Kibo ( Brimming With Hope ): Recipes and Stories From Japan's Tohoku

by Elizabeth Andoh

  Shu, a suffix, is sometimes added to the six major categories listed above. Shu is an alternate reading for the calligraphy saké. Nihonshu is the generic name for Japanese saké.

  Nama means “unpasteurized.”

  Genshu means “undiluted.”

  Nigori means “cloudy” and refers to unfiltered saké.

  Koshu is a saké that has been aged.

  Tezukuri means “hand-crafted,” and when part of a product name, it indicates an artisan-made saké.

  Tokubetsu means “special.” When referring to a saké, tokubetsu indicates that it is unique for one reason or another—perhaps a special strain of rice has been used or the brewery has applied some special treatment.

  Yamahai and kimoto are two types of saké that are brewed using traditional methods of uncontrolled fermentation permitting natural yeasts to enter the brew. The resulting saké is full-flavored with a richer expression. As both of these brewing methods are labor intensive, not all breweries produce these. If the opportunity presents itself, these eclectic saké brews are definitely worth trying.

  Nihonshudo (Saké Meter Value or SMV) is displayed as a number and indicates the sweetness or dryness of the saké. The lower the number (a negative number), the sweeter the saké, the higher the number (a positive number), the drier the saké.

  Alcohol percentage of most saké falls between 15 and 16 percent alcohol. A lower number will be lighter on the palate and a higher number richer. If you will be serving several saké, it is better to drink lower alcohol saké first.

  Tohoku Breweries

  The Tohoku is home to some of Japan’s best saké. The abundance of top-quality rice and water, key ingredients in making saké, is what makes it the preferred drink of the region and a natural partner to its food.

  Iwate Prefecture

  Asabiraki Brewery. Asabiraki, founded in 1871 in Morioka, has a very large portfolio of saké. One distinctive item is an uméshu (sweet spirit made from plums) saké. Another saké of interest, Daiginjō Raito Mizu no Ou, is light in alcohol (10 to 11 percent) and slightly sweet. This is a nice way to start off a meal, either as an aperitif or with more delicate foods. It is a great introductory beverage for those new to saké.

  Nanbu Bijin Brewery. Nanbu Bijin has been brewing saké since 1915 in Ninohe. It produces many different types of saké. One that I especially like is their Ginjō Shiboritaté Nama Genshu, an undiluted saké (most saké are diluted with water) with a high alcohol percentage of between 18 and 19 percent. It is very rich on the palate and good with hearty foods.

  Shichifukujin Brewery. Shichifukujin, a well-regarded brewery in Morioka, produces a variety of saké. Daiginjō Tezukuri, an elegant saké that is good to have toward the beginning of your meal, is especially noteworthy.

  Miyagi Prefecture

  Ichinokura Brewery. Ichinokura from Osaki is a newer brewery, having only opened in 1973. Their sparkling Suzuné is light in alcohol, slightly sweet, and a great aperitif that works well with sweeter foods (matching the saké) or, alternatively, with saltier foods (contrasting the saké). (Alcohol percentage is 4.5 to 5.5 percent and the SMV is -70 to -90.)

  Urakasumi Brewery. Founded in 1724, Urakasumi from Shiogama produces a variety of saké, including a very food-friendly junmai ginjō called Zen. This pairs well with a wide selection of dishes since it is not too sweet nor too dry. It is also a fine initiation into saké for those just starting to explore the beverage.

  Fukushima Prefecture

  Daishichi Brewery. Established in 1752, Daishichi is located in Nihonmatsu. Award-winning Minowamon Junmai Daiginjō is an elegant saké that I especially like with sashimi and other delicate foods. Daishichi also makes a rich uméshu (sweet spirit made from plums) made from saké.

  Kokken Brewery. Established in 1877 in Minami Aizu, Kokken boasts a large portfolio of saké. An interesting one to try is the Yamahai Junmai Nigorizaké Kokken, a very rich and thick nigorizaké (unfiltered saké) that will pair with a variety of foods.

  Ichinokura Himézen Sweet Urakasumi Zen Junmai Ginjo Ichinokura Suzuné Sparkling Daishichi Minowamon Junmai Daiginjo

  Pairing Food with Saké

  Here are a few things to keep in mind as you plan your menu:

  When preparing a dish that calls for saké as an ingredient in cooking, I suggest you use the same saké you will be serving as a beverage. There is no need to purchase additional saké, and it will be a better match for whatever you are preparing. Saké labeled as “cooking saké” is rarely good and can have a negative impact on the food.

  Sparkling saké is a good way to start a meal. Typically, it is lower in alcohol and slightly sweet, the perfect aperitif. Lighter foods, like sashimi (fresh fish), tōfu dishes, simple vegetable dishes, or steamed fish will go better with delicate saké like ginjōshu or daiginjōshu. Richer foods that are simmered in a soy broth, deep-fried items, and grilled foods will pair better with richer saké like junmaishu or honjōzoshu. Sweeter saké will naturally pair with foods seasoned or glazed with sugar or mirin. Consider ending your meal with a distinctive saké like an unfiltered, creamy nigorizaké or an aged koshu.

  It is important not to get too worked up over the pairings. Select saké that you like, enjoy yourself, and see that glasses never go empty. That being said, here are some specific recommendations I have for you to match Tohoku saké to Tohoku food.

  Urakasumi Zen (Junmai Ginjō) is a really food friendly saké that will go with a variety of dishes. Try serving it with Salmon Rice Topped with Red Caviar (Harako Meshi). As a junmaishu, Zen is rich enough to stand up to the fish and eggs yet well-balanced so it does not compete for attention with the salmon and caviar.

  A creamy, unfiltered Ichinokura Tokubetsu Junmai Nama Genshu Nigorizaké pairs well with the complex flavors and textures of Fried Tōfu and Mountain Vegetable Pilaf (Michinoku Kokeshi Bentō).

  Oysters-on-the-Riverbank Hot Pot (Kaki no Doté Nabé) is a rich and hearty dish calling for a bold saké to match it. The Daishichi Junmai Kimoto Classic will be a nice partner.

  Sparkling and slightly sweet Ichinokura Suzuné is an ideal match for Fish Sausage Patties (Sasa Kamaboko) since they are made with sugar as well as salt.

  Slightly sweet and mildly briny Miso-Seared Scallops (Hotaté no Miso Yaki) are even more delicious when served with rich Tokubetsu Junmaishu Ki Ippon Urakasumi.

  Funky-flavored Squid Jerky and Carrot Strips (Ika Ninjin) calls for a heavy saké to balance such intense flavors. Nanbu Bijin Ginjō Shiboritaté Nama Genshu is a fine choice.

  Herbaceous, sweet-salty-and-rich Walnut-Miso Stuffed Shiso Leaves (Shiso Maki) partners well with unfiltered Yamahai Junmai Nigorizaké Kokken.

  Umami-rich Salmon-Stuffed Kelp Rolls (Shaké no Kobu Maki) call for a full-bodied saké. Daishichi Junmai Kimoto Classic is rich, though round due to being aged, and is the perfect match.

  Persimmons Stuffed with Fall Fruits in Pine Nut Tōfu Sauce (Matsu no Mi Shira Aé, Kaki Utsuwa) is both rich—the toasted pine nuts—and delicate—the tōfu. Light and elegant Daishichi Minowamon Junmai Daiginjō makes a nice match for this complex dish.

  Ichinokura Himézen Sweet is a lovely dessert saké, a fine way to end any meal. It is an especially fine complement to the sweet, jade-colored sauce in Rice Taffy Dumplings with Crushed Édamamé (Zunda Mochi).

  Moving Forward

  Japan in Recovery

  Kibō. It is hope fused with, and fueled by, resolve. It is the name I chose for this book because it so aptly describes the forward-looking mood and mindset of Japan as it embarks upon the arduous road to recovery.

  Two members of my Kibō team based in Tokyo are writer-colleagues; each has her own unique voice, each a different readership and platform. I asked both to contribute a short essay on the subject of rebuilding and renewal in the aftermath of catastrophe.

  Jane Kitagawa is an Australian food, travel, lifestyle, and culture journalist. Her work has appeared and been syndicated in publications that include the New York Times, the Age/Sydney M
orning Herald, and the Daily Yomiuri/Yomiuri Shimbun, Japan’s largest circulation daily newspaper. She reviews restaurants for the Tokyo magazine Metropolis.

  Hiroko Sasaki, born and raised in Osaka, is a freelance food writer and culinary arts instructor. She received her Certificate in Professional Cookery from Kendall College (Chicago) and Certificate in Journalism from Northwestern University (Evanston, Illinois). Hiroko’s work has appeared in diverse Japanese publications, including Senmon Ryōri, a prestigious monthly journal for professional chefs.

  NUCLEAR DIASPORA

  by Jane Kitagawa

  Kazo, SAITAMA—Yoneko Fujita stamps the ground, grabs a clod of dirt, and crumbles it between her fingers. “The soil’s not as good here as in Futaba,” the seventy-year-old former cattle breeder chuckles. “But we’re lucky to have this land. The climate’s warmer than Fukushima Prefecture, so the harvest season’s extended. We’ve lost our homes, our livelihoods, our beloved farm animals and pets—and in some cases, our families—but we couldn’t sit around and do nothing. This farm allows us to be productive, and that makes us genki (feel better),” she smiles.

  The farm in question is the Futaba Genki Nōen, a 345 tsubo (1 tsubo = 4 square yards) plot of farmland donated by a Saitama Prefecture agricultural organization to former residents of the city of Futaba. Because Futaba was located 3 kilometers from Fukushima Daiichi nuclear power plant, in the no-entry zone, Futaba residents were forced to flee their homes after radiation leaks and a subsequent hydrogen explosion. At first, they thought the evacuation was just temporary, and they could return in a matter of days.

  Instead they became nuclear refugees, a 7,000-odd member diaspora, moving among temporary shelters. On April 1, 1,137 people ended up at a five-story abandoned high school, now makeshift evacuation center, in the sleepy rural community of Kazo, about two hours north of Tokyo.

  Futaba Genki Nōen sits adjacent to the school.

  The nearest bus stop is a ten-minute walk away, and the twenty-minute ride to the train station is a panorama of rice fields and forlorn houses. The school lacks bathing facilities, but there is a sentō (public bath) nearby. “There were such long queues [because we hadn’t bathed for ten days],” recalls Shigeko Kobayashi, fifty-six, of the day they arrived.

  The 768 evacuees still remaining at the school can’t use the existing kitchen facilities.

  “It would make so much difference if we could cook our own food, but I doubt we’ll get permission because of occupational health and safety reasons,” says former rice farmer Hidenori Kamura, sixty-eight. Instead, obentō boxed meals are delivered to the refugees three times a day, but Futaba Genki Nōen members supplement the meals with pickles or parboiled vegetables made from produce they grow on the farm.

  The farmers are in demand for their expertise, and they have ideas on how to improve the land; Kamura speaks of using rice hay and charcoal as farming aids. “We’ve already harvested eggplants and sweet potatoes and are now growing broccoli, Chinese cabbage, carrots, spinach, and daikon. These onions will be ready next spring,” says Fujita, gesturing at a mound of dirt covered in damp newspaper.

  Although it is their greatest wish, the Futaba refugees know that returning to their homes is highly unlikely. “What’s most important for us is to decide as a community what we do from now on,” says Kamura, almost eight months to the day of the March 11 disaster. “Whether we stay here, or go somewhere else, we hope to come to some decision by March 11, 2012.”

  The sign above reads Futaba Genki Nōen. Gambaré!! (“Let’s do our best!!”) The sign was illustrated by young refugees from Fukushima Prefecture staying at an evacuation center adjacent to the farm. The sign features drawings of daruma, symbols of perseverance and good luck.

  BRIMMING WITH HOPE

  by Hiroko Sasaki

  It was just an ordinary snowy afternoon in mid-March, a typical end-of-winter day in the Tohoku. A few customers lingered over lunch at Takigawa, a traditional kappō-style Japanese restaurant in Ishinomaki, Japan’s third largest fishing port. Suddenly, a tremendous jolt, violent shaking: dishes tumbling, crashing, smashing … furniture falling. Barely able to stand, owner-chef Tsukasa Abe, yelled, “Everyone, leave … NOW!” He knew a quake of this magnitude could bring a deadly tsunami. The clock showed the time as 2:46 p.m.

  An hour later, snow still falling, Tsukasa, his wife, Yukiko, and their two little children stood on a nearby hill, hugging one another. The scene left them speechless: a muddy, debris-filled river was all that remained of their town. Claiming more than 3,200 lives, the tsunami hit Ishinomaki the hardest.

  For nearly a century, Takigawa had served its famed kamameshi (rice pilaf cooked over a hearth in cast-iron pots) and locally sourced seafood to appreciative customers. “Then on March 11, everything crumbled: the building and our business. Standing amid heaps of mud and rubble, we were told it would cost us $800,000 to restore our building,” recalls Yukiko, the restaurant’s fourth generation proprietor.

  “I felt hopeless,” Tsukasa adds. “I’d lost the restaurant and its legacy … and my closest childhood friend. It was two months later that a nearby grocer suggested we make boxed lunches to sell at his store. We began by cooking on a makeshift stove in our backyard.” Word spread quickly among Takigawa’s former customers and other evacuees staying at the local shelters. Everyone craved good food and one hundred boxes sold out daily in no time.

  “Though I was really happy working again, I couldn’t see much of a future without a plan for restoring Takigawa …” Tsukasa mumbled. Just as they were ready to give up all hope, another helping hand was extended. One of the biggest hotels in town had heard of Takigawa’s popular boxed lunches and offered to set the couple up in a restaurant on the ground floor of the hotel. Takigawa opened for business there on September 1, 2011. One of the few places in Ishinomaki where customers can relax and enjoy top-quality cuisine, the new restaurant is filled every day with a satisfied and grateful clientele. Tsukasa says, “What we need to do now is to simply serve good food to people, because I believe good food is vital to making people happy, giving them strength to move forward. As an Ishinomaki chef, I feel bound to pass down local cooking traditions to future generations. I do not want the history of Takigawa to come to an end because of the Disaster,” Tsukasa says.

  “It was such a huge calamity and the following six months were extremely tough” says Yukiko. “It may sound strange, but Ishinomaki is now where we can best experience happiness. Every day brings some joyous discovery or some tiny step toward recovery. For example, someone I thought had been lost is really alive, my favorite bakery has reopened for the first time in six months, and my daughter’s school could safely hold its annual school show,” she smiles. Her husband adds, “Ishinomaki City is sure to revive in the near future. We feel proud to be a part of that. Kibō wo motte (‘brimming with hope’) gambarimasu (‘We will do our best’)!”

  Banner attached to a pole in Ishinomaki City says, in the local dialect:

  Magénedo, gambaru … Ashita wo yumé mite!

  We’re not giving up! Hanging in there … for tomorrow.

  A Note About Language

  As a writer, I struggle with language—vocabulary and grammar, especially syntax. Much of my energy is spent balancing nuance of meaning and determining the best, most logical order in which to present and develop certain ideas. In my work, I must accommodate two languages that are wildly different from each other in verbal structure and written form: English and Japanese. An already challenging situation is made more difficult still because there is no single standard for transliteration. Academia, government circles, publishers, and print media all differ. Inconsistency is rampant.

  Over the years, with abundant feedback from readers and volunteers who assist me in testing recipes, I have developed my own system to assist those familiar with English in pronouncing (unfamiliar) Japanese words. With each book I write, I review and revise. After all, language is a dynamic aspect of culture, constantly ch
anging.

  In this book, Kibō, I continue to use accent marks. The one that appears over the o in kibō is called a macron, or long mark. It represents an extended vowel sound (for which there is no English equivalent) that appears in some, but not all, Japanese words transliterated with the letter “o.” A macron is used to spell tōfu, for example, but not miso.

  I borrow the French accent mark for some e sounds because I want you to pronounce those “ay.” Agé is pronounced “ah-gay,” (g sounds are always hard, like good or great; soft g sounds are written with a j). Abura agé is fried tōfu (and has nothing to do with age in the sense of a life span).

  Next challenge: what should a particular ingredient, technique, or recipe be called? Use Japanese? Or English? I often find the need to combine the two. Shiso leaves and firm tōfu are good examples of this. In the first instance, Japanese modifies English; in the latter example, it is reversed.

  When there is a single, obvious, uncontested, accurate (or fairly accurate) English name for something, I have used that word: soy sauce, not shōyu, for example. However, nothing is quite that simple. I find usukuchi shōyu, the Japanese name for a pale-in-appearance-soy-sauce, a better choice than “light-colored soy sauce” to avoid mistaking this sauce for a “lite” seasoning. Usukuchi shōyu is full strength in flavor and sodium, though it does not “stain” foods the way regular soy sauce does.

  Though I continue to strive for accuracy and ease in identification, the choices I make are admittedly arbitrary. There may be some baffling inconsistencies. If you are having trouble locating an item, try a reverse language search. Go meiwaku wo okakéshimasu ga … Please, accept my sincere apologies for any inconvenience this may cause.

  Yet another challenge: romanizing names of Japanese historical figures. Normally in Japan, the family name (surname) is first, followed by the given name. In that style, I am Andoh Elizabeth (not Elizabeth Andoh). Japanese historical personages who appear in English language texts are typically listed Japanese-style. I have followed suit with Daté Masamuné (warrior statesman and the founder of Sendai City) and Matsuo Bashō (seventeenth-century poet).