Love is in the Air
Dishes to Impress, Seduce, and Spoil Your Boo. When I was single, I absolutely employed cooking in my dating arsenal. Food was my love language and, frankly, my best flirting strategy.
Tokyo part two
As I sit here in my comfy, white-linened king-size bed sipping on my morning ritual cup of tea I am thinking over the several meals we’ve enjoyed since we landed in Tokyo 48 hours or so ago. Last night’s tightly packed bar where we enjoyed char-grilled sticks of assorted meat bits, frosted glasses of beer and that convivial warmth of strangers eating side by side. Plastic-wrapped onigiri and egg sandos – breakfast of champions – picked up from the nearby convenience store but not eaten out front as per the strict signage. My now-common diversion into a random food hall ‘just to look’ (or not) at the tempting array of pastries and breads, quality meats, pickles and ferments available to purchase by weight, mushrooms I’ve not seen before, fried proteins, bowls of prepared chirashi sushi – you get the idea.
That’s where I am still; that state of head-turning, not sure where to settle, the literal kid in a candy store situation. I want it all, even if I’m not exactly hungry. We are walking a lot, as one does on vacation if only to build up the required appetite to try all the things that catch my eye.
I twisted my ankle on the first morning we arrived and were making our way from the train station to our hotel. I was so mesmerised by the surrounding buildings and their offerings that I wasn’t watching my next steps and over I went. D’oh! Nothing too bad in the scheme of things but not ideal either. The irony here is that we were meeting up with friends who had just completed the Kumamo Kodo pilgrimage trek where they hiked up and down 60 km in 4 days, without injury.
I do have a bit of a wish list when it comes to food I want to eat here: chawanmushi (steamed egg custard with hidden delights), ramen, lots of raw fishy delights, yakitori till I can’t yakitori no more, mori-soba (cold buckwheat noodles dipped in broth before eating), pork katsu curry, omurice and so it goes on. Yes, I can get many of these dishes in my hometown or even make them at home but eating them out here adds to my internal definition of what these dishes truly are.
I’ve had chawanmushi made by a friend 20 years ago and that was when I first ate it. Was that how it should taste? Then I ate it at a suburban Japanese restaurant maybe 15 years ago. An altogether different version. Was that the ‘real’ chawanmushi?
Last year, I was served an exceptional chawanmushi in a small, refined restaurant in Penzance, Cornwall that altered my idea of what the dish could be. This one was wobbly and warm, soft set curds giving way to reveal hidden delights below, paired with a perfectly cured sliver of local mackerel. I remember closing my eyes while I ate in order to try and lock in every sense memory of the fleeting moments. Now, surely this is ‘real’ chawanmushi, created by a Scottish chef in Cornwall for only four lucky customers that evening.
If you ever find yourself remotely near Penzance and you have an abiding respect for quality seafood, make a booking at The Shore restaurant and let Bruce do the rest. You must book ahead though as he doesn’t take walk-ins buying only exactly what he needs thus minimising food waste.
My third cup of tea now empty, I get dressed and ready myself for the unknown delights the day ahead might bring. If day three in Tokyo is remotely like the previous two days, I will be tired, satiated and ready for bed when this evening finally comes. Bring it on!
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