Japanese

You might scoff at rice balls, and their close cousins, rice sandwiches, but I know plenty of people (self included) who lust after them. Even at their simplest—plain boiled rice, brushed with a little soy sauce and wrapped in a piece of nori—there is something enormously appealing about them. When you try a few of the variations, you’ll find one you like as well. Although there are several different shapes into which the Japanese form rice balls, there is really only one important rule to remember: press the rice just firmly enough to have it hold together; you do not want a tough, packed ball but a loose association of individual clumps. Serve this as a side dish with Japanese food, or as an appetizer.

I had this as a late-night snack in Japan, but it’s great at breakfast, too, a soothing, homey soup that is also good made with tofu or leftover chicken. Even if you don’t have dashi, you can execute this dish in a half hour or so. You can make fresh rice for this, of course, but if you use leftover rice—which is fine—heat it first; the microwave does a fine job of this. Some Japanese make small individual omelets for each bowl, but others use the easier, if somewhat odd, technique of cooking the egg in the soup, as here.

A simple rice preparation that can serve as a great side dish for a variety of Japanese (and other) dishes. If you don’t have shiso, use fresh mint, basil, cilantro, or a combination.

This popular one-pot dish can be made with meat or vegetables and, like most casseroles, is easily varied. There are, of course, similar dishes throughout East Asia (and throughout this chapter), but this one is made distinctively Japanese by the addition of mirin and even more so if you use dashi for the cooking stock—a terrific touch. Aburage—fried tofu—is available, precooked, at Japanese markets; it’s slightly sweet.

Here the shopping is more challenging than the cooking, but it’s worth the hunt: this tart rice preparation goes well with almost all Japanese food. It’s pretty as well. Umeboshi (pickled plum) is available at all Japanese markets. Shiso is a seasonal herb that you may have trouble finding in winter; substitute a mixture of basil and mint or just one or the other.You can also use a rice cooker to cook the rice here.

I love this over pasta, but it’s also good used as you would salsa, hot or cold: over grilled or poached fish, meat, or poultry, or even as a dip. Be sure, one day, to try the Spanish version (page 606).

The most difficult part of making negima, the popular Japanese appetizer in which meat is wrapped around scallions or chives, is slicing the meat thin enough. You can ask your butcher for ultra-thin-cut sirloin, and you might get it, but it’s probably easier to use pork, chicken, or veal, all of which are regularly sold as thin cutlets. With a little gentle pounding, they’re thin enough, and the process becomes easy.

These are not “grilled” at all but cooked on a plancha, a hot flat-top griddle similar to those used by short order chefs. But you can grill them, too. Both ways work fine, but in either case the heat should be very intense and the cooking time very short. The squid should be the smallest you can find, preferably about the size of an average adult’s thumb.

Tempura is not the only batter-fried appetizer in the world; in fact, many cuisines have a similar dish, and some of these recipes follow. But tempura is very light, easy to make, and pretty much foolproof; chances are you’ll get it right even on your first try. Shrimp is the most common seafood, and probably the best, for use in tempura, but there’s no reason you couldn’t use other shellfish or even finfish. As for vegetables, it’s a matter of whatever is on hand. Harder vegetables, like winter squash and carrots, should be cut into thin slices so they become tender at about the same time they are browned. More tender vegetables—zucchini, eggplant, mushrooms, and the like—can be made larger or even, in the case of mushrooms or green beans, kept whole. Tempura, like most fried foods, must be served immediately. It will hold in a low oven for a few minutes, but as we all know it’s at its best the second it’s done. As long as you’re comfortable with your guests, serve each piece as you make it, in your kitchen. For frying, use a light, clean oil; grapeseed is probably best, but the more common (and cheaper) corn and safflower are good too. A frying or instant-read thermometer is a good idea, and temperatures of 330–350°F will work well for both vegetables and fish. If you don’t have a thermometer, put a drop of batter into the oil when you think it’s ready; it should neither sink to the bottom (too cold) nor immediately dance on the surface (too hot), but sink slightly beneath the surface and then rise to the top and skitter a bit.

Okonomiyaki, a savory pancake, is a Japanese bar snack, something that you eat (or make) while you’re drinking. There are restaurants in Japan that make nothing but okonomiyaki, where you sit at a bar or table with a griddle set into it and pick what you want in your “pancake.” Everything is fair game, from sliced roasted pork to enoki mushrooms—even to the loose bits of fried batter that are a by-product of tempura called tenkasu. This batter, which includes shredded cabbage, is made in the style linked with Osaka; in Hiroshima, the other part of Japan where the pancake is popular, they add soba noodles to the batter. Obviously it’s a very flexible recipe. Here I use bean sprouts and peas, but vary it as you like. For example, omit the sprouts and peas and use 1/2 cup sliced squid and 1/2 cup asparagus tips; in the summer, substitute 1 cup fresh corn kernels scraped off the cob. You might look for Japanese Kewpie brand mayonnaise to finish the okonomiyaki; the container makes it easy to do the very 1980s squeeze bottle garnish of mayo and okonomiyaki sauce (which is like ketchup and also comes in a squeeze bottle, available at Japanese markets) that is part of the dish’s charm. Personally, what I like is the eerie way the bonito shimmy when they’re scattered across the pancake.

Every culture that grows peppers grills them, and the people who eat them always swear “they’re not that hot.” Well, in Japan, not only are they not that hot, they are often sautéed; and only in Japan are they sauced with miso. Use mild long green chiles like Anaheims or—if you can find them—mild long red chiles, and you’ll come pretty close to duplicating the original.

I had the best Japanese-style chicken wings at the Gonpachi Restaurant in Tokyo. They arrived at the table crackling on a little hibachi grill. Salty, sweet, and aromatic, they were great with chilled sake. To me, this is perfect contemporary Japanese cooking.

Chawan-mushi is an egg custard flavored with stock and soy and laced with a number of tasty tidbits. In Tokyo, I had a bowl that contained tiny amounts of myoga (a potent member of the ginger family), shrimp, chicken, ginkgo nut, and yuzu, an Asian citrus fruit. None of these is essential, and you can substitute for any or all of them, as I do here. The fillings, called gu, are supposed to be whatever you have on hand. If you have covered ramekins, they are ideal for this preparation. But covering the pot works just as well.

An inspiration from Tadashi Ono, a talented Japanese chef now living in the United States. Succulent beyond belief and a most refreshing and appetizing starter. Most octopus sold in this country is frozen, which is not necessarily a bad thing. But if you can find fresh, sweet-smelling specimens, by all means use them. In either case, have the fishmonger clean the octopus. (Or do it yourself, by inverting the head and discarding its contents.)

When I visited Tokyo and Kyoto with my friend Devra a couple years back, I didn’t want to leave. I would say it was the beautiful aesthetic, the attention to design and style, the amazingly efficient trains, but really, of course, it was the food. I was especially excited when I learned how much the Japanese revere the sweet potato, one of my all-time favorite foods. In season (fall and winter), street vendors hawk stone-roasted ones—paler-fleshed and sweeter than ours. Famous cookbook author Harumi Kurihara showed me how she loves to mash miso into roasted sweet potatoes, so when I returned home, I knew that even the orange-fleshed varieties here would take beautifully to Japanese flavors. For a kick of bitterness that nicely offsets the earthy miso, use broccoli rabe instead of the broccolini.

When I lived in Peterborough, New Hampshire, in the early 1990s, I had two obsessions. The first was the lettuce mix from organic farming pioneer Rosaly Bass, who charmed me so much I signed up for a subscription that let me pick what I wanted off her land all season long. (I tended to swing by at midnight after a long day as editor of the weekly Monadnock Ledger and shovel up carrots by moonlight.) The second was this powerfully sharp dressing, made by chef Hiroshi Hayashi at his elegant, health-minded Japanese restaurant, Latacarta. While Rosaly’s farm is still going strong, Hayashi long ago closed the restaurant and started the Monadnock School of Natural Cooking and Philosophy, but he still makes this vegan dressing. I use it to dress simple salads of butter lettuce with cherry tomatoes and carrots, taking care to slice the carrots into a perfect julienne the way I remember Hayashi did. The dressing also makes an excellent dip for crudités.

The Hindus paint a red dot, or bindi, on their foreheads as an ancient form of ornamentation that also indicates a focal point of meditation: the third eye, the site of the bright inner flame that burns in our mind’s eye. People living in the warmer climates of Latin America wear a bindi of another sort, a cucumber slice stuck to their forehead to keep cool on a hot day. This practice has always fascinated me. The sure knowledge that as the afternoon wore on the wearer’s sweat would salt that cucumber also made me hungry. The crisp, acidic rush of tsukemono, or Japanese pickles, brings focus and refreshment as an accompaniment to grilled fish, rice dishes, and sashimi. It can also be eaten on its own in a meditative moment.

Shiso, also known as “beefsteak plant,” is a pungent, wild-tasting herb native to North America but typically sold only in Japanese markets. Often served with sushi, shiso is essential here for bringing the flavor of the fish to life. Dry sake served cold rounds out this dish well.

A kanten dessert is the Japanese equivalent of Jell-O, and its consistency can be adjusted by adding more or less liquid. This version is soft in texture, and the mellow flavor of pears is set off by the rich, spiced crunch topping. It’s important to blend the kanten after it cools in order to achieve a smooth, creamy texture. If you can’t find agar-agar (see page 102) in powder form, simply grind the flakes in a coffee grinder for 1 minute.

Pockets made from fried tofu skins are convenient for making a quick finger food for parties, and they don’t require any dipping sauce. Find the pockets in Japanese markets in the dry foods or refrigerated section; they come preseasoned with sugar and soy. You’ll find kimchi, the sweet and spicy fermented cabbage condiment, at the same store. Although it originated in Korea, kimchi is also very popular in Japan.