cook

After being away in Japan for two months, my pets Ana and Kinchan are ecstatic to see me back in Santa Monica. Yesterday, they followed me all day while I was unpacking my luggage and cleaning house. The almond tree in my garden is in full bloom. I am glad I did not miss the spring beat. Tonight, Kinchan wants my undivided attention. She curls up on the pillow near my computor and keeps the jet-lagged master company. Nothing beats home.

As for me, I have two homes. My home in Santa Moinca and my home in Tokyo. Every year, I go back back and forth across the Pacific Ocean like a migrating bird. This time, I had a new reason to be in Tokyo. I went back to make soba. I enrolled in a professional course designed for people who want to open a soba-ya - a soba shop.  I had only taken one soba class before. That was last summer when I took an afternoon session for beginners at the Tsukiji Soba Academy. I never thought I would take soba this seriously but I decided I would give it a try. (here is the link to my blog about the first class). 

On the evening that I arrived in Tokyo, my eighty-eight year old father with whom I was staying asked me, "But why are you making soba?"  My answer was simple.  "Because I love to eat soba. Now I want to learn how to make it. I want to knead." He turned to my sister Fuyuko who lives next door and asked her for an interpretation. He did this several times in front of me and while I was away making soba. I don't blame my father. He thought I was putting my life on hold, including my life in America and my film career to make noodles. There was nothing to hold back.  I just wanted to knead. 

 

Each morning, I left home early to catch the subway to Tsukiji from Shibuya, as my father was getting up to start the day. I have a routine of eating breakfast with him when I am back in Tokyo. He would set the table the night before and turn on the coffee maker in the morning and make toast. We always watched BS Satelite news - which gives you news clips from around the world - CNN, BBC, German, French, Spanish, Chinese, Korean TV stations. This time, I felt rushed in the morning. I had to be in at the Academy by 8 am or 9 am, often skipping this precious breakfast time. No wonder my father was a little crossed with me. At night, I would come home late with a box of soba that I had made I would collapse on my flat futon with fingers still crusted with soba dough and massage my aching back. My sister and nephew would have my soba for breakfast the next day and give me comments. No matter how hard it was each day, I loved making soba. It was like learning how to dance and speak a completely new language. 

Slowly, my father came around and tried to understand what I was doing with soba. He even invited me to have lunch at Yoshida, a vintage soba-ya that his father used to go in Ginza. My ancestors are after all, solid Edoko (Tokyo native) who ate soba. Yoshida was a traditional-style unpretentious restaurant tucked away in a quiet street.  My father pointed to the corner of the restaurant where my grandfather used to sit. I could just picture my grandfather in his dandy suit, sitting there slurping soba and drinking sake. Waitresses in aprons came up to take orders.We had hot soba with duck. I noticed that the noodles looked machine cut. The negi (Japanese green onion), too? These are details that matters to a soba maker that I was becoming. My father, I am sure noticed some of these changes, too but he didn't make a fuss about anything. Yoshida was part of our family history.  He wanted to connect three generations of soba eaters. That was the whole point of bringing me there. It was a lovely gesture.  Later, we went to have sweet azuki bean soup at Wakamatsu, another vintage Japanese pastry shop in Ginza. It was a rainy day but we did everything we set out to do that day. I have many stories like this to tell.  I will start from the beginning.

Early on during my soba training in Tsukiji, I realized there would not be that much time to blog about my soba making experience. So I took mental notes,and decided to work backwards in time to tell you my soba stories later. These stories involve being in Tsukiji every day, working with flour and water, lots of fish, drinking warm sake, and meeting passionate people who love Soba. Soba is by nature not an easy flour to bind together. It takes wisdom and patience to make these thin and long noodles. I learned these facts on the first day of the course, and I am still learning.

Note: Blog will continue in Kneading and Living in Tsukiji (2)