Midnight Games

The obsession with food is palpable in this midnight arcade…

 

 

 

where you goING?

We were easily susceptible to English words. “Rocking Bar” carried a promise delivered–but not at all how we expected.

A small room, lit in warm incandescence, played music at an average pitch. The dank fandom for the Rolling Stones flapping from the walls is, endearing. The Stone song loop through the night, reaching deeper and deeper inside us with each drink drank.

The music is a pleasant change from most of Japan (at least the Japan we saw)—but the uncommon menu is the grand surprise. With an array of two-part cocktails and an food menu when “ethnic” means Japanese, I hardly knew what order. I don’t recall what I ordered, but it was probably the Dita Pine because I enjoy disappointing myself.

ING
Japan, 〒604-8022 Kyoto, Nakagyo Ward, 西木屋町通蛸薬師上る南車屋町２８８－２０１ 京都ロイヤルビル２階

kyotoingbar.com

Hale

Hale is had to find. Entering the Nishiki Market at night, may of the bustling vendors were closed. A slice of gold in the blue night revealed the narrow passage to a mostly organic and I’m pretty sure all vegan converted home. The small restaurant hold two table dinning tables in the backside of the market.

Surrender to whims of the kitchen, seasons, and staff—because you really have no choice. Nor why would you want choice when the set menu extracts such delights from the simple statement:

• Pickles
• Fresh Chilled Tofu
• 2 Seasonal Dishes
• Steamed Organic Vegetables
• Yuba and Mushrooms Rice Bowl
• Kyoto Tea

I can’t tell you what pickles were presented—but they were light, crisp, slightly salty and did not taste like watermelon despite the obvious watermelon color.

Ordering a beverage at dinner is mandatory. The bar counter looming at eye-level brimming with sake, so we order that. Which one, I don’t know.

Surprises land on the table at a set meal. And in a country that does not share my language, I may never truly know what I get. Without explanation, without expectations, I found myself forced to lay into the present moment. Examining mounts of what I assumed was yuzu zest-topped knots of sauteed curly spinach and a shoyu seasoned mash of okara (soy milk pulp) with root vegetables scraps. Behind it, a bowl of fresh tofu, likely the end product of the okara process.

This, to me, is Japan. A bamboo steamer of fresh vegetables. From skin on kabocha squash, to the natural geometry of lotus root, to the unexpected spring of fresh nama-fu (similar to mochi but made of wheat gluten).

The basket comes with a trio of dipper: A ground sesame seed paste, a chili soy slurry, and a pinch of local salt.

The deep fried course offers new textures. A chip of crispy yuba skin clamshells over balls of deep fried tofu flecked with vegetables and hijiki (a wormy brown seaweed that all good kids ate with glee).

You cannot not have a bowl of glistening yuba in over rice at Hale. The light gravy, given bite with a swath of wasabi perched on the side of the bowl, is not nearly as slimy as it looks.

Passing through this small garden, I found the bathroom and experience my very first squat toilet. No pictures, sorry, but I assure you its all going to be OK.

Hale
604-8055 Kyoto, Nakagyo Ward,
Higashiuoyacho, 198

Website: http://www.kyoto-nishiki.or.jp/stores/hale/index.html

Everyday Kyoto

Outside the temples lay the everyday Kyoto. A city that shows it age, wet with humanity, crumbling through time as the plants slowing take over.

 

Fall into Tofuku-ji Temple

This would not the most dramatic display of autumn leaves in Japan, but at the time we didn’t know that.

We crossed the  Tsutenkyo Bridge–a breezeway over the turning maples that  chattering beneath us in a ravine. In the air you feel surrounded by color, busts of life turning towards exquisite death of a winter we would not be here long enough to see. Across the way, a covered platform cantilevers over the long shadow the bridge creates.

We come down, into the ravine, where the red leaves crinkle under our feet and the shadows turn cold and quiet. No one speaks, our eyes too full for conversation. Passing through the autumn cover, we silently head into the evergreen grounds to the temple.

Dirty Windows Between Hiroshima and Kyoto

Hiroshima/Kyoto  (Day 6)

When the density of power lines foretells the coming city

Special Salt and Thanksgiving

Hiroshima  (Day 5)

All we had was a paper map. On it you could identify restaurants that made tempura—a beacon of hope as hunger fell. We walked up and down the neon ally holding the map up to the kanji signs hoping to find a visual match. Eventually we found Otowa.

Removing our shoes we stepped up onto a private platform. Menus were placed before that we of course couldn’t read. Fortunately the waitress understood us enough to know we didn’t want meat. We left everything else up to her.

The pale sesame dressing looked totally innocent on the torn lettuce starter salad. It was followed up with what we deemed “Thanksgiving Tempura,” a medley of eggplant, mushroom, mountain yam, and something that looks like shrimp but tastes like tree roots. A dipping sauce was absent, instead a small dish of salt was presented.

“Local salt, from Hiroshima,” explains the waitress mimicking sprinkling over the tempura. So we sprinkled salt on our tempura which, in turn, never grew soft throughout the meal.

She then presented us with personal bowls of Agedashi Tofu. Lightly fried cubes of tofu plopped in a pool of mirin thinned soy sauce under a damp wad of grated radish, green onion, and shreds of seaweed.  After that came bowls of rice cut with pickled greens. The pickle rice was a revelation. While I’ve eaten my share of pickles and rice or pickles on rice, this was my first encounter with pickles chopped up and mixed into rice. With the saltiness cut by carbs, the sweet nuance of preserved vegetables permeates each bite.

Extracting American ritual from Thanksgiving diminished none of the sentiment. As we suckled on honeydew and the faint remnants of salt, we sighed with gratitude for the comfort and kindness found in this city crushed by America. In Japan the fourth Thursday of November is just a Thursday, but it felt like a holiday nonetheless.

Some Restaurant I Didn’t Eat At…

Hiroshima  (Day 5)

Veggie picks in Hiroshima are limited. Like extremely limited. Essentially I looked up any menu I could read, then looked for vegetable tempura. I figured if there is vegetable tempura, I will be able to eat. I found one spot, so we made a bee line for:

But then saw this sign:

I have no idea what it says either. But as we stood there like sad kittens a waiter approached and shooed us off. Hand gestures finally got it through to us that they were closed for a private party… I think.

Torii Torii Torii!

Miyajima Island (Day 5)

The Itsukushima Shrine stands both on and off the island. Stilted above the waxing and waning waters, the shrine grips the islands edge to keep from floating away. The Torii Gate is poised in the distance. Affixed to an ocean floor that only revels itself at low tide. This was the first (and there will be more) structure where the construction flabbergasted me. Not that it is build in the ocean, but the pillars, the pillars are so large. Thick and rigid and towering over the sea.

Build from 500-1600 year old camphor trees, grown and groomed by nature alone, it stands between the spirit and human world. Not secured to any foundation, it holds to the earth by gravity alone. At first I was disappointed to not proceed between the pillars, the ocean’s mid-tide holding us off at a distance; but maybe it was for the best. Maybe it’s a world I’m not ready to enter.

This photo captures the scale of the Torii. It is huge.

Ferry to Miyajima Island: Now With More Deer!

Miyajima Island (Day 5)

After what already felt like a full day, we met our Goodwill Guide and took the JR train to meet the ferry to Miyajima Island. The JR Rail Pass granted us access to the chill 10 minute ride. The ferry was one of the few time we encounters other Americans; a couple enjoying the breeze beside us on the deck.

The entire time you can see the island approaching, rising out of the water beneath the beating sun. Hazy blues turn to shades of brown, then green…  then the ferry makes a sharp turn to run parallel with the island’s shore. The island turns greener and greener until a flash of vermilion red signals our arrives. The Torii Gate looks petite against the steep peaks and I feel underwhelmed. This feeling dissipates the moment I stepped foot on Miyajima Island.

We are greeted by hordes of tourist and school children… and deer. Deer! Everywhere!

And the deer are not like just in the public places, they go everywhere: on the beach, to the temples, into the stores. All the while eyeing you for food; but they don’t beg. I get the idea that they don’t have to. Such is the benefit of being beautiful.

Okay. I’m going to stop posting pictures of deer.  Don’t fret, there will be more the the next post.