ayame (iris) along the banks by the Flower Viewing Bridge. Optimal viewing time is 7:30 AM before the thundering hordes arrive with megaphones and cameras. Japanese parks are devoid of squirrels and chipmunks, but feathered friends (wagtails, spot-billed ducks and grosbeaks) appear for the patient photographer. Across town at the expensive 21st Century Museum of Contemporary Art ($15 entry) what a surprise to bump into the gray beard from the shinkansen (bullet train) at the gruesome Alternative Humanities exhibit by Jan Fabre and Katsura Funakoshi. The pool installation permits guests to look up through the glass bottom into the water.
Stroll the geisha quarters and stop in a samurai home for a nominal fee,then turn a serendipitous corner to bump into one of the few remaining workshops of a wagasa (parasol) maker. Cross legged on his tatami in silence the artisan creates the skeleton of the graceful object, then attaches the washi (paper). Inside the parasols the fretwork is intricate and multi-colored. Our man is pleased to open a photo album that displays famous customers, after all, the cheapest parasol costs ni man en (about $225). Nothing is for sale in the shop, everything is on order for the depato (department store) -- zannen (too bad)! Consolation prize at the station on the way back to Tokyo, thanks to suggestion of Judy Steeh, is a few boxes of the Kanazawa ginger snap from Koida bakery. Oishii!!
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Aoyama Tree of Stars
"Lunch in May will be held at Hoshi no Naruki (Tree of Stars), Porto Aoyama building, Omotesando, Exit B2." On the fourth floor of an office building, Eating Out Group met for its monthly gathering at noon, as usual. Although the group favors Western food this month was the exception: Modified kaiseki (multi course Japanese meal) in a private room of a popular eatery for Y3,100 ( $35, no tipping in Japan). Top restaurants often perch above the ground floor in Tokyo, which is startling to gaijin. Western Muzak (Danny Boy, among others) was incongruous and distracting, so the server kindly turned down the volume.
When six Tokyo ladies first created Cooking Group 15 years ago, they met at each other's homes. Once the husbands retired, they shifted to Eating Out Group. Very different in their interests, they met through the academically oriented women's club. Their objective was to have a good excuse to wear jewelry and speak English over lunch, which meant inviting one or two native speakers along. One gaijin member lasted nine years! Ever since dear Wanda-san left town two years ago the onus has been on me; few gaijin can commit to a monthly lunch.This month a "graduate" from Australia made her annual visit, plus another local gaijin was able to make the time.
"My mother told me that breakfast is gold, lunch silver, dinner is bronze," said pianist-san (who has been playing Chopin concerts all year to honor his 200th anniversary). Isn't it funny that Western wisdom advises eating breakfast like a king, lunch like a prince and dinner like a pauper? Breakfast may be considered the most important meal yet we all prefer lunch. According to Haha (mom) we must eat 30 different things a day for good health. The chef at Hoshi no Naruki insured one day's supply all in bite-size portions in our meal, including some slippery potato and other dishes unknown outside of Nihon. What falls into the bronze category? "Bronze must be warm food, and not as healthy as gold," said pianist-san, who has slimmed down considerably by riding her bicycle around town. "For example, red wine. It's the most important part of dinner." Gaijin, take note.
When six Tokyo ladies first created Cooking Group 15 years ago, they met at each other's homes. Once the husbands retired, they shifted to Eating Out Group. Very different in their interests, they met through the academically oriented women's club. Their objective was to have a good excuse to wear jewelry and speak English over lunch, which meant inviting one or two native speakers along. One gaijin member lasted nine years! Ever since dear Wanda-san left town two years ago the onus has been on me; few gaijin can commit to a monthly lunch.This month a "graduate" from Australia made her annual visit, plus another local gaijin was able to make the time.
"My mother told me that breakfast is gold, lunch silver, dinner is bronze," said pianist-san (who has been playing Chopin concerts all year to honor his 200th anniversary). Isn't it funny that Western wisdom advises eating breakfast like a king, lunch like a prince and dinner like a pauper? Breakfast may be considered the most important meal yet we all prefer lunch. According to Haha (mom) we must eat 30 different things a day for good health. The chef at Hoshi no Naruki insured one day's supply all in bite-size portions in our meal, including some slippery potato and other dishes unknown outside of Nihon. What falls into the bronze category? "Bronze must be warm food, and not as healthy as gold," said pianist-san, who has slimmed down considerably by riding her bicycle around town. "For example, red wine. It's the most important part of dinner." Gaijin, take note.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Sumo Smackdown
Sumo fans are used to the rough and tumble, unlike coddled Tokyo American Club members who came for a genteel lecture on the sport and found themselves in the midst of a slanging match. Gaijin guest, a couch potato sumo, arrived early with his okusan (wife) and nihon publishers. The Library Committee welcomed 20 to the event, including omnipresent TAC president (think: Obama). Reading from The Joy of Sumo, Mr. Benjamin invited the audience to interrupt with questions as they arose. A smug looking woman (think: Lily Tomlin) was pleased to raise her hand.
"Why on page 99 do you refer to the grandfather of the yokuzuna (highest rank sumo), yet 10 pages later you call the same man uncle? Please explain the incest here?" she posed, licking her lips. Sososo, Benjamin acknowledged the mistake. When asked which part of Japan produces the most wrestlers, the author answered that they come from villages at extreme ends of the country. Smug lady piped up: "Then how do explain that three of the all-time top sumo hail from Tokyo?" She cited names and dates. Sosososo, Benjamin admitted that except for a few Tokyoites, most hail from the hinterlands. After she further reduced our joy in his book, the author asked: "Could you please give us your name?" Ms X! "Friends, please meet my greatest critic, Ms X, the author of a competing book on the subject. She has been hounding me ever since my book was published 20 years ago." Perhaps Ms X might allow Mr. Benjamin to continue and offer her own lecture in future? I suggested. "Ha! Her book is out of print while mine lives on after 20 years!" spluttered Mr. Benjamin to Ms X's dismay.
Much like a sumo match (a few minutes of posturing ending with a shove that bounces one roly-poly combatant out of the ring) our evening came to an abrupt halt. "Charlatan!" shouted Ms X, snapping the stem from her wine glass. A Library Committee colleague (and a practitioner of Israeli self-defense) invited Ms X to leave the premises and allow the rest of us to enjoy the rest of the evening. As a members only event, who brought her? The nihon publishers were forced to admit that they did: "She is a reporter for a sumo publication." Unlike past author events when guests mingle and the author signs books, the room emptied out as if for a fire drill. "Rich people don't like to spend money," opined Mr. Benjamin to his hostess. "I'd love to come back another time since we come once a year to visit my in-laws." Final lesson about sumo: Bow to the victor.
"Why on page 99 do you refer to the grandfather of the yokuzuna (highest rank sumo), yet 10 pages later you call the same man uncle? Please explain the incest here?" she posed, licking her lips. Sososo, Benjamin acknowledged the mistake. When asked which part of Japan produces the most wrestlers, the author answered that they come from villages at extreme ends of the country. Smug lady piped up: "Then how do explain that three of the all-time top sumo hail from Tokyo?" She cited names and dates. Sosososo, Benjamin admitted that except for a few Tokyoites, most hail from the hinterlands. After she further reduced our joy in his book, the author asked: "Could you please give us your name?" Ms X! "Friends, please meet my greatest critic, Ms X, the author of a competing book on the subject. She has been hounding me ever since my book was published 20 years ago." Perhaps Ms X might allow Mr. Benjamin to continue and offer her own lecture in future? I suggested. "Ha! Her book is out of print while mine lives on after 20 years!" spluttered Mr. Benjamin to Ms X's dismay.
Much like a sumo match (a few minutes of posturing ending with a shove that bounces one roly-poly combatant out of the ring) our evening came to an abrupt halt. "Charlatan!" shouted Ms X, snapping the stem from her wine glass. A Library Committee colleague (and a practitioner of Israeli self-defense) invited Ms X to leave the premises and allow the rest of us to enjoy the rest of the evening. As a members only event, who brought her? The nihon publishers were forced to admit that they did: "She is a reporter for a sumo publication." Unlike past author events when guests mingle and the author signs books, the room emptied out as if for a fire drill. "Rich people don't like to spend money," opined Mr. Benjamin to his hostess. "I'd love to come back another time since we come once a year to visit my in-laws." Final lesson about sumo: Bow to the victor.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Lost in Translation
No sooner did the digital clock blink 11 AM than four elegant English speakers arrived for ongoing coffee and conversation with baked treats from the local Paul in Roppongi-ichome station. (The fifth member had to look after her granddaughter as professional babysitters are not in plentiful supply in Tokyo.) "Are we early?" asked chef-san, to the secret amusement of musume (my daughter) eavesdropping from her room. Despite best efforts to prepare coffee, photocopy word games and produce a new word list there always appears to be one more thing to do as they tiptoe in. "Water for everyone?" The sudden rise in humidity requires hydration. Two preferred carbonated water, two preferred natural and which type is healthier? Impossible to determine based on this sample.
Last week ended with a question: Why do Americans say "you know" so often? You know, that's a good question. Fellow Americans, any ideas? What do you know, it is a colloquialism that we fall back on when gathering our thoughts. This week I selected a quiz from the BBC British Council on the subject of food shopping. Bananas and grapes come in bunches (fusa), but how strange that Westerners buy meat by weight. In Tokyo meat is sold in single portions to avoid waste. White and dark meat of a chicken was a new concept. Milk comes in a carton, but only in litres and half litres. Who needs a gallon? Chef-san, who once lived in Westchester, reminisced about jumbo packages of foods including the "buy one get one free" specials at the Gourmet Garage. After 6 PM Daimaru Peacock supa (market) discounts perishables but the choice is unpredictable.
Lively conversation led to a new word, anecdote, "an amusing or interesting story about yourself." Two came up about milk: Obaasan (grandmother of 5) recounted a friend who was served milk (mi-ri-ku)on an airplane after asking for beer (bi-ru), while Chef-san's husband was served six glasses of milk after ordering a milk shake! Shake sounded like six? Traveler-san once asked for a map in New York and was presented with a mop! Giggles all around. Looking at the paper napkins on the table provoked the final question of the coffee: What do you call the character on the napkin? That's a smiley face. In Japan he has a name (Niko Niko chan). Gomen nasai no time for Pooh-san , but the new Feng Shui books were distributed with great hopes for the future. Sayonara! Raishu ( next week)!
Last week ended with a question: Why do Americans say "you know" so often? You know, that's a good question. Fellow Americans, any ideas? What do you know, it is a colloquialism that we fall back on when gathering our thoughts. This week I selected a quiz from the BBC British Council on the subject of food shopping. Bananas and grapes come in bunches (fusa), but how strange that Westerners buy meat by weight. In Tokyo meat is sold in single portions to avoid waste. White and dark meat of a chicken was a new concept. Milk comes in a carton, but only in litres and half litres. Who needs a gallon? Chef-san, who once lived in Westchester, reminisced about jumbo packages of foods including the "buy one get one free" specials at the Gourmet Garage. After 6 PM Daimaru Peacock supa (market) discounts perishables but the choice is unpredictable.
Lively conversation led to a new word, anecdote, "an amusing or interesting story about yourself." Two came up about milk: Obaasan (grandmother of 5) recounted a friend who was served milk (mi-ri-ku)on an airplane after asking for beer (bi-ru), while Chef-san's husband was served six glasses of milk after ordering a milk shake! Shake sounded like six? Traveler-san once asked for a map in New York and was presented with a mop! Giggles all around. Looking at the paper napkins on the table provoked the final question of the coffee: What do you call the character on the napkin? That's a smiley face. In Japan he has a name (Niko Niko chan). Gomen nasai no time for Pooh-san , but the new Feng Shui books were distributed with great hopes for the future. Sayonara! Raishu ( next week)!
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Day Trip to Tochigi Prefecture
Forty members of the bi-cultural social club boarded a coach headed north to Tochigi Prefecture on a steamy Tuesday. First stop Ashikaga Koen (park) famed for yellow fujii no hana (wisteria), second stop the Kurita Museum known for Imari exportware. No stop at the outlets, which are also located in the area. With take off scheduled for 8:15AM , we four co-leaders rendezvoused at 7:45 "or else." Around 7:30 the lower lobby of the Hotel Okura was deserted, since the earlybird members decided to perch at the coffee shop. Arriving like clockwork, handing over envelopes of money with two hands in exchange for name tags, except for the American straggler. "I shouldn't have stopped at Starbucks," said she, breaking two rules (punctuality and public eating).
By 10:30 our fine ladies invaded the 20 acre park, admiring the ancient yellow wisteria, the ike (pond) with its bullfrogs and fields of giant clematis. With the sun beating down, some opened parasols. Is 11:15 too early to find a shady spot in which to devour her o-bento (boxed lunch)? Oishii! Back in the bus for the hop to Mr. Kurita's museum down the road. With the information tags only in nihongo how lucky for me to follow behind a siruba (silver) member who now teaches Western cooking. Raised in New York and London, she was shipped back to Nihon with her mother when World War II broke out. "How can I forget March 10, 1945," she suddenly said, recalling the firebombing of Tokyo. "Mother Superior sent me to fetch some classmates. I couldn't eat for a week." Her diplomat dad stayed in Europe to work on a peace agreement. When the family reunited they were pleasantly surprised by his big belly, she confided, testimony that he had been well looked after by all parties.
Imari is the port from which the red white and blue porcelain made its way overseas and into palace drawing rooms. A Korean potter named Yi Sam-pyong invented porcelain clay and Queen Victoria ended up with boatloads, as witnessed by the displays at the V & A (Victoria and Albert Museum). Imari ware is miles away from chakai (the Way of Tea) with its simple elegance and unique chakan (tea bowls) prized for imperfections. The tea scoop, or chashaku, a sliver of bamboo, may carry the same price tag as a set of china. "The Empress called for a cookie recipe but she said it didn't turn out right," the siruba member told me. Sure enough, it was the butter: HIH (Her Imperial Highness) melted it on the stovetop instead of letting it soften on the counter. Do sumo wrestlers care for cookies? Thursday evening only a baker's dozen in the audience have signed up to listen to our sumo expert at the Tokyo American Club.
By 10:30 our fine ladies invaded the 20 acre park, admiring the ancient yellow wisteria, the ike (pond) with its bullfrogs and fields of giant clematis. With the sun beating down, some opened parasols. Is 11:15 too early to find a shady spot in which to devour her o-bento (boxed lunch)? Oishii! Back in the bus for the hop to Mr. Kurita's museum down the road. With the information tags only in nihongo how lucky for me to follow behind a siruba (silver) member who now teaches Western cooking. Raised in New York and London, she was shipped back to Nihon with her mother when World War II broke out. "How can I forget March 10, 1945," she suddenly said, recalling the firebombing of Tokyo. "Mother Superior sent me to fetch some classmates. I couldn't eat for a week." Her diplomat dad stayed in Europe to work on a peace agreement. When the family reunited they were pleasantly surprised by his big belly, she confided, testimony that he had been well looked after by all parties.
Imari is the port from which the red white and blue porcelain made its way overseas and into palace drawing rooms. A Korean potter named Yi Sam-pyong invented porcelain clay and Queen Victoria ended up with boatloads, as witnessed by the displays at the V & A (Victoria and Albert Museum). Imari ware is miles away from chakai (the Way of Tea) with its simple elegance and unique chakan (tea bowls) prized for imperfections. The tea scoop, or chashaku, a sliver of bamboo, may carry the same price tag as a set of china. "The Empress called for a cookie recipe but she said it didn't turn out right," the siruba member told me. Sure enough, it was the butter: HIH (Her Imperial Highness) melted it on the stovetop instead of letting it soften on the counter. Do sumo wrestlers care for cookies? Thursday evening only a baker's dozen in the audience have signed up to listen to our sumo expert at the Tokyo American Club.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Traveling Back to old Edo
On a dry Saturday afternoon a Tokyoite may abandon her computer for a brief stop in a strolling garden. Walking toward the bay from the Manor through deserted streets (imagine: Wall Street) within half an hour the greenery seeker reaches Kyu Shiba-rikyu on Shi Tei-en. A ticket of Y 150 (about $2) affords an afternoon on the grounds until the gatekeeper locks up at 5 PM. Four centuries ago a samurai in the service of the Tokugawa Shogun made his home at this city address. Using garden designers from the coastal town of Odawara, the samurai created an urban oasis that became Shiba Detached Palace in the 19th century until the Showa Emperor presented it to the city in 1924.
A splash of blue confirmed that summer is around the corner as ayame (iris) dotted the central ike (pond), home to giant koi, turtles and spot-billed ducks. Desperate for handouts koi (carp) the size of dachshunds swarmed to the shoreline with mouths agape. A visiting cormorant with wings wide open dripped dry. Shujin (husband) coveted the stone paths that direct strollers along the proper route as well as the snow-viewing stone lantern. Perched upon an oyama (special vantage point), we watched a team of archers emerge from the range at one corner of the garden. Closing time came quickly, and the few visitors neatly queued through the low gateway.
Next stop, the supa (market) Daimaru Peacock via Zojoji, the Buddhist temple circa 1622. Wise shoppers know that after 6 PM prices on sushi and other perishables are slashed, so there is a predictable scrum. No reason to head to the vegetable stall, although a quick stop at the boulangerie for the piping hot baguette. How nice to be welcomed back to the Manor by the kindly concierge, O-san, with his ready smile. Will the inbox reveal a sudden surge in sign-ups for the lecture on Sumo at the Tokyo American Club in just five days time? Or has Sumo lost its audience in Japan, is the question.
A splash of blue confirmed that summer is around the corner as ayame (iris) dotted the central ike (pond), home to giant koi, turtles and spot-billed ducks. Desperate for handouts koi (carp) the size of dachshunds swarmed to the shoreline with mouths agape. A visiting cormorant with wings wide open dripped dry. Shujin (husband) coveted the stone paths that direct strollers along the proper route as well as the snow-viewing stone lantern. Perched upon an oyama (special vantage point), we watched a team of archers emerge from the range at one corner of the garden. Closing time came quickly, and the few visitors neatly queued through the low gateway.
Next stop, the supa (market) Daimaru Peacock via Zojoji, the Buddhist temple circa 1622. Wise shoppers know that after 6 PM prices on sushi and other perishables are slashed, so there is a predictable scrum. No reason to head to the vegetable stall, although a quick stop at the boulangerie for the piping hot baguette. How nice to be welcomed back to the Manor by the kindly concierge, O-san, with his ready smile. Will the inbox reveal a sudden surge in sign-ups for the lecture on Sumo at the Tokyo American Club in just five days time? Or has Sumo lost its audience in Japan, is the question.
Friday, May 14, 2010
The Small World of Tokyo
"In nihongo what is the word for 'acquaintance'?" I inquired at Beginner Conversation. As I rushed to the class in the crisp morning, I greeted someone on the street whom I met only yesterday. For English speakers a stranger does not qualify as tomodachi (friend) upon a single meeting, even if that meeting took place in the garden of the Australian Embassy as was the case. For Tokyoites friendship begins with ni-san-kai-a-ta hito (two or three times seen person), I found out. "Perhaps you will become friends in future if you continue to see each other," said my gentle native speaker.
Becoming a tomodachi is a process. At a Sayonara Soiree for two ex-pats, what fun to run into the tomodachi who introduced me to yaki imo (baked sweet potato). On autumn evenings little pick-up trucks pop up around Tokyo festooned with lights as the driver sings: Yaki imo. In the bed of the truck a wood oven produces luscious hot potatoes for Y 300 (about $4) and up (depending upon size). After an outing with the Wild Bird Society of Japan tomodachi and I shared one three winters ago. She had just marked her kanrecki (60th birthday) and retired from teaching English. One year later tomodachi had to call off a wedding for her younger daughter, rent a suite at the Imperial Hotel and formally apologize to the family of the jilted groom. The following year that very daughter married the man who had stopped her from making that fatal mistake.
"I have a new granddaughter, four weeks old!" tomodachi announced, producing a photo album of a healthy akachan (baby). With a cupboard full of kimono, no worries for tomodachi that they will be put to good use. Over macha (green tea) another time she had explained basic kimono etiquette (long sleeves until marriage, bright colors until age 40, etc). "Please come and see my garden soon, " she offered a precious invitation as we drifted back into the room. Dewa mata! (Later)
Becoming a tomodachi is a process. At a Sayonara Soiree for two ex-pats, what fun to run into the tomodachi who introduced me to yaki imo (baked sweet potato). On autumn evenings little pick-up trucks pop up around Tokyo festooned with lights as the driver sings: Yaki imo. In the bed of the truck a wood oven produces luscious hot potatoes for Y 300 (about $4) and up (depending upon size). After an outing with the Wild Bird Society of Japan tomodachi and I shared one three winters ago. She had just marked her kanrecki (60th birthday) and retired from teaching English. One year later tomodachi had to call off a wedding for her younger daughter, rent a suite at the Imperial Hotel and formally apologize to the family of the jilted groom. The following year that very daughter married the man who had stopped her from making that fatal mistake.
"I have a new granddaughter, four weeks old!" tomodachi announced, producing a photo album of a healthy akachan (baby). With a cupboard full of kimono, no worries for tomodachi that they will be put to good use. Over macha (green tea) another time she had explained basic kimono etiquette (long sleeves until marriage, bright colors until age 40, etc). "Please come and see my garden soon, " she offered a precious invitation as we drifted back into the room. Dewa mata! (Later)
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