tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21888688961829120892024-03-08T05:42:38.303-08:00Gourmet Girl JapanFood, expat life, and adventures of an American girl who hates to cook, married to a Japanese salaryman man in Osaka. Follow me on Twitter @JapanScene!Gourmet Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04739110199034576398noreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2188868896182912089.post-92219565784400971412009-11-24T06:20:00.001-08:002009-11-24T06:25:11.401-08:00Coffee, Tea, & Cake @ café GMT plusThere are many extraordinary things about Japan. Its orderliness and cleanliness. The subways, trains, and Shinkansen that run on perfect time. The beauty of its temples and tea houses. Its unique fashion trends and broader aesthetic traditions.<br /><br />But hands-down, Japan, in my opinion, is seriously lacking when it comes to one important category of life and the things that make it worth living: Sweets. Desserts. Pies. Gooey, decadent cakes. Unless you count bean paste as a culinary treat (and I don’t know many fellow Westerners who do), you can be hard-pressed to indulge your sweet tooth in this country.<br /><br />So when my friend J called to tell me about a new café she had found with homemade desserts that are out-of-this world-good (or at least, thankfully, out-of-this-country), I was there almost before we got off the phone. <br /><br />“café GMT plus” may have a strange name, but it makes up for this with its sound dessert policy: fresh-made cakes and pies; rich, smooth coffee; and a unique selection of house-blended teas. (They also serve lunch, which I’m sure is as delicious as their desserts, but, um, who has time for lunch when there’s a whole display case of homemade cake demanding to be ordered?)<br /><br />J and I sipped our full-bodied coffees (a creamy hot latte for me, an ice-cold cappuccino, sprinkled with bitter-sweet cocoa powder, for her) while we waited for Tamaki Maeda, GMT’s owner, to bring us our sweets. Tamaki-san, a little sprite of a woman with long black braids, a huge smile, and excellent English, has owned the café for 12 years, although it’s only been tucked away in its current location, on a corner near the U.S. Consulate in Umeda, since last October. As she brought us plates piled high with cake, she explained that the café’s areas of expertise are two: freshly baked desserts using original recipes and specialty blended teas mixing fruits, herbs, tea leaves, and even flowers. I think she may have given us more details, too, but frankly, I couldn’t concentrate any longer, because there was now a triangle of dense chocolate cake, dappled with caramel and taunting me to pick up my fork, sitting alongside a fat slice of cinnamon rum-raisin cake, iced with a delicate drizzle of white and then topped with a cloud of whipped cream. Before I could even take a bite, I was overcome with the scent, a mix of spice, cinnamon, and sweetness.<br /><br />Perhaps because I began eating so aggressively she thought I might choke, Tamaki-san soon brought some of her personally-blended tea: a pot of rooibus (a South African infusion) mixed with hibiscus, rosehip, and flowers. It was deep, deep red with a sweet smell but a surprisingly tangy and even slightly spicy flavor. Then she walked us to the glass display case to exhibit what else we could have ordered. Sitting plump and deliciously on the shelf were a slew of newly-baked treasures, among them a sweet cheesecake; a salty butter and caramel cake; a fresh banana loaf; a sweet, brown chestnut cake; and a confection of blueberry angel chiffon, iced with sugar.<br /><br />“We’ll be back,” I told Tamaki-san, tearing my eyes away from the case to smile gratefully at her. “Hopefully tomorrow.”<br /><br /><br />Details<br /><br />café GMT plus <br />大阪市北区曾根崎1-3-15<br />06-6363-2323<br />Monday through Saturday, 11:00―20:00<br />Holidays and occasional Sundays, 11:00―18:00<br />http://www.gmt-cafe.com<br />Map @ <a href="http://www.gmt-cafe.com/access.htm">http://www.gmt-cafe.com/access.htm</a><br />Menu in English & Japanese; staff speaks EnglishGourmet Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04739110199034576398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2188868896182912089.post-81962186257107438032009-08-18T20:06:00.000-07:002009-08-18T20:11:30.167-07:00Culture and Yaki Niku @ Grill MiyataWhen most people think of Kyoto, they think of gorgeous gardens, simple but achingly lovely tea houses, and the world’s most breathtaking temples.<br /><br />I think of beef.<br /><br />Here’s how this happened: Once upon a time, I was also seduced by Kyoto’s cultural treasures, always connecting it in my mind with the magic of Japan itself, the seat of some of the globe’s most special places. But then my good friend (and former dissertation advisor) from Boston, P, came to Kyoto on a prestigious, highly-scholarly semester-long fellowship. Left alone one night, he decided he wanted to try some delicious Japanese beef, but didn’t want to go to a fancy steak house. He discovered a place called Grill Miyata that seems to have a cult following on Internet. He went there. He ate some steak. He called me and said I had to go back with him―soon. And then, despite his status as a highly cultured academic, one on of the most serious and stunning thinkers I’ve ever met, he turned me―his former doctoral student, no less―into a cultural heathen. Because now when I go to Kyoto, I scoff at his suggestions to see some Noh drama or explore the aesthetic particulars of a famous rock garden.<br /><br />“Um, let’s just, like, eat some steak at Grill Miyata,” is my current rejoinder of choice.<br /><br />Grill Miyata is unique in several ways. First of all, it is really, really not fancy. It resembles a sixties diner, with a long counter cluttered with bottles and dishes, lace curtains that look like Sears-issue circa 1950, and even the occasional chip in the woodwork. But therein lies its charm, tucked away at the edge of Gion, where the antique shops give way to signs of girls in pink bikinis. The menu is simple. (Grilled steak, chopped hamburg steak, or grilled chicken and shrimp.) An old DVD player croons American blues and jazz. And a charming, 80-year old Miyata-san, clad in a bandana and glasses, presides over the whole scene with tales of secret war-time bombings of Kyoto, undercover crime operations that “even the CIA doesn’t know about,” and how he was the first person in all of Japan to serve garlic chips.<br /><br />The last time P and I went to Grill Miyata, my husband T, enjoying a rare night off from his salaryman job, was able to join us. P and I ordered the 200g grilled steak (¥9000) and T the high-value 200g hamburg steak (¥3000). Both courses came with a free drink of choice, salad, smoked salmon, the ubiquitous corn-soup that Japanese steak houses always seem to serve, a croquette of crab and shrimp, and rice or potatoes. But the crowning glory was the beef itself, a tender, sublime Sagagyu variety from Kyushu, grilled over charcoal so it’s less greasy than teppanyaki-style steak, and topped with garlic chips and green sprouts. In combination, every bite starts with a kick of salt, then blooms into richness from the beef, deepens with the sharp flavor of the garlic, and lastly lifts slightly with the fresh crunch of sprouts.<br /><br />T, always a man of few words, was similarly happy with his hamburg steak―which was chopped with spicy onion and then layered with a rich brown garlicky-Worcestershire-like sauce―proclaiming profusely, “Mm, good!”<br /><br />Maybe it’s just my new-found anti-intellectualism, but I found this commentary more eloquent, more pitch-perfect, than any other proclamation of Kyoto’s riches I’ve yet to hear.<br /><br /><br /><strong>Details</strong><br /><br />Grill Miyata<br />Gion Nawate Shijo-agaru.(1 block E and N of Shijo-Ohashi intersection)<br />Open 5-10:30pm (LO).<br />Closed Mondays and Thursdays through June 2009, just Mondays from July 2009 on<br />075 525 0848<br />Menu in English & Japanese; staff speaks some EnglishGourmet Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04739110199034576398noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2188868896182912089.post-75375971826419291102009-06-17T00:24:00.000-07:002009-06-17T00:26:27.429-07:00Frequent Flyer Miles & Indian Food @ RajaWhen my friend L called to say she had some news—involving a pilot from down under, a layover in Osaka, and many a martini—I immediately gathered our group of gaijin girlfriends for dinner so we could hear the details all together. Since I knew L’s tale would be spicy, I suggested Indian. <br /><br />Five of us met at my favorite Indian restaurant in all of Osaka: Raja in Temmabashi, which also has a new branch just opened in Yao. The Temmebashi location is neither fancy nor large, holding only about 10-12 tables (depending on how they organize the seating), but the food is out-of-this-world good.<br /><br />We toasted with a surprisingly good Indian red wine (who knew?), smoky and smooth and only ¥2500 a bottle. (L, still a little hung over from her adventures in pilot-land, stuck to the non-alcoholic Mango Lassi, a slightly sweetened mango and yogurt shake.) We covered all the essentials: when the next flight was scheduled to arrive with him on it—or, more precisely, with him flying it, (in late June); whether there’d be any free frequent flyer miles coming our way as fringe-benefits for L’s friends (never); and then of course, my top priority—what we were going to order (a lot).<br /><br />So as we gossiped and giggled and gained new appreciation for the airline industry, we ate Chicken Tikka (a sizzling dish of spicy, boneless chicken chunks on top of pan-seared onions and peppers) and then Malai Tikka (also boneless white-meat chicken chunks, but marinated in a sauce of garlic, nuts, yogurt, and butter). Next, we dipped into a potato and cauliflower Alu Gobi curry; a creamy spinach-based Palak Paneer with cubes of fresh white cheese mixed in; two orders of minced chicken Keema Curry (one with eggplant and one with sautéed lotus root); and a rich, lentil-based Dal Paneer, featuring beans stewed with tomato and onion and spices. On the side, we ordered a slew of Indian carbs: cheese nan, garlic nan, onion nan, and—as if the universe were paying homage to L’s aviation adventure—the appropriately misspelled “plane” nan.<br /><br />We ended with hot, spicy chai tea for half of us and Kingerfisher beers for the rest. Then L went home to sleep off the rest of her hangover, while our other unmarried friend, S, went to check for new deals on Orbitz’s travel site. H, J, and I—all lawfully wedded to Japanese men—gave a collective, nostalgic sigh for the high-flying days of our long-lost singlehood. But then we each happily headed home ourselves, eager, in the end, to see our lovely husbands, who, although possessing nary a pilot’s license among them, have still been able to lay new worlds at the feet of their lucky Western wives.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Details<br /><br />Temmebashi location:<br />Indian Restaurant Raja <br />Osaka shi, Chuo-ku <br />Otedori, 1-4-1 Osakaya <br />New Ote Bldg. 1<br />Tanimachi <br />06-6949-3800 <br /><br />Yao location:<br />Indian Restaurant Raja <br />Osaka fu, Yao shi<br />Yamamoto Chuo, Minami<br />1-3-13<br />Cosmo Paradise Bldg.. 1F <br />072-999-9279<br /><br />Menu in English & Japanese; staff speaks some EnglishGourmet Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04739110199034576398noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2188868896182912089.post-34201187008784365972009-05-05T14:22:00.000-07:002009-06-17T00:23:40.606-07:00Japanniversaries & Tacos @ Ola TacosIt was my friend Sally’s Japanniversary, and to celebrate her third year of survival in Kansai, we decided to take her for tequila and tacos. (She had a show later that night as part of an improv comedy troupe with which she performs, the Osaka-based “Pirates of the Dotonbori,” and we had the idea that we’d get her even more ready for the stage by ordering her multiple margaritas.)<br /><br />So a group of us went to Ola Tacos in Shinsaibashi − near enough to her performance in a club along Dotonbouri, but far enough so if she needed to walk off a buzz, she’d have the chance. Ola is a small place, but it’s big enough on both flavor and variety to boast 30-40 kinds of hot sauces (from mild to super hot), a huge range of cocktails (from Cubra Libres to the “Malibu Pine” − coconut, pineapple, and dark rum − to the requisite margaritas), as well as a collection of rare tequilas that the very hip bar-chica, Shino-san, assured us are very hard to find in Japan. Shino-san has a long, wild mane of kinky black hair and was sporting a huge sliver and turquoise-studded necklace, and she explained in charming broken English that the chef, her husband, “makes tortillas every day by hand; hand-made tortilla is also very rare in Japan, even if in Mexico, too.” Then she explained that every year she and her husband go south of the (U.S.) border to study Mexican food and culture (and apparently to shop, given her great accessories and all the Mexican-themed decorations dotting the bar and walls).<br /><br />We started our Japanniversary fiesta with quesadillas, which Ola offers fried or non-fried. Ours was chicken in tomato sauce, blanketed with melted cheese and topped with fresh guacamole and sour cream. We had pozole, a delicious, spicy soup with pork and “giant corn” (a milder, boiled version of the corn snacks sold fried and salted in Kansai’s combini), garnished with sliced onions and jalapeno. Then came enchiladas verdes, with a sour green tomato sauce over chicken-stuffed tortillas covered in cheese. For tacos, we had ones enfolding a spiced mix of beef, pork, and chicken in chili tomato sauce; then ones with shredded beef and cheese; and a finally an order with pork stewed in orange and a peppery achiote spice.<br /><br />When we left, we were stuffed, Sally was still standing strong--so she didn’t have to stumble an unsteady serpentine path to her performance after all--and we were looking forward to many more Japanniversaries of toasting kanpai with Ola’s tequila.<br /><br /><br /><br />Details<br />Ola Tacos & Bar<br />Osaka Higashi-Shinsaibashi<br />1-17-15<br />Marusei Building, 6F<br />06-6251-2082<br /><br />Tuesday - Thursday, 6pm - 1am<br />Friday & Saturday, 6pm - 3am<br />Sunday, 6pm - 12am<br />Closed Monday<br /><br />Menu in English & Japanese; staff speaks English<br />Drinks from ¥550-¥950 (excluding rare tequilas)<br />Food from ¥550-¥1050<br /><br />English Web site @ http://homepage2.nifty.com/olatacos/eng-index.htmlGourmet Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04739110199034576398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2188868896182912089.post-89129250434096874362009-04-10T12:18:00.000-07:002009-06-17T00:19:39.431-07:00Networking & Taps @ Casa de OimatsuAs a foreigner in my husband’s homeland, building female friendships in Japan has felt crucial. As a writer, meeting other women whose professions figure prominently in their self-image has felt equally important—especially in a country where many wives forego their careers, and after I had, in some senses, given up my own home for my husband’s. So I knew the foreign professional women’s organization FEW Kansai would be perfect for me, providing job advice as well as professional networking—and, most exciting to me, a monthly Gourmet Club, where members try a new restaurant, trading career insight (as well as fashion tips, gossip, and giggles) over dinner and drinks.<br /><br />Being an eager FEW participant, and more importantly, perpetually hungry, I recently offered to organize a FEW gourmet event. I told my friend J (another American hyper-focused on her career, and even more hyper-focused on her next meal—making her a soul mate) I needed a great place to go. In the true spirit of sisterhood, she offered the perfect advice: Casa de Oimatsu, a little Spanish restaurant with food, basically, to die for.<br /><br />At Casa de Oimatsu, nine women found a cozy handful of tables, walls decked with modernistic Spanish posters and wine bottles, a Japanese chef who trained for five years in Spain, and a unique selection of some transcendent dishes. We ordered sangria (¥800/glass), a white one infused with peach, and a red, spicy like mulled wine. We surveyed the menu and the tapas encased in the glass that ran along the bar. Then we ordered food. A lot of it.<br /><br />Garlic toast with tomato: buttery, salty, garlicky, heavenly (¥300). Broccoli sautéed with bacon, served with a paste of crushed tomato and peanuts (¥300). Creamy scalloped potatoes with sheaves of salsiccia (¥300). Fried lotus root slices sandwiching generously spiced chorizo (¥400). Minced lamb with cumin, garlic, and eggplant (¥350). Grilled red cabbage, mushroom, yellow pepper, red diakon, and eggplant, accompanied by coarse salt for sprinkling and pesto for dipping (¥1260). Three kinds of homemade sausage, all disparately seasoned, with a side of hot mustard (¥1260). Intensely tasty sizzling mushrooms, bacon, and garlic in oil, served with hot, homemade bread (¥840).<br /><br />Then three kinds of paella: a grilled vegetable version for the vegetarians among us (¥2520 for 2 people); a hearty homemade sausage and white bean variation for those, like me, who eat everything (¥2520 for 2 people); and Casa de Oimatsu’s interpretation of traditional paella, with seafood, red pepper, beans in their pod, and sliced lemon (¥3360). By now, we were too full to order individual desserts, so, with lady-like moderation, we split six or seven: a dessert special of freshly made, moist banana bread slices with chocolate ice cream (¥630); molten chocolate mini-cakes with rich liquid centers(¥630); and a couple of crème brulee, their burnt-sugar shells set off against vanilla ice cream (¥630).<br /><br />By the end, I had some crucial take-aways for the evening: neither sisterhood nor professional networking has ever been more fulfilling.<br /><br /><br /><br />Details<br />Casa de Oimatsu<br />Shouei Building Kita-kan 1F<br />Nishi-Tenma 4-2-7, Kita-ku<br />Osaka 530-0047<br />06-6365-7007<br /><br />Lunch 11:30 - 16:00, L.O. 15:00<br />Dinner 17:30 - 23:30<br />Food L.O. 22:30<br />Drink and Tapas last order 23:00<br />Menu in Spanish & Japanese; staff speaks excellent EnglishGourmet Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04739110199034576398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2188868896182912089.post-30521957903164538762009-03-20T02:32:00.000-07:002009-03-20T02:33:36.922-07:00Recession Dining @ Modern Japanese @ Dynamic Kitchen & Bar SunWith the global recession raging, there’s only one thing a woman like me—who hates to cook, loves to eat out, and has hardworking Japanese husband vainly urging fiscal restraint on his American wife—can do. In an effort to lend my wholehearted support the Kansai restaurant scene, I’ve created my very own stimulus package, the cornerstone of which involves snookering friends into inviting me to their business dinners. <br /><br />So when I learned that my best friend J had a favor to return to a colleague, a corporate charge card, and a reservation at the modern Japanese restaurant “Dynamic Kitchen & Bar Sun,” I somehow convinced her that all she was missing was me.<br /><br />As we rode the elevator up to the 27th floor of Sun’s building, I promised to be on my best behavior (i.e., not to order three deserts—and only one spoon), and by floor 25, J seemed at least resigned to my company. We made our way to our table, between Sun’s huge, wall-length windows, with all the lights of Umeda twinkling beyond them, and its sleek bar that wraps around the sparklingly clean open kitchen.<br /><br />I ordered a glass of cabernet (\950); J had a dry sake (\850), poured into a glass nestled in a wooden box, so the liquor ran over the sides of the glass and into the cube containing it; Y had a gin and tonic (\650). While reviewing the menu—in Japanese but with ample pictures—and deciding on a slew of Sun’s small plates, they brought us complimentary radish soup, thick and tasty, accompanied by a plate of fresh Kyoto vegetables on a bed of shaved ice with a side of salt-spiked shiso, sesame, and white miso dip. This we followed with another deliciously salty dish: earthy burdock root in a soba bean sauce.<br /><br />Then came a sublime plate of grated yam potato fritters (\850), plum, moist, and crispy all at once; and a lotus root salad, combining fried and fresh slices of Japanese rancon slicked with sesame dressing (\850). Next, we ate fried tofu with boiled radish in a clear broth and slivered scallions (\950). Finally came the two large dishes: a simple grilled white seam-bream, salted and crisp-skinned (\1450) and an incredible blue cheese and minced Hokkaido beef patty wrapped in parchment paper (\1500). The waiter cut open the parchment package at the table, and we watched the steam rise up, then cut into the meaty orb, freckled with chopped scallion and hiding a hot center of melted blue cheese.<br /><br />When dessert came, Okinawan molasses cake rolled with cream (\750), I kept my promise to J about being on good behavior. Inside, of course, I was fantasizing about hunching over the plate in full defensive posture and swatting my dinner companions’ hands away. But outwardly, I politely spooned modest-sized bites into my mouth, primly dapped the side of my lip, and sat back in grateful satisfaction. <br /><br />Details<br />Dynamic Kitchen & Bar Sun<br />Address & map (in Japanese) @ <a href="http://www.dynac-japan.com/sun/shop_osaka.html">http://www.dynac-japan.com/sun/shop_osaka.html</a><br />06-6367-5512<br /><br />Weekdays:<br />Lunch: 11:30~14:00<br />Dinner: 17:00~23:00 (L.O.22:00) Sundays & Holidays:<br />Lunch: 11:30~14:00<br />Dinner: 17:00~22:30 (L.O.21:30)Gourmet Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04739110199034576398noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2188868896182912089.post-10352516682637233522009-01-28T02:28:00.000-08:002009-03-20T02:29:21.800-07:00In-Laws & Vietnamese @ AnngonAny gaijin wife like me married to a chonan, or oldest son, knows the challenge that comes with her betrothal to a Japanese man: that as the wife of the chonan, she’s expected to take care of her in-laws when they age.<br /><br />My father-in-law is a recent widower, so we try to spend as much time as we can with him. But I feel supremely fortunate that, not only is he kind and, even in his late 60’s, still handsome (a good indicator of my sweetie when he ages, I tell myself), he seems completely accepting of me as a foreign daughter-in-law. At least I think he is, although sometimes I worry that maybe he’s just being “Japanese,” showing a polite exterior, and inside, he’s horrified that his only son and eldest child married a loud-mouthed American. But we get along great—especially because, given that I speak barely any Japanese and he speaks just a little English, most of our exchanges consist of bowing and smiling at each other.<br /><br />In any case, a few weeks ago, my husband and I decided to try a new branch of our favorite Vietnamese restaurant, Anngon, and we invited Otoo-san (“respected father”) to join us.<br /><br />We met at the Shinsabashi station and from there walked to the super-trendy minimi-senba area, where Anngon is located. Otoo-san had never eaten Vietnamese food before, and he smiled as we entered and saw the bamboo-slatted ceiling with little red lanterns adorning it, embroidered umbrellas and straw hats scatted throughout.<br /><br />We ordered bottles of Vietnamese beer (¥680) and started with fresh and fried spring rolls (both ¥650), the latter particularly good, stuffed with minced pork, vegetables, and garlic and accompanied by fresh lettuce, bean sprouts, and cilantro sprigs for wrapping. We also had a mind-blowingly good papaya salad (¥880), tangy and slightly spiced, with crisp rice-crackers on the side that crackled as we piled them with the shredded salad.<br /><br />We moved on to cashew chicken, with a red, barely sweet marinade (¥880) and fresh, delicious sautéed greens with a light pepper sauce (¥900). Then out came the “Hanoi Favorite” sea bass and coriander in a hot pot (¥1280), sizzling hot and loaded with shrimp sauce. My husband and father-in-law chuckled at me when I decided the strongly-scented shrimp sauce was too much for me, but they looked pretty happy to finish the dish themselves.<br /><br />I thought I may have seen Otoo-san blanche when, after all that, I ordered a dessert of fried banana dumplings with vanilla ice-cream (¥450) and a Vietnamese coffee (¥680), but whatever notions he may have had about my unseemly appetite were quickly dispelled when he tasted both. The dumplings were, quite simply, to die for, and the coffee strong and delicious, coming to us as grounds in a filter over a glass of thick, sweetened condensed milk, so we could pour the water into the filter from a little iron kettle and watch the dark brew seep down into the white creamy concoction.<br /><br />As the meal ended, I managed almost a full sentence in Japanese, saying “Otoo-san, oishikata-desuka?” (was it delicious?). “Yes, delicious!” he smiled hugely and answered in English, looking from me to my husband and back again.<br />I smiled back, happy that together as a family we were well-fed, well-cared-for, and fluent at communicating about what matters most.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Details:<br /><br />Anngon Vietnamese Café<br />4-11-24, Minami-senba, 2nd Floor<br />Chuo Ku<br />Osaka City, Osaka<br />542-0081<br /><br />Lunch & café time: 12:00-17:00<br />Dinner: 17:00-23:00<br />Open every day<br /><br />Tel: 06-6282-4567<br /><br />Address and info in Japanese @ <a href="http://www.anngon.com/anngon/index.html">http://www.anngon.com/anngon/index.html</a><br />Map in Japanese @ <a href="http://www.anngon.com/anngon/access/index.html">http://www.anngon.com/anngon/access/index.html</a><br /><br />Menus in Japanese and Vietnamese with pictures; Staff speaks limited English.Gourmet Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04739110199034576398noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2188868896182912089.post-56354949888405920492008-12-28T11:00:00.000-08:002009-03-20T02:30:20.660-07:00Reunions & Chinese @ AjitoA few weeks ago I got back to Osaka, my husband T’s hometown, after spending a well-needed extended stay in Boston, my hometown. As T and I arrived back at our apartment near Temmabashi—after my having woken 24 hours earlier, at 3:30am EST, to embark on a 17 and ½ hour flight, a 3-hour layover, the hour-long bus trip from Kansai airport to Hommachi, and then a cab ride to our apartment—we savored our first few moments alone together after weeks of being apart. We threw our arms around each other with an abandon T, being traditionally Japanese, could not encourage in the arrival hall of Kansai airport. We kissed passionately. We gazed meaningfully into each others’ eyes. And then, we engaged in one of our relationship’s most time-honored expressions of intimacy and longing: we went out to eat.<br /><br />And because T knows how to make me feel like the luckiest girl in the world, he took me to one of my favorite restaurants in Kansai: the small-but-stylish, upscale-but-not-pretentious Ajito, a “Chinese Izakaya” that I think is the best-kept secret in the Temmabashi area.<br /><br />Ajito opened last year, and with its sleek wooden furnishings, gleaming half-open kitchen, and interesting displays of sparkling glass jugs holding exotic spices, eating there provides an experience chic enough to belie its title of Izakaya.<br /><br />As we slid into our seats and ordered a bottle of beer (¥480), I began to smell the spices cooking, and immediately my jet-lag started to dissipate. T also ordered a sochu, of which Ajito has a whole wall of unique offerings from Kyushu, along with a selection of sake (¥380 for a glass – ¥3000 for a bottle). Then they brought us our first appetizer—pan-fried dumplings filled with minced pork, scallion, and tiny nuggets of shrimp, all wrapped in a soft, lightly oil-slicked gyoza (¥480) and marinated in a spicy pepper-and-soy dressing—and I really perked up.<br /><br />We progressed onto a seafood salad, with seared salmon, shrimp, fresh lettuce, a lemon wedge, and a light dressing (¥730). We gazed longingly at the Harumaki (fried spring rolls), one of our usual favorites featuring minced pork, shitake, and other chopped vegetables (¥460), but decided three appetizers might be too much given my travel-weary state. Especially since we had our eyes on three main courses.<br /><br />We feasted on plates of chicken with sweet miso sauce, peppers, and eringi and shitake mushrooms (¥730); sweet-and-spicy chicken with cashew, dried red pepper, green beans, mushrooms, and onion (¥730); and black pepper beef, stir-fried with eringi mushrooms, spring onions, and red pepper (¥880). By now, the food coma was beginning to set it, compounded by my jet-lag, so I limited myself to just one dessert: their luscious goma dango, or friend sesame dumplings, with a sweet black sesame paste tucked into fried mochi and covered with toasted white sesame seeds.<br /><br />As the meal ended, we headed home happy but tired, hand-in-hand—hoping that by the time we got there, we would have digested enough of the excellent meal to engage in one other of our relationship’s most time-honored expressions of intimacy and longing.<br /><br />Details:<br />Ajito Chinese Izakaya<br />Address: 大阪府大阪市中央区糸屋町1-2-3 大手前恵ビル 1F<br /><br />Lunch: 11:30 - 14:00<br />Dinner: 17:00 - 22:00 (LO)<br /><br />Closed Sundays<br /><br />Tel: 06-6910-0022Fax: 06-6910-0033<br /><br />Map (in Japanese) @ <a href="http://r.tabelog.com/osaka/A2701/A270104/27013781/dtlmap/">http://r.tabelog.com/osaka/A2701/A270104/27013781/dtlmap/</a><br /><br />Menus in Japanese with pictures; Staff speaks limited English.Gourmet Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04739110199034576398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2188868896182912089.post-47260783995737738302008-11-13T23:23:00.000-08:002008-11-13T23:25:15.552-08:00New Friends & Ramen @ Kinryu RamenBeing an expat in Osaka can be lonely, even if you’re married to a lovely local, as I am. With far fewer Westerners than Tokyo or even Kobe or Kyoto (at least proportionally), and with Japan’s obsession over uchi/soto (inside/outside, or who’s part of the “group” vs. who’s just some strange anomaly talking too loudly and blanching at the site of natto), Osaka can feel isolating.<br /><br />So I was thrilled when I met H, another Bostonian. I was double-thrilled when I found out we had gone to the same university (although we never met there). Then triple-thrilled when I discovered H was marrying a man from Osaka, so we could giggle and commiserate over the adventures of gaijin wifehood.<br /><br />But I was truly over the moon when I found out that H’s intended runs Kansai’s famed Kinryu Ramen. For me, a woman who goes week-kneed when her husband whispers “reservations,” a new friend with “insider” access to 24-hour dining is like hitting the mother-lode. Of course, intellectually I know that “insider” access doesn’t actually mean anything, since anyone can order a bowl of ramen anytime at one of Kinryu’s five locations. But inside my own little fantasy world, the idea of entering a restaurant and having the Maitre-d’ recognize me as “in” is immensely exciting—never mind the fact that Kinryu has no Maitre-d’ and, being Japanese-language impaired, I probably couldn’t communicate with him even if it did.<br /><br />In fact, Kinryu is one of the most laid-back eateries you could find. But—and here I swear I’m speaking not just as a friend of the fiancé of the son of the owner—what it lacks in red-carpet potential it more than makes up for in soup. And perfectly cooked, tender-but-still-firm noodles. And spiced-to-make-your-tongue-dance kimchee.<br /><br />On one of our first new-friend-night-outs, H took me to one of Kinryu’s two Dountonburi branches. We sat crossed-legged on tatami at an informal, open-air table. Then I met her charming fiancé, whom I liked immediately, especially since he was holding steaming bowls of ramen, heaped with fresh garlic and kimchee.<br /><br />As we feasted on hot, delicious soup, he told us about Kinryu. His father, of Korean descent, first opened the chain in 1982. The name means golden dragon (which explains the huge green and gilded figure jutting out from the roof above us, a favorite among picture-snapping tourists). Kinryu’s specialty is its broth, which is lighter than traditional ramen to complement the strong flavors of the restaurant’s kimchee, a “secret family recipe.”<br /><br />The menu is simple: Tonkotsu ramen with pork broth (¥600) and Chashumen (¥900), featuring extra pork meat on top. Then there are the three free, unlimited toppings: fresh garlic, Kinryu’s specially-sauced hakusai kimchee, made of cabbage; and mira kimchee, uniquely spiced chives.<br /><br />"The noodles are made on site,” H’s betrothed tells us. “We don't let the fire run out on the stove; we add the broth from the night before to the new soup, so the ramen gets thicker and thicker. We also cook the pork right here,” he tells us.<br /><br />H and I listen, launching our chopsticks again and again into our bowls until we’re scraping the bottom with our spoons. When we’re done, I lean back, holding my knees for support. I look at H and her fiancé and think that, despite how hard it sometimes feels to live in Osaka, I’m lucky for the many treasures I’ve found here: new friends, the adventures of a land a hemisphere away from home, my loving Osakan husband, and luscious bowls of ramen, which you can slurp and savor, 24/7, under a magical golden dragon.<br /><br /><br /><strong>Details:</strong><br /><br />The main Kinryu Ramen branch is at 1-7-13 Midosuji Osaka-shi, Chuo-ku, Namba (Namba Station - Exit 14)<br />It’s other four locations are at:<br />· 1-1-18 Doutonbori, Osaka-shi, Chuo-ku, Namba<br />· 335 Ebisubashi, Osaka-shi, Chuo-ku, Namba<br />· 1-7-26 Doutonbori, Osaka-shi, Chuo-ku, Namba<br />· 1120 Nambasennichimae, Osaka-shi, Chuo-ku, NambaGourmet Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04739110199034576398noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2188868896182912089.post-79522447738428048722008-10-05T15:23:00.000-07:002008-10-05T15:24:04.278-07:00Tokyo Girlfriends & Turkish @ Istanbul KonakWhen my brilliant and lovely friend C from Tokyo came to visit me recently in Osaka, we had very clear plans about balancing work and play. Like me, C is an American freelance writer married to a Japanese man. Combining our long histories of meeting editors’ schedules with marriage into a culture where arriving five minutes late makes you grievously tardy, we both understand the importance of being punctual. The week C came to visit, we each had writing deadlines looming, so we solemnly swore that we would work much, play little, and get everything done on time.<br /><br />Just after C arrived—with hugs and sighs that it had been far too long, and then some bonding over each other’s accessories—we settled down to work at our laptops. We spent 10 minutes in intense concentration. We each typed a few words. We remembered our deadlines. And then we gave up and went shopping. After all, we had dinner reservations in five hours; how could we possibly clink kampai without new purchases to toast?<br /><br />After a very productive afternoon in Horie (new gray open-toed heels for me, vintage Prada flats for C), we arrived at our dinner destination: Istanbul Konak, where my husband T was waiting. It was a Tuesday night, but the place was full. Ensconced in a low corner table surrounded by Turkish lamps and embroidered pillows for lounging, we settled in with glasses of crisp, white Turkish wine for me and C (¥650) and a bottle a Turkish beer (¥650) for T, who tried hard to look interested as we recounted in careful detail all the highlights from our day of shopping. But when the appetizers arrived, he perked up for real.<br /><br />We started with spicy tomato salad (¥650) and yogurt cucumber dip (¥450), spiced with dill, garlic, and fresh mint. We had Turkish pizza (¥1100), a leaf-shaped dough with crispy edges, layered in rich cheeses, herbs, and fresh tomato slices. Then I ordered the “Tavuk Guvec” (¥900), a hardy vegetable and chicken pot, while T had “Beyti Kebab,” spicy lamb and beef wrapped in warm, delicious Turkish bread with a light pepper sauce (¥1400). Meanwhile, C had ordered a course meal (¥3150), including a rich bean soup, garlicky mousaka, white fish simmered in tomato and dill, and more. Since dessert also came with her course, I naturally didn’t want to make her feel left out, so I ordered dessert too—two, actually, and then encouraged T to order his own.<br /><br />Then, just as we realized we needed a serious break before the sweets, the lights dimmed and the music started. After a moment of mild panic (was this the buildup to some announcement congratulating the two gaijin girls for eating more than previously thought possible?), out came a beautiful Japanese woman, dressed as a belly dancer in flowing robes. She had a sexy little rounded tummy, and as she shook her midriff and beamed her gracious smile, the very best part of the evening occurred: the table of 15 Japanese salarymen across the room went bonkers. They clapped. They sang. They snapped photos with their cell phones. And then to our infinite delight, they got up to dance. It looked a little like the hokey-pokey with suits and ties and a dash of metabolic syndrome, but it was totally entertaining.<br /><br />T and C and I giggled and hooted and watched with delight, and by the time we were done, we were ready for our final course: two Turkish puddings infused with lemon and cardamom (¥530), one for me and one for C; two fresh-made Turkish ice-creams (¥530), one for me and one for T; and thick, unfiltered coffees, layered with sugar at the bottom (¥400)—just the shot of sweet energy that C and I needed. After all, we were on our way home, a full night of writing ahead of us before our 9am deadlines.<br /><br /><br /><br />Details:<br />B Kurimoto Kensetsu Bldg., 1-11-1 Minami Horie, Nishi-ku, Osaka 550-0015 (2 min. walk from Subway Yotsubashi Line Yotsubashi Station Exit 5 or 6; 7 min. walk from Subway Midosuji Line Shinsaibashi Station)Lunch: Mon-Fri, 11:30-15:00; Sat, Sun, Holidays, 12:00-15:00Dinner: Mon-Sun, 17:30-22:30Tel: (06) 4708-0020<a href="http://www.instanbulkonak.com/">http://www.instanbulkonak.com</a>Map & coupon at <a href="http://r.gnavi.co.jp/fl/en/k170900/coupon.htm">http://r.gnavi.co.jp/fl/en/k170900/coupon.htm</a>Menus in Japanese and English; Staff speaks EnglishGourmet Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04739110199034576398noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2188868896182912089.post-84361237204132664962008-09-05T15:17:00.000-07:002008-10-05T15:22:59.961-07:00Gaijin Spouses & Yakiniku @ Beef RokkoIn Japan, there’s something especially thrilling about new friends who share both your citizenship and passions. So I was particularly pleased when I met A, who seemed like my mirror image: He’s married to a Japanese woman, and I’m married to a Japanese man; He hails from New York and likes the Yankees (or is it the Mets? I’m not sure, but I know it’s one of those New York teams), and I’m a Bostonian, loyal to the Red Sox; He’s naturally dark-haired, and I’m a (bottle) blonde.<br /><br />But most importantly, next to our lovely Japanese spouses, we both love one thing unconditionally: eating out. A and his wife even founded “Cheers English,” which helps Osakan restaurant owners welcome English speakers with translated menus and English-speaking staff. They also have a Web-site devoted to English-friendly restaurants in Kansai (<a href="http://www.englishfriendlyrestaurants.com/">http://www.englishfriendlyrestaurants.com/</a>).<br /><br />So when A offered to show me his new favorite yakiniku (or grilled meat) place, Beef Rokko in Shinsaibashi, I jumped at the chance. (Neither his wife, home with their new baby, or my husband, working late at the office, could join us—but we maintained our unstinting loyalty to them by ordering for four.) “Beef Rokko is perfect for foreigners who want to try a Japanese favorite, yakiniku, but don’t want something too far beyond their comfort zones,” A explains to me on the way there.<br /><br />When we arrive at this casual eatery, we’re greeted by the owner, a Japanese man whose foreign friends call him “Harry,” he tells me, and who lived for 13 years in New York City. Harry-san speaks almost-perfect English, and he’s as welcoming as any outgoing Westerner. Not only does he provide English menus, he invites us to make substitutions if the course we want contains a kind of meat (or in my case, offal) we’re not up for trying—a flexibility I’ve never yet encountered in this rule-bound country where even asking for sauce on the side can cause panicked expressions across the entire staff.<br /><br />Beef Rokko specializes in “all-you-can-eat” courses, with which you have 2 hours to feast on unlimited plates of either twelve meats (¥1970), fifteen, (¥2280), or a whopping nineteen (¥2980), the latter including endless vegetables and kimchi. They also have a la carte offerings, but “I’m not really recommending,” Harry-san tells us, because these don’t provide bottomless servings. (“This is really a man after my own heart,” I think, since he understands the importance of endless eating.) There’s also an all-you-can-drink-in-two-hours beer course for ¥1500.<br /><br />Not surprisingly, we order the largest course (which may seem contradictory, since I don’t want any organs, but my fellow Americans will understand my desire to think I’m getting biggest and best choice) and bottomless beer. When the food comes, we find various cuts of lightly marinated beef, chicken, and pork, plus some surprising mini-hot-dogs (“Just like home and Fenway Franks!” I think) and sausages. We place the morsels on the smoke-filtering grill (“Now my Gap jeans and Banana Republic cami won’t smell when I leave!” I realize giddily) and watch as the cutlets sizzle to succulence: slightly crispy on the outside, melting within. We dip each piece into Rokko’s homemade sauces and wash them down with ice-cold beer. As our copious consumption winds down, we grill crisp sliced vegetables, complemented by fresh, spicy kimchi and steamed rice.<br /><br />Leaving, we walk past a table of young, local male hosts, fueling up for their night of entertaining women at a nearby bar. They have tight-fitting white shirts and elaborately-styled hair, and they wave coquettishly, inviting me to visit their club. I wave back, turn saucily for the door, and then head home to my handsome Japanese salaryman husband, he of tamer hair and more modest employment, yet no less fetching. I have important news to share with him: we have another restaurant to add to our list of Kansai culinary destinations.<br /><br /><br />Details:<br /><br />2-7-29 Higashi Shinsaibashi Chuo-ku, Osaka<br />Open 5:00pm-3:00am daily (irregular holidays)<br />Tel (06) 6211-8265<br /><br />Directions:<br />From Subway M19, N15<br />Take exit 6 at Shinsaibashi station, turn right, and then go straight.<br />Turn left at the 3rd corner (with Uniqlo at the corner).<br />Go straight; Rokko is on the right after 1st intersection.<br />Map @ <a href="http://www.englishfriendlyrestaurantsosaka.com/rokko.html">http://www.englishfriendlyrestaurantsosaka.com/rokko.html</a><br /><br />Menus in Japanese and English; Staff speaks English.Gourmet Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04739110199034576398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2188868896182912089.post-53567217929716545042008-08-01T07:40:00.000-07:002008-08-21T07:45:57.621-07:00Visiting Kyoto & Eating Ton Katsu @ KatsukaraWhen my friend L moved from Osaka, where I live, to Kyoto, I weighed the consequences. On one hand, she’d be further away, less available for impromptu cocktails. I’d have one less friend in Osaka, and, as any foreigner who’s lived here for a while knows, true platonic soul mates can be hard to find. After all, we live in a land where at first every gaijin seems like a potential best friend, merely because we’re both odd-man-out on the sidewalk—towards whom schoolchildren hurl awkward renditions of “I have a pen!” and away from whom adults hurriedly stare. But real friendships require more than just being co-considered an oddity on the move. So the ones that endure in Japan take on a special significance.<br /><br />That was the downside of losing L to Kyoto. But on the other hand, I rationalized, it would open up a whole new slew of gastronomic adventures. After careful consideration, I chose to look on the bright side: I decided to see the plate half full.<br /><br />Accordingly, a few weeks after L’s move, we met up in Kyoto for ton katsu. These breaded and deep-fried pork cutlets are part of the yoshoku food group, as New York Times columnist Norimitsu Onishi explains, “European or American dishes [that] were imported” during the Meiji Restoration “and, in true Japanese fashion, shaped and reshaped to fit local tastes.”<br /><br />The best ton katsu arrives at your table crispy on the outside, juicy on the inside, and surrendering a perfect balance between the richness of their flakey crust and the surprising lightness high-quality oil can yield. Luckily, L knew just where we could find such a treasure in Kyoto: at a place called Katsukura. Part of the Fukunaga restaurant group, Katsukura has twelve locations throughout Kansai. From my first bite, I understood their popularity.<br /><br />Actually, I had an inkling of their success when we walked in to their sanjo shin kyo goku branch on a hot, humid Thursday evening—not the kind of night that usually provokes fried food cravings—and every seat was taken. A waitress handed us menus while we waited: Japanese for L, who is maddeningly fluent; and English for me, who, despite my Osakan husband, can barely order an espresso or glass of wine in Japanese.<br /><br />For a chain, even the atmosphere at Katsukura is surprisingly pleasing. This location has a wide, gently lighted main room with sleek modern angles and granite partitions, offset by wooden beams stretching across the ceiling. The room’s center is dominated by a broad wooden community-style table, which in turn is flanked by 10 or so smaller tables where eventually L and I had the good fortune to sit and feast.<br /><br />First, they brought us sesame seeds in grooved bowls along with little personal pestles for us to grind our own portion, then smother with deep, sweet-and-slightly-spicy ton katsu sauce, a concoction into which we dipped our steaming cutlets when they arrived. (Each table also holds small wooden jars of mustard, pickles, yuzu dressing, and other sauces to accompany the unlimited supply of barley-flecked rice, fresh shredded cabbage, smoky miso soup, and tea that comes with every meal.) I had a set combining a traditional cutlet with a yuba-stuffed croquet: warm, milky tofu skin with peppers, mushrooms, and white beans, all tucked into a breaded, lightly fried orb (¥1440). L stuck to straight ton katsu. (¥1000). Our other choices included sirloin, chicken, prawn, or minced beef cutlets, and various seasonal set meals.<br /><br />When finished, I was too full to try another dish. At first I was crestfallen, but then L reminded me of the best part of her relocation: “I’m going to be in Kyoto for a while,” she explained gently. Without her even having to spell it out, I knew exactly what she meant: we’ll have many more chances to try all Katsukura’s cutlets.<br /><br /><strong>Details:<br /></strong><br />所在地 京都市中京区寺町通四条上ル<br />TEL 075-221-5261<br />営業時間 11:00~22:00<br />(ラストオーダー21:30)<br />定休日 なし<br />Map @ <a href="http://www.fukunaga-tf.com/katsukura/shop/index.html">http://www.fukunaga-tf.com/katsukura/shop/index.html</a><br />Menus in Japanese and English; Staff speaks English.Gourmet Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04739110199034576398noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2188868896182912089.post-83891077955982970452008-06-01T20:25:00.000-07:002008-08-21T07:40:19.756-07:00Boy-Watching & Tapas @ TucusiWhenever I and my two closest girlfriends in Osaka, J (American) and L (British), are in the mood to combine excellent food with a night out at a bar, we don’t head for a traditional <em>izakaya</em>. Instead, we go to Tucusi in Umeda. Besides having delectable tapas, Tucusi has some of the nicest (and cutest) staff we’ve met, and even though they’re all Japanese, they are very patient with non-<em>Nihongo</em> speakers. J and I even call it “too-cutsie,” which we think is a hilariously clever play on words, all the more witty because it spans two languages. (Really, this just distracts us from the fact that J struggles through life in Kansai speaking virtually no Japanese, her MO being to talk English more loudly; and I--as I mentioned in last month’s column--can be consistently counted on to fail my language classes, my Japanese husband notwithstanding. L, the lone, proper, and fluent Brit among us two Americans, usually either smiles pityingly at us when we repeat our witticism or pretends not to hear it.)<br /><br />A few weeks ago, J had broken up with boyfriend number 3,982, who was still back in the US (and whom she actually blocked on Skype, meaning they were <em>really</em> broken up this time), and she needed some distraction. So the three of us headed for Tucusi. We sat at one of their high tables, sandwiched between wall-length windows on one side--perfect for surveying the scene--and on the other by the bar: sleek, long, and tended by one very handsome bartender. At the far end of the restaurant is another huge glass pane, displaying the kitchen behind it, which always delights J to no end, since she says she likes to watch men cook. I’m pretty neutral on the watching-men-cook thing (although seeing my husband make a reservation gets me every time), but since the chefs at Tucusi are, well, just too cute, I welcomed the open kitchen. In fact, peering in and seeing all the slicing, chopping, and pan-frying going on, got me pretty excited, too: to eat.<br /><br />Tucusi opened in August 2006, and its menu features Italian and Spanish food with Australian and Asian accents. Owner Koichi Tamaki trained for six years in Japan at French and Italian restaurants, then headed to Australia for three more years of culinary practice. Tucusi is his first restaurant (although he’s recently opened the teppanyaki bistro Tegumi, also excellent and also in Umeda). Tucusi’s menu offers a long list of small plates and tapas, grilled meats, pizzas and pastas, paella, and <em>arroz</em>, a rice-based dish. There’s also a full bar, plus a list of well-chosen wines, many available by either bottle or glass.<br /><br />We started our meal that night with one of our favorites: seared tuna with avocado and black-pepper-caramel sauce (¥950). Then we had Schezuan-pepper fried calamari with star anise and cinnamon (¥500), and similarly flavored friend potato wedges (¥500), both of which, like the tuna, were a perfect merging of salt, sweet, and spice. Next was a small order of Guinness-soy-mirin simmered spare ribs (¥650): rich, dark, and just the barest taste of bitter from the beer. When the garlic rice fried with Japanese shallots, mushrooms, and slivered beef came out (¥1300), we didn’t think it could get any better—until we started eating the lychee sorbet (¥750) with chocolate truffles (¥700).<br /><br />By the end of the meal, my Uniglo jeans were feeling a little tight, but I was looking forward to going home to my lovely husband and telling him all about my dinner. L was similarly happy, texting with her new squeeze. And J? Well, we left her at the bar, hoping she’d learn a few more words of Japanese.<br /><br /><strong>Details</strong><br /><br />Tucusi Tapas & Charcoal Grille<br />Pont-Nouveau BLD Level 1 2-5-30 Sonezaki Kita-ku Osaka 530-0057 (on Shin Midosuji Street)<br />06.6362.2948<br /><br /><a href="http://www.d-dimension.jp/tucusi/index.php">http://www.d-dimension.jp/tucusi/index.php</a><br /><br />Menus in Japanese and English; Staff speaks some English.<br /><br />M-F, 12 noon – 3am<br />Sat & Holidays: 5pm – 3am<br />Sun: 5pm – 1amGourmet Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04739110199034576398noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2188868896182912089.post-73780995316559300352008-04-15T20:39:00.000-07:002008-06-09T06:42:48.267-07:00Exam Panic & Portuguese @ PortugaliaIt’s the night before my end-of-semester test in Japanese class, and I’m panicking. Despite my Japanese husband, I find the language in this land impossible. Today, I even cried for the first time in school since Kindergarten, when Ben McCormack, my crush-of-the-week, ran away while I was chasing him for a kiss.<br /><br />35 years later, both my heart and brain are pounding. Although I now have a man much hotter than Ben McCormack--who doesn’t make me chase him for kisses (although, being Japanese, he does discourage my penchant for public affection)--I’m facing another school-based crisis. I can’t tell my <em>keigo</em> from my <em>jyusho</em> or my <em>ta</em> form from my <em>te</em> form, and I’m miserably confused by <em>i-keiyooshi</em> and <em>na-keiyooshi</em>. Needing the kind of commiseration I know only my best friend J--an American in Osaka who doesn’t speak a word of Japanese--can offer, I do the next best thing to studying: I meet J for dinner and drinks. (Who but another American will feel totally comfortable with my completely un-PC need to complain about how the entire world doesn’t follow my lexicographical patterns?)<br /><br />J and I head to Portugalia, where the food is incredible, the atmosphere chic, and the menu in English (and Japanese, if you care to try to read it, which we don’t). We get there at 9:30, and the place is still packed with a mix of well-healed expats and locals. J and I grab seats at the bar and order drinks while lingering over the menu, choosing from a wide range of wines (Y700-Y1000 a glass, Y5430-Y129,600 a bottle). We decide to start our meal with salad primavera (Y1050): fresh turnip, carrot, beet, cabbage, and cress, lightly but perfectly seasoned. Then we move on to the “Cherne à Mosteiro” a white fish-fillet fried with banana, olive oil, and Port wine (Y1890), the mix of sweet Port and bananas faultless against the salty fish and rich oil. Just as my eyes start rolling back in my head from the amazing taste (J. thinks I’m having a seizure from the stress of tomorrow’s test, until she realizes it’s just me, eating), Eduardo, Portugalia’s owner, and Clara, his charming chef, come over to chat. They explain that theirs is the only Portuguese restaurant in Japan with a Portuguese cook. They make everything from scratch, serving only authentic, all-natural dishes. In response, I order another entrée.<br /><br />Actually, it’s an entrée for two. (My poor husband is at home, having worked an excruciatingly long day at his Japanese corporate job. What kind of wife would I be if I came home empty-handed?) Out comes “Frango na Púcara,” a chicken casserole simmered in a pot with white wine, Port, and brandy (Y3410). (Let’s just say that I arrive home later with less than a full serving left over.) For the finale, we have homemade Madeira ice-cream (Y600) and an espresso with a grappa chaser: sweetened coffee, drunk until it’s almost all espresso-infused sugar at cup’s bottom, then filled with a shot of liquor and downed in one fiery, delightful gulp.<br /><br />Needless to say, the night is an unqualified success. I come home soothed by food, wine, and brandy--and completely unfazed by my impending test. A week later, I get my results: a 55. Yet, like my meal with J, all’s well that ends well. T, ever the supportive husband, says he’s proud of me that I understood more than half (the best perspective on an F I’ve ever heard), and we make reservations to celebrate, at Portugalia, that I have a break before the next semester of Japanese class resumes.<br /><br /><br /><strong>Details</strong><br /><br />Plaza Umeshin Bekkan 1F<br />4-12-11, NishiTenma, Kita-ku, Osaka<br /><a href="http://www.portugalia.jp/">http://www.portugalia.jp/</a><br /><br />Weekdays: Lunch, 11:30-15:00; Dinner, 18:00- 24:00<br />Saturdays & Holidays: Lunch, 11:30-14:30; Café, 14:30-17:30; Dinner, 18:00- 22:30<br />Closed Sundays<br /><br />Menu in both Japanese and English; English-speaking staff.Gourmet Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04739110199034576398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2188868896182912089.post-74314843605094245712008-03-01T20:23:00.000-08:002008-06-06T21:46:00.544-07:00Gossip, Girlfriends, & Chocolate @ Ek Chuah ChocolatierRumor has it that being a foreign woman married to a Japanese man can be difficult. Surely, we’re vastly outnumbered by what some call “charisma men”: those not-totally-Adonis-type Western men who end up with knock-out Japanese women. Plus, foreign women, especially Western ones, frequently get a bad rap: we’re seen as loud, demanding, and just a few sizes wider than our Japanese counterparts.<br /><br />Now, I’m definitely an outspoken, not-quite-zero-sized Western woman, and anyone who has been reading this column lately knows that I could, just possibly, be construed as occasionally demanding (at least when it comes to insisting that my lovely husband make reservations, immediately, at the latest new restaurant.) So I’m not necessarily out to debunk all myths about foreign women or wives. But I am here to tell you that there’s one thing we foreign female spouses definitely have going for us: an organization, open only to international women with Japanese partners, called the <a href="http://www.afwj.org/">Association of Foreign Wives</a> (AFWJ).<br /><br />What I love most about AFWJ is not the tips shared about in-laws, doctors, or travel: it’s that I can always find a group of great women to go for chocolate with me.<br /><br />Being an ever-eager AFWJ member, I recently invited three fellow wives to my favorite sweets café: Ek Chuah French Chocolatier, near the Tanimachi-6-chome subway stop in Osaka. Ek Chuah is in a charming, restored 200-year-old storehouse, with white plaster walls and dark wooden ceiling beams. The first floor feels like your chic great-aunt’s living room, with plush velvet chairs and antiques. On one end is the glass-walled kitchen and display cases holding fresh-made truffles, cookies, dipped fruits, salted chocolate bark, and the brilliant creation of chocolate-covered potato chips. Upstairs, tables sit beneath framed candy wrappers circa 1960-1990 from around the world, with large windows overlooking a courtyard.<br /><br />Our outing to Ek Chuah comprised a diverse group, and together we ordered a slew of items as varied as our life-stages. L, my first friend in Japan who thus holds a special place in my heart (especially after she recommended me to her colorist), is a striking early 30’s Brit with short, spiky blond hair and dark pink highlights. After leaving Japanese husband #1, she’s had a string of men chasing her. P, a California girl, has been married to a sexy Japanese surfer for 20+ years. She looks 30, has a grandchild, and was wearing a purple mascara in a shade I craved. D is a new friend, a mid-Western American with flowing blond hair and great curves who recently had her first child. And then there’s me, newly 40, newly-married, new to Kansai, and always hungry.<br /><br />We discussed L’s latest love over her hot chocolate with framboise liquer and “Theodore cake,” a sponge-cake layered with rich chocolate cream (Y1050 for the set). Then I grilled P on where she bought her mascara while she indulged happily in her ice-cream parfait: three rich scoops nestled between fresh fruit and a hot chocolate sauce, hardened into a candy shell and topped with sprinkles (Y998). Then D brought up politics, and I learned I actually could love a Republican, especially when she shared her banana-fudge cake with me: fresh bananas tucked into moist chocolate and topped with just-whipped cream (Y578). Sensing more political ground to cover, I was about to launch into my argument supporting gay marriage, but I got sidetracked; the waitress brought my fondue, deep chocolate mixed with my two favorite food groups--fresh cream and kirsch--and fruit for dipping (Y1785). Because I figured I needed to hydrate while eating, I also ordered a beverage: dark hot chocolate with mint liquer (Y735).<br /><br />All in all, it was a perfect afternoon: great friends, great food, lots of giggling, and a few good makeup tips. It was so enjoyable, I’ve now decided that ladies who lunch are passé: next time I join my gaijin-wife-girlfriends, I’m once more going to recommend we skip the salad and move right onto dessert at Ek Chuah.<br /><br /><strong>Details</strong><br /><br />大阪市中央区谷町6-17-43 練-LEN-<br />TEL:06-4304-807711:00-22:00 (21:30 last order)<br />Closed Wednesdays<br />Subway stop: Tanimachi-6-chome<br /><br /><a href="http://www.ek-chuah.co.jp/">http://www.ek-chuah.co.jp/</a><br /><br />Menu in both Japanese and English with extensive pictures; limited English spoken by staff.Gourmet Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04739110199034576398noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2188868896182912089.post-45092053603119065712008-01-15T20:19:00.000-08:002008-06-06T20:22:21.365-07:00Shin Nen Blessings & Pizza @ Pomodoro RossoAfter all the magic of Japan’s traditional New Year’s food—the addictive <em>mochi</em>; the sweet-spicy <em>otososan sake</em>; the bento-like feasts my Japanese in-laws cook—I feel pretty satiated. My stomach is full, my cheeks aglow. T, my husband, even has a week off from work: time to lounge and giggle, to walk Osaka’s cold streets with his hand clutching mine, making me feel safe and warm. I have health, laughter, adventure, and love in this foreign land (plus the post-New-Year’s shoe sales starting any day)—everything a girl could ever want or need, I think gratefully.<br /><br />Except one thing: pizza.<br /><br />True, I’m in a country where pasta can be topped with shredded seaweed or some other incomprehensible garnish, where the pizza crust is often soggy, the cheese greasy. But I also live near Temmabashi, right around the corner from Pomodoro Rosso, where one bite can make me feel as if all is right in the world, or at least with Osaka’s sometimes-dire-seeming pizza situation. So the minute the New Year’s holiday ends, I announce to T that I have an important New Year’s resolution which I must see to immediately. I must usher in 2008 with an authentic Italian pie. At Pomodoro Rosso. Right now.<br /><br />T, having been my ballast for four years now, knows exactly how to handle me in these situations. There’s only one way to deal with my food obsessions, one reaction to my mentioning, ten times by 10am, a particular meal I crave. When the restlessness starts and the sighing commences, he makes a reservation.<br /><br />Reservations are not actually required at Pomodoro Rosso, and every time we’ve gone there, we’ve been able to get a table, but T’s taking no chances. The food is so good that there could one day be lines out the door, clamoring for what comes out of their huge, red-brick, wood-burning Neapolitan oven.<br /><br />First, we order one of the special pizzas supplementing their regular menu (which features antipasti, pizza, pasta, meat and fish dishes, and about two dozen bottles of wine, plus glasses of wine and beer). The chef rolls and kneads and tosses a fresh ball of dough, then spreads it flat and spoons tomatoes, sausage, ricotta, and mozzarella (all imported directly from Italy). With a flick of his wrist, he adds a handful of fresh basil, then slides it onto a huge wooden spatula and into the oven, where wooden logs burn their bright red glow. When the pizza is ready, it arrives steaming at our table, the thin dough lightly crunchy on the outside but soft within, the mozzarella rich and melting.<br /><br />Eventually the tremors from my carb-and-cheese craving start to ease, so I chat with the chef and taste the pasta that T has ordered. Also from the seasonal menu, the fusilli is incredible, so I eat half of it before ordering my second pie. It mixes meaty tuna, salty capers, mozzarella and ricotta, tomatoes, and crushed almonds. As I wait for our next pizza—anchovy, olive, cheese, and tomato¾the chef explains that his pies’ distinction derive from both the dough and oven. The recipe for the former he will not divulge, except to say that all its ingredients hail from Italy and he has a special technique for mixing them. But the oven he is happy to explain at length: It’s a 2-ton cavern, stoked at 400 degrees Celsius, that heats food at the same level—as opposed to from below, as do most Japanese and Western ovens—and thus imparts its delicious, slightly smoky flavor and crisp texture. But it’s what comes out of it that moves me most: one more New Year’s blessing, round and fresh and hot, waiting on a simple plate in front of me.<br /><br /><strong>Details</strong><br /><br />Pomodoro Rosso<br />Ristorante & Pizzeria Napoletana2-1-7 Koku-Machi<br />Chuo-Ku, Osaka, Japan<br />T/F: 06.6947.1541Lunch: 11:30-14:30 (L.O)<br />Dinner: 17:30-21:30 (L.O)<br /><br /><a href="http://www.occn.zaq.ne.jp/pomodoro-rosso/">http://www.occn.zaq.ne.jp/pomodoro-rosso/</a><br /><br />Menu in both Japanese and Italian, with some English spoken by staffGourmet Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04739110199034576398noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2188868896182912089.post-53577683055391834892007-11-01T20:13:00.000-07:002008-06-06T21:44:53.048-07:00Vegetarians & Kobe Beef @ WakkoquMy best friend in Japan, J, is an American who’s a slightly finicky eater. While I long for huge Texas-style cheeseburgers and love to indulge in a big slab of steak, she’s a confirmed vegetarian. She ingests no ground beef, no chicken, no cutlets fried into crispy, luscious <em>ton-katsu</em>, no ramen steeped in rich, pork-bone broth. She rarely even takes a bite of cheese.<br /><br />She does, however, eat Kobe beef.<br /><br />So when I suggest that we celebrate her latest career coup by eating at Wakkoqu, which my Japanese husband and I think serves the best Kobe beef on the planet, she responds, “Let’s go tonight.” J justifies her enthusiasm by claiming that whatever greater force exists in the universe to judge our adherence to ethical and nutritional values, he/she/it will certainly forgive a periodic nibble on the forbidden flank.<br /><br />In general, Kobe beef is from Wagyu cattle bred in Hyogo (of which Kobe is the capital), and, although not as expensive or famous in Japan as Matsuzaka beef, it’s legendary across the world. It’s highly marbled (with nearly 50% fat), although--at least according to the Australian nutritionist Dr Tim Crowe--it’s also rich in Omega 3 and Omega 6 fatty acids: the “good,” cholesterol-lowering fat. Kobe-beef cows are rumored to drink beer, especially in the summer months, which ranchers give them to combat loss of appetite due to heat. Legend also has it that the animals are brushed with saké to soften their skin and are periodically massaged to keep their meat tender. Yet despite this swanky life (at least for a quadruped), some of the Kobe beef places I’ve frequented in Kansai offer steak that’s more greasy than great.<br /><br />But Wakkoqu’s is sublime. Located in the Kitano area of Kobe, their chefs cook Teppanyaki-style, on an iron grill in front of you. (They also serve grilled prawn and abalone, for vegetarians more pious than J, and have a great wine list.) We begin with a sliver of rich smoked salmon garnished with onions and salty capers, followed by a simple green salad. Then comes our 220-gram hunk of heaven.<br /><br />The chef brings the meat over on a wooden tray and places salt, pepper, and a dollop of sharp mustard near our plates. Then he slices off a strip of fat to coat the grill and roasts fresh garlic chips in it. Next, he dices the beef with a sword-sharp knife, lays it on the grill in front of us, and salts it as it sizzles. After cooking it as we request (medium-well for both me and J), he slips the cubes of rich steak onto our plate. As we feel each chunk literally melt in our mouths, he starts to roast the vegetables: huge slices of carrots, crips bean sprouts, deep-purple-fleshed eggplant, earthy mushrooms, and more. Last comes the rice, cooked in a small portion of left-over fat, salt, chopped garlic, and the remaining flavors on the grill.<br /><br />It’s so good, I can’t even describe it, except to say that I think I may be addicted to it all.<br /><br /><strong>Details:</strong><br /><strong></strong><br />1-22-13 Nakayamate Dori, Kobe Hillside Terrace<br />(On Pearl St., just east of Kitano-zaka)<br />Phone: 078-222-0678Gourmet Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04739110199034576398noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2188868896182912089.post-53007837016860500032007-10-01T20:04:00.000-07:002008-06-06T20:27:08.488-07:00My New Gaijin Life: Eating Okonomiyaki @ Fusaya Shou GekijouWhen my husband, T, and I moved back to his hometown of Osaka from my home in Boston, he set a few ground rules for our new life in this country where cappuccinos can cost 700 Yen a pop. I don’t remember any of them (who likes to listen when their spouse is talking budgets?) except the one that threw shivers down my spine: no more eating out every night at restaurants. Knowing that his argument, fiscally at least, made sense, I did the only sensible thing: buckled down and investigated the cheap chic food scene in Kansai. (Who has time to take language classes when there’s a culinary—no a lifestyle—crisis on hand?)<br /><br />Luckily for our wallets—and our marriage—I found a perfect option: Okonomiyaki, the traditional Osakan pancake made from yam potato flour instead of wheat, then topped with meats, vegetables, and seasoning sauces. It may not seem chic, but when you eat it at Fusaya Shou Gekijou, in the Karahori outdoor mall, it is. Fusaya is known as a hangout for Osakan musicians, and it’s a great window onto the local scene.<br /><br />We’re seated next to a young woman in a bright green skirt, an elaborate tattoo snaking down her arm; and a group of twenty-somethings playing quarters. We start with kimchi-yakisoba, fried noodles and tart Korean cabbage with crisply cooked shallots, onions, and chicken, all topped with sweet pickled ginger. Next we order three okonomiyaki, one layered with pork, potato paste, egg, and the traditional Worcestershire and creamy sauces; another tiered with melted cheeses and spring onions; and a third stuffed with a curious but appealing mixture of squid-ink pasta and pungent fish flakes.<br /><br />Later, we’re honored with a visit from the owner, a smiling, laughing older gentleman speaking in emphatic bursts of Japanese that I cannot understand, but that nevertheless make me grin along with him while T translates. He explains that “okonomiyaki” means “as you like,” suggesting a freedom to experiment with ingredients and cooking methods. He has funneled this into a global culinary vision, using creative ingredients from around the globe. This, he explains, is why all the world’s citizens enjoy and feel at home with his food. “I have many dreams,” he says, “but my final one is to journey into a black hole, a new universe, and make okonomiyaki in another world.” He once more laughs expansively, and I once more nod my head with mirth—not understanding a word until T explains it. Then, our plates are whisked away and replaced with the meal’s stunning final act: rich vanilla ice cream nestled into a steaming mound of earthy-flavored sweet potato.<br /><br />As we leave, T turns to me, takes my hand, and asks, “why the huge grin?” “I think I’m going to make it in Osaka,” I tell him. Plus, I think to myself, now that we’re budgeting, I can afford that great pair of heels I saw the other day, calling out to me from a sparkling Umeda window.<br /><br /><strong>Details</strong><br /><br />Fusaya Shou Gekijou<br />7-1-47 Tanimachi<br />011-81-6-6763-3115<br />No English menus, although the staff speaks a bit of English. Set-menu meals from \1600 per person.Gourmet Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04739110199034576398noreply@blogger.com0