Home Cookin'

The Origin Of Why The Japanese Eat Weird Food - Betcha didn't know!

Raw cow liver. Sea turtle phlegm. Rotting soy beans. Bee larvae. Raw horse meat. Baby octopi. Grasshopper. Chrysanthemum. Squid guts.  Konyaku (a gelatinous paste made from the root of a yam-like tuber and formed into bricks or strings and is obviously eaten for its chewy texture rather than its flavor - d'uh).
These are but a piddling few of the awful-sounding things that I have eaten in Japan that could gag a slop-eating pig with its disgustability.
I've always wondered why and how such obscene cuisine became into the diet of the average Nihonjin. Actually, I never gave it much thought until some other foreigner asked me like I was the Great and Powerful Oz, and should know everything. Thanks to the query, I have stolen her idea.
I carefully went around to all of the fluent English-speaking Japanese teachers of English I work with at my seven junior high schools in Ohtawara, and asked her (singular) the origin of certain Japanese foods.
As is the case with all cultures, we seem to know surprisingly little about our own culture and athlete's foot. However, she gamely volunteered to ask her grandmother, who was apparently around for the origin of why the Japanese eat weird food, to explain some of the origins for me.
Here is a tale of woe about natto (rotting soy beans) and inago (grasshopper) that takes place 400 years ago in Shimotsuke-shi (Shimotsuke City) in Shimosuke-ken (Shimotsuke Province)--by coincidence, the current name of Tochigi-shi and Tochigi-ken, respectively. As most people are aware, every 125 years or so, roughly 47 per cent of all the prefectures (aka provinces) in Japan change their name. In 2012, Tochigi will be called Ralph--perhaps in honour of the next blog.

The farmer's were out urinating in their rice paddies while their hunchbacked wives gamely picked weeds. Suddenly, a roar arose from the West, as a black cloud sounding like a 747 Jumbo Jet (at least that's what chronicler Nostradamus Suzuki wrote), advanced upon the startled farmers, causing quite a few of them to pee on themselves.
Grasshoppers. Gazilliions of them. eating every rice plant in their path.
The women ran back to the farmhouses as fast as their hunchbacks could carry them and grabbed brooms in an attempt to beat them into submission, but the insects moved too fast and there were too many.
One farmer (by a strange coincidence named Ralph Tochigi) pulled out his Zippo lighter (an anomaly because it hadn't been invented yet) and lit his cigarette--accidentally setting fire to a swathe of nearby rice fields.
The grasshoppers were stymied. Since they couldn't go through the flames, they became more of an easy target for the little women and their broomsticks (who, thanks to their hunchback, are incredibly adept at tying their shoelaces).
Hours later while the men were standing around alternating between having a smoke and urinating, they watched the women belt the heck out of the few remaining grasshoppers. Farmer Yaita and Farmer Ryuzu wondered what the women were going to cook for their supper--especially since the rice crop had been decimated by the ravenous hoppers.
Farmer Yaita suggested the women take up fishing.
Farmer Ryuzu felt that the soy bean crop, though damaged by the 11-month typhoon season, might be easier (and quicker) for the women to cook, rather than wait for the women to whittle a fishing rod.
Farmer Yaita thought the fish might be tastier, especially if they insisted the women only catch ayu--but added the disclaimer that Farmer Ryuzu could eat anything because of the large size of his mouth.
Farmer Ryuzu replied that although he could indeed eat anything, it wasn't because of the size of his mouth.
"Oh yeah?," said Farmer Yaita. "I bet you wouldn't eat a bug."
Five-year-old boys everywhere now know the origin of this famous dare.
Farmer Ryuzu said that if he was going to eat a bug, Farmer Yaita had to eat the wet smelly soy beans that were congealing in the town congealing hut (this was an early form of organic trash can).
Well, the challenge was accepted by them both.
The two farmers pretended that what he was eating was better tasting than what the other was eating. Both said it was good for you. Both were adept liars.

Somewhere looking at the statue of Ralph Tochigi urinating while holding a lighter,
Andrew Joseph
Today's song-inspired title is by Junior Walker And The All Stars, and while I couldn't find a video for Home Cookin', try their more famous song: Shotgun.
Photo above  - like all of the photos is by me - of the hunchbacked women.

Lost

(It’s still late August, I have not started teaching yet even though school has been on for nearly two weeks-—probably trying to acclimatize me rather than traumatize me. I spend my weekdays at the Ohtawara kyoiku inkai (literally the educational authority, but I prefer Ohtawara Board of Education, or OBOE) offices, where I study some Japanese and write letters—speaking of which, as part of a rather innocuous gesture, I decided to write a letter to a cab driver I met a month ago in Toronto who drove me around the entire day while I was on assignment for the Toronto Star newspaper. Little did I know that I would get a life-long friend because of writing. Say hello to Doug McIntosh. If you need a cab in Toronto, he’s your man! I wish I had him for this next adventure…)

“I never get lost because people always tell me where to go.”
And so begins yet another epic journey for Andrew in Wonderland.

This time, I was journeying to Ibaraki-ken (prefecture/province immediately to the east of Tochigi-ken—ken means province) for some fun-filled times of some beach-blanket bingo with some other AETs (assistant English teachers) from my prefecture.
Gasoline would be there. On a beach. With a bikini (I hoped). And that was all the incentive I truly needed. Gasoline, if you will recall, is the northern representative of the AETs in Tochigi-ken. Her real name is Catherine Komlodi, but because of the Japanese alphabets, Catherine is notoriously difficult to say, making it sound very similar to the word gasoline.
Click HERE to see a poorly taken photo of her. It does NOT do her justice, and I apologize for how crappy it is. I was sooo shy around her that I felt I had to take the photo clandestinely.
Gasoline had phoned me up with some directions to the beach. It seemed easy enough: Take the JR (Japanese Railways) train south from Nishinasuno eki (station) to Oyama eki, east to Mito eki and then to Kiwagire eki, followed by a short taxi ride to the Senna Minshiku Hotel. Yup. No problem. How wonderful the innocence of youth can be.
None of the local AETS were going (I’m free!), so I’d have to go it alone. Despite the opportunity to see my crush, Gasoline, the prospect of traveling by myself scared me.
Following a confusing night involving girlfriend problems, my day began death, as one of my goldfish decided to give up the ghost. (I had purchased a 10-gallon tank and a pair of large lionhead goldfish that would have cost me $100 back home, but only cost the equivalent of $5 here). Arguments and death. Nope, definitely not a good omen.
After disposing of the fish, I walked to the shower. Just before turning on the gas heater, I noticed a strange tube dangling from it. That’s the thing about Japan. Every place with running water has a gas heater that must be turned on to heat it.
So, what to do about the dangling tube? I never even noticed a tube before. Was it a present from an angry girlfriend? Could my apartment blow up if I turned it on? Wanting to smell nice for Gasoline, I figured a hot shower was worth the risk. Life over fantasy. It’s amazing how little one value’s life when there is even the teensiest chance of getting a handshake from a beautiful woman.
As soon as I finished—it was probably the first time I’d ever sweated in a shower—I began to pack my beachwear, promptly forgetting my towel and trunks, and headed out for my 20-minute bicycle ride to Nishinasuno eki. Rain clouds gathered in the sky awaiting my departure so that it could relieve itself on me as I began my trek.
Surprise, surprise. I made it to the station, and managed to purchase a train ticket to Oyama. I got on the train feeling pretty smug, settled in and began to read a book on Japanese history—almost oblivious to the stares of a multitude of teenaged girls in Victorian sailor outfits (which is what all female junior and high school students wear. Boys wear the male equivalent. Click HERE to see) who must have to travel by rail to get to school.
Arriving in Oyama, I disembarked and asked a woman (in Japanese, yet!) how much a ticket to Mito would cost. After telling me in English, she leaves before I can thank her, but more distressingly, she leaves before I can ask her which train I should catch as Oyama is a big city and has 12 active train platforms.
Swallowing my fear, I walked up to the JR ticket puncher (whose hands clicked a hole punch continuously regardless if a ticket was in reach) to ask in English (I don’t know the Japanese equivalent, okay!): “How do I get to Mito?” He says, and I quote: “Gay-toh 15.” And holds up five fingers. I bow deeply and rush off to find Gate 15.
There isn’t one. There is a Gate 5, however—and he did hold up five fingers. I hop on the train that is waiting there.
Since I have never been on this JR line before, I check every single station for my stop even though I know by the price of my ticket that it’s not for another 45 minutes or so (Here in Japan, your ticket price increases the farther you travel).
After about 30 minutes, the usual fear in my stomach traveled up into my throat and turned to dread. I know I got on the train at the right platform, but still… I’m passing Tochigi-shi and Ashikaga (aren’t those in the west?!) and mountains… near the beach? Uh oh!
I decided to take the ultimate risk and get off the train at a place called Kiryu. This small Podunk of a place shouldn’t even have a train stop, as everything around it looks like a snapshot of the 1600s.
I hand my ticket into the JR ticket man (he too seems to have a strange palsy in his hand). He glances at the ticket as I tell him I am looking for Mito. He looks more confused than even I normally do, so I show him my directions while slowly reading out the train stations for him in case he can’t read English (a good decision, it turns out).
The man looks mortified, as he draws a new map for me. This is what it looks like. Click HERE.
Now I get it. That first ticket puncher in Oyama gave me a bum steer. I’ll kill him if I ever recognize him again.
Feeling immensely deflated, I decide to head for home. Gasoline in a bikini! Aargh!
Passing by Ashikaga-eki a couple of stops east of Kiryu, I notice a train station called—are you ready for this—“Tomita”. Now it all makes sense. The JR guy thought I had asked: “How to I get Tomita?” not “to Mita”. An honest mistake.
I stopped off at Utsunomiya (Tochigi-ken’s capital a few stops north of Oyama) so that I could go shopping. I met a couple of Australian businessmen who asked me to show them around (in Japan, foreigners tend to congregate whenever they see another foreigner just so that they can feel non-foreign for awhile).
“Okay… I’m not sure where we are now, but I recognize it as a place I once was lost in.”
They soon got tired of my hapless tour and got lost somewhere else.
While this episode was not as physically draining as my three-hour tour around Ohtawara, it was more expensive. On the trains alone, my ride aboard the disoriented express cost me about ￥4,000 which is about $40 US or $700 Cdn. Of course nowadays, the US and Canadian bucks are inching very close to par…
And, when you factor in the costs for food, drinks and sanity, I’ve come to realize that traveling in Japan is a very costly proposition.
By the way… there was a Gate 15 in Oyama eki… it was very well hidden, and usually only found by people who need to find it—like this woman. Click HERE.
And, just so you know I wasn't lying... here's a few pics of my time in Kiryu and the Aussies--click HERE.
Somewhere chasing rabbits,
Andrew Joseph
PS: Title is byColdplay

Old Time Rock And Roll

(Here’s a story I wrote after viewing a painting of a small boy chasing after a rabbit in the mountains. I did do a bit of research, too. This is one look at the rural way of life in Japan in the 1600’s… because, like I was there. Ego, eh?).

STILL LIFE
With his axe in hand, the ragged, bare-foot boy leaped over the two-metre wide chasm in hot pursuit.
His prey was a plump grey rabbit with a wildly tufted chest. Had Saburo looked below in his instant of leaping, he would have seen the raging river over 1,000 metres below.
It was autumn in Hokkaido (northern region of eastern Japan), and the multi-coloured death suits of the trees were unable to distract him from his appointed task.
His father and two older brothers had traveled southwest to join the Osaka Wars as hired swordsmen 10 years ago. Saburo was now the man of the house… he was only 12-years-old.
His mother and twin sister, Mai, depended on him for food. Mai worked the Daiymo’s (samurai lord) rice paddies in the valley below for a pittance, while his mother took in a few coppers by doing laundry in the freezing river. Survival was a day-to-day concern.
With the cold winter nearly upon the land, Saburo knew the rabbit would be both a welcome meal and a warm garment.
A trivial matter like a leap across a gorge could not stop him. Even if he fell, and death be inevitable, it would at least be a release from the harshness of his existence. But no. He had his mother and sister to think of. No sacrifice could be too large.
With goat-like ability, Saburo kept his quarry close. He knew his axe would only have one chance to find its mark.
On seemingly tireless legs, the pursuer and his prey ran along the mountainous trails and through the brush.
Suddenly, the impossible happened.
The rabbit’s over-sized feet lost its grip on a gravely stretch of rock.
Pouncing and deftly swinging the axe in one motion, he caught his prize.
Tying its legs to a stick found nearby, Saburo ran back to his home.

Somewhere staring at a painting,
Andrew Joseph
Today's blog title is by Bob Segar & The Silver Bullet Band.