In 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.
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 (http://www.englishfriendlyrestaurants.com/).
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Details:
2-7-29 Higashi Shinsaibashi Chuo-ku, Osaka
Open 5:00pm-3:00am daily (irregular holidays)
Tel (06) 6211-8265
Directions:
From Subway M19, N15
Take exit 6 at Shinsaibashi station, turn right, and then go straight.
Turn left at the 3rd corner (with Uniqlo at the corner).
Go straight; Rokko is on the right after 1st intersection.
Map @ http://www.englishfriendlyrestaurantsosaka.com/rokko.html
Menus in Japanese and English; Staff speaks English.
Friday, September 5, 2008
Friday, August 1, 2008
Visiting Kyoto & Eating Ton Katsu @ Katsukara
When 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.
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.
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.”
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Details:
所在地 京都市中京区寺町通四条上ル
TEL 075-221-5261
営業時間 11:00～22:00
(ラストオーダー21:30)
定休日 なし
Map @ http://www.fukunaga-tf.com/katsukura/shop/index.html
Menus in Japanese and English; Staff speaks English.
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.
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.”
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Details:
所在地 京都市中京区寺町通四条上ル
TEL 075-221-5261
営業時間 11:00～22:00
(ラストオーダー21:30)
定休日 なし
Map @ http://www.fukunaga-tf.com/katsukura/shop/index.html
Menus in Japanese and English; Staff speaks English.
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Boy-Watching & Tapas @ Tucusi
Whenever 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 izakaya. 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-Nihongo 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.)
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 really 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.
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 arroz, a rice-based dish. There’s also a full bar, plus a list of well-chosen wines, many available by either bottle or glass.
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).
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.
Details
Tucusi Tapas & Charcoal Grille
Pont-Nouveau BLD Level 1 2-5-30 Sonezaki Kita-ku Osaka 530-0057 (on Shin Midosuji Street)
06.6362.2948
http://www.d-dimension.jp/tucusi/index.php
Menus in Japanese and English; Staff speaks some English.
M-F, 12 noon – 3am
Sat & Holidays: 5pm – 3am
Sun: 5pm – 1am
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 really 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.
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 arroz, a rice-based dish. There’s also a full bar, plus a list of well-chosen wines, many available by either bottle or glass.
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).
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.
Details
Tucusi Tapas & Charcoal Grille
Pont-Nouveau BLD Level 1 2-5-30 Sonezaki Kita-ku Osaka 530-0057 (on Shin Midosuji Street)
06.6362.2948
http://www.d-dimension.jp/tucusi/index.php
Menus in Japanese and English; Staff speaks some English.
M-F, 12 noon – 3am
Sat & Holidays: 5pm – 3am
Sun: 5pm – 1am
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Exam Panic & Portuguese @ Portugalia
It’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.
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 keigo from my jyusho or my ta form from my te form, and I’m miserably confused by i-keiyooshi and na-keiyooshi. 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?)
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.
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.
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.
Details
Plaza Umeshin Bekkan 1F
4-12-11, NishiTenma, Kita-ku, Osaka
http://www.portugalia.jp/
Weekdays: Lunch, 11:30-15:00; Dinner, 18:00- 24:00
Saturdays & Holidays: Lunch, 11:30-14:30; Café, 14:30-17:30; Dinner, 18:00- 22:30
Closed Sundays
Menu in both Japanese and English; English-speaking staff.
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 keigo from my jyusho or my ta form from my te form, and I’m miserably confused by i-keiyooshi and na-keiyooshi. 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?)
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.
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.
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.
Details
Plaza Umeshin Bekkan 1F
4-12-11, NishiTenma, Kita-ku, Osaka
http://www.portugalia.jp/
Weekdays: Lunch, 11:30-15:00; Dinner, 18:00- 24:00
Saturdays & Holidays: Lunch, 11:30-14:30; Café, 14:30-17:30; Dinner, 18:00- 22:30
Closed Sundays
Menu in both Japanese and English; English-speaking staff.
Saturday, March 1, 2008
Gossip, Girlfriends, & Chocolate @ Ek Chuah Chocolatier
Rumor 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.
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 Association of Foreign Wives (AFWJ).
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.
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.
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.
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).
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.
Details
大阪市中央区谷町6-17-43 練－LEN-
TEL：06-4304-807711:00-22:00 (21:30 last order)
Closed Wednesdays
Subway stop: Tanimachi-6-chome
http://www.ek-chuah.co.jp/
Menu in both Japanese and English with extensive pictures; limited English spoken by staff.
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 Association of Foreign Wives (AFWJ).
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.
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.
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.
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).
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.
Details
大阪市中央区谷町6-17-43 練－LEN-
TEL：06-4304-807711:00-22:00 (21:30 last order)
Closed Wednesdays
Subway stop: Tanimachi-6-chome
http://www.ek-chuah.co.jp/
Menu in both Japanese and English with extensive pictures; limited English spoken by staff.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Shin Nen Blessings & Pizza @ Pomodoro Rosso
After all the magic of Japan’s traditional New Year’s food—the addictive mochi; the sweet-spicy otososan sake; 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.
Except one thing: pizza.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Details
Pomodoro Rosso
Ristorante & Pizzeria Napoletana2-1-7 Koku-Machi
Chuo-Ku, Osaka, Japan
T/F: 06.6947.1541Lunch: 11:30-14:30 (L.O)
Dinner: 17:30-21:30 (L.O)
http://www.occn.zaq.ne.jp/pomodoro-rosso/
Menu in both Japanese and Italian, with some English spoken by staff
Except one thing: pizza.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Details
Pomodoro Rosso
Ristorante & Pizzeria Napoletana2-1-7 Koku-Machi
Chuo-Ku, Osaka, Japan
T/F: 06.6947.1541Lunch: 11:30-14:30 (L.O)
Dinner: 17:30-21:30 (L.O)
http://www.occn.zaq.ne.jp/pomodoro-rosso/
Menu in both Japanese and Italian, with some English spoken by staff
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Vegetarians & Kobe Beef @ Wakkoqu
My 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 ton-katsu, no ramen steeped in rich, pork-bone broth. She rarely even takes a bite of cheese.
She does, however, eat Kobe beef.
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.
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.
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.
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.
It’s so good, I can’t even describe it, except to say that I think I may be addicted to it all.
Details:
1-22-13 Nakayamate Dori, Kobe Hillside Terrace
(On Pearl St., just east of Kitano-zaka)
Phone: 078-222-0678
She does, however, eat Kobe beef.
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.
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.
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.
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.
It’s so good, I can’t even describe it, except to say that I think I may be addicted to it all.
Details:
1-22-13 Nakayamate Dori, Kobe Hillside Terrace
(On Pearl St., just east of Kitano-zaka)
Phone: 078-222-0678
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
