Indigo Days

The Mommy Goat

When Christopher was 14, he asked me for a goat for Christmas.  So I bought him one.  Or more precisely, I handed over the cash and Tadaaki drove him 7 hours round trip to the goat farm.  Christopher picked out a sweet girl, led her onto the back of our little pickup truck and she happily made the trip back here to her new home.

When Christopher decided he wanted a goat, this was not just a spur of the moment thing.  He started by raising chickens, quickly moved on to rabbits and by then had given up the idea of an ostrich (not enough room) in favor of pheasants.  Some might say that getting a goat was the logical next step.  Some.  Each new animal or fowl he acquired was carefully researched on the Internet.  He studied how to care for them and researched where to buy them.  Christopher was entirely focused on his task and at 13 was already able to do the work of a man as he built rabbit hutches and refurbished the old chicken coops next to Sunny-Side Up!.  But then he’s a farm boy.

Goats are kept for their milk and ultimately for making cheese.  Ours was no different.  Though first she had to have a kid to stimulate milk production.  Tadaaki and Christopher took our goat back to the goat farm for her liaison with a male goat.  More education.  Back she climbed into the truck and once home, her tummy began to expand.  Success.  We calculated her kid would be born in the early summer, but she surprised us.  At the end of our annual February trip to California, Tadaaki announced that the Mommy Goat had had two kids and that it had snowed that day.  He wasn’t sure they’d make it, but they did.  Obviously she had already been pregnant when Christopher first picked her out of the herd. 

The Mommy Goat had two spindly-legged girl kids and we were excited about the prospect of having milk once they were strong enough to share.  In the early spring, Christopher started tethering her in the orchard next to Tadaaki’s chicken coops to graze.  He left the kids free to roam underfoot while the Mommy Goat chewed weeds.  One day he came home in a panic.  One of the girl kids was missing.  Christopher found a small hole in the fence and set out searching the neighborhood behind the coops.  But reason quickly brought him home.  The kid really wouldn’t stray far from mom.  After an exhaustive search of the four long rows of divided chicken enclosures housing a total of 3000 chickens, on a whim he flipped the egg catching area flap to find the kid curled up in that improbably small space taking a little snooze.  Of course she wouldn’t leave her mom.  Of course.

The Mommy Goat is very popular with the preschoolers.  She sticks her head out of the chicken fencing, craning for a treat.  The children bring leaves and chestnuts that they’ve coaxed from the burrs.  We teach them to hold out their hands flat with the food, but often they just pinch the leaves between their fingers and poke them out towards her mouth.  But she’s gentle and only one child has ever been nipped.  The students like to pat her and she loves it when I scratch between her horns.  And while the majority of the children treat her very kindly, a few have hit her.  This warrants a serious talk and usually doesn’t happen again.  It’s a learning experience.

We do Goat Day at SSU! and Tadaaki squirts her milk into the waiting mouths.  Great fun.  We also make cheese with the children and eat it on our lunches.  You may wonder why we don’t let the kids milk the goat.  Handling her gently and respectfully is more important than giving a fleeting touch of her udders.   The person that milks a goat should be caring and sensitive…and consistent.  When Christopher left for high school in California, Andrew was slotted to take over the milking, but dragged his feet a bit.  So, despite having more than enough on his plate caring for the 3000 chickens and other sundry birds, Tadaaki added this “chore” to his daily rounds.  And although he didn’t want to, through her care, he grew to love her.

Riku and Shuto, Goat Day 2008

The Mommy Goat died in February.  And it was Tadaaki who had to bury her.  She was carrying two kids and the placenta pushing on her intestines created a blockage.   She became weaker and weaker and died before the vet could save her.  The boys and I were gone in California at the time, so Tadaaki had to dig the hole, cart her to the grave and include the SSU! kids in the burial.  This too was a learning experience, though one Tadaaki could have done without.

I’d like a new goat, but it won’t be so easy the next time around.  Christopher has moved on and so has Tadaaki.  They say it’s up to me to clean the goat enclosure (think nasty creatures in the dung and the occasional scurrying rat).  Also, next time it will be me milking and feeding the goat.  Maybe I’ll wait a little longer.

Fall 2006

I don't really have a recipe to go with this post, though one time at Harigaya-san’s place in the mountains he served a goat milk chowder with prawns and spinach leaves.  He heated it over the irori open fire and it was heavenly.  I’m not a big fan of prawns or shrimp (knowing their dubious provenance), but you could substitute some other delicate fish.  Though heating the chowder over the burning embers was inspired. 

Momotaro Ramen

Ramen, like sushi is one of those foods for which there is no substitute.  When you crave it you’ve got to have it.  When I first came to Japan, we’d stop off at the ramen shop after a night out.  These days, we go to our local ramen shop for lunch.

Momotaro Ramen, with its white plastic siding and red noren flapping in the breeze, doesn’t look like much on the outside…but what ramen shop does?  As you enter, you feel a blast of warm air from the open kitchen with steam billowing out from vats of boiling water, frying vegetables and sizzling gyoza (potstickers).  A cloud of cigarette smoke may also be hanging over the counter or a table of chain-smoking customers.  Annoying, but inevitable.

Plain Ramen comes in an over-sized Chinese soup bowl, heaped full of noodles, scalding hot soup (a secret formula made from chicken and vegetables, perhaps enhanced by dried sardines or seaweed) garnished with a slice of chashu (soy-sauce simmered pork), some slivers of green onion, half a semi-hard boiled egg, a small square of nori (dried seaweed), a couple pieces of bamboo shoots and a slice of naruto (fish cake).  You can choose from three flavors:  salt, miso or soy sauce.  The salt taste is slightly briny and goes particularly well with a dollop of yuzu kosho—a paste made from yuzu peel, chili peppers and salt.  Soy sauce taste is perhaps the most popular, but miso brings earthy warmth to the ramen. 

Steam-sautéed gyoza dumplings are soft, yet crunchy, with a lacy film of fried potato starch.  They taste of garlic chives and are tantalizingly addictive dipped in a mixture of soy sauce, rice vinegar and red pepper oil.  Though at home we often substitute Chinese black vinegar for the soy sauce and clear vinegar.

Back in “the day,” my Japanese pals and I would always order the obligatory plain ramen and share plates of gyoza. But then I met Tadaaki, and discovered the world of chile-flavored ramen such as oniramen (kimchee)  or neginamba (with slivered Japanese leeks tossed in a chile-based sauce).  All can be ordered in varying levels of hotness.  Tadaaki’s appetite has not diminished over time, but mine has post-pregnancy and breast-feeding.   So, if I order ramen these days, I usually go for the Mini-Ramen:  a half-sized portion, though only allowed with Plain Ramen.  If you order the Mini-Mini Set they throw in 3 gyoza.  Momotaro also serves shobiru:  a small frosted mug of draft beer.  Nice.

My boys always push me to try other ramen, but I usually don't.  Though they give me tastes if I ask.  Momotaro Ramen (the signature dish) is topped with a sprinkling of canned corn and two deep fried glutinous rice cakes called mochi.  Despite the canned corn, it’s actually quite tasty.  The mochi, crunchy on the outside and creamy in the center, proves a good foil for the salty broth flavored with yuzu kosho.  The thick noodles not only have a pleasant bite to them, but also do not inflate as the thinner noodles tend to do.  Andrew loves Kantonmen; a gooey-looking concoction that belies its true nature:  a bowl of luscious broth and soft noodles studded with still crunchy pieces of sautéed cabbage, carrots and bamboo sprouts.  Are you getting hungry yet?

Often, it’s not ramen I crave, but Yaki Niku Teishoku:  quick-sautéed, thin-sliced pork belly served with a small pile of crisp green onion curls, one perfect raw egg, a dab of kochujan (Korean hot sauce) and a wedge of lemon.  The creamy raw egg softens the lemony spice while the onion’s heat balances the rich pork. A small bowl of pristine white rice and some pickled vegetables are the perfect accompaniments.  Matthew’s fond of Yaki Soba, a greasy dish of ramen noodles fried with chashu batons, slivered carrots and pieces of cabbage in a sweet sauce.  The crisp vegetables are the only thing that works for me in this dish, but it’s a popular festival food and well loved by most.

I love cooking at home, but Momotaro serves up soul-satisfying food that hits the spot when we’re in the mood.  And it’s down the street.  Tadaaki, always the voice of reason, doesn’t like to eat out much.  It goes against his farmer grain.  So, occasionally Tadaaki will whip up ramen at home.  It’s quite the production, though doesn’t need to be.  Once Tadaaki gets into a cooking frenzy, he can’t stop.  Tempura night yields mountains of crisp fried fish and vegetables with more variety than wise.  We tell him not to go crazy at the fish shop, but he doesn’t listen.  He’s got another voice whispering in his ear:  the voice of a child always hungry (farm child, big family).  With ramen, it’s no different.  Tadaaki prepares more toppings than reasonable, but there’s no deterring him.  You can be more restrained.  But you must eat ramen hot and you must slurp the noodles, sucking up the soup with the noodles in a tornado-like fashion.  If you’re a gaijin, like me, then maybe the noodles might flop around and splatter a bit.  That’s why I hold a napkin in front of my chest as a guard.  I think Japanese are born neat eaters…but that’s changing.

Tadaaki’s Home-style Ramen

Make soup: Cut up some carrots, small leeks and peeled sliced ginger.  Add free-range chicken wings, a little salt and cold filtered water.  If you’re in a hurry, use a pressure cooker to make the stock.  Otherwise simmer for more than an hour.  (In Japan, meat is usually not sold on the bone, so Tadaaki uses chicken wings.  Traditionally pork bones also go into making the broth.) 

Toppings: Chicken Wings: Remove when broth has developed a nice flavor and simmer with equal parts good quality soy sauce and mirin.  Sauté julienned carrots & onions in Canola oil with a little salt until no longer raw, but still a little crunchy.  Fine chop thick green onions (negi) with their whites.  Simmer bean sprouts (moyashi) in strained broth for a few minutes.  Soak wakame in cold water to reconstitute and cut into small lengths.  Boil eggs for 6-7 minutes depending on size (the yolks should still have a wet center), run cold water over to cool, cut in half with sharp knife and scoop out with soup spoon.  Break nori into small squares. Menma:  cut boiled bamboo shoots into 4” lengths.  Sauté in sesame oil with dried red flakes for 2 or 3 minutes.  Splash in a little mirin and soy sauce for flavoring (sweet seasoning always precedes salty).

Noodles: Make egg-based pasta dough, but use sesame oil instead of olive oil. 

Soup Seasonings: Prepare seasoning in over-sized soup bowl:  salt, miso or soy sauce.  Mix in a little broth to melt salt or emulsify the miso, then add more broth to all the bowls right before the noodles are done.  Quickly odd toppings (sparingly) and serve immediately.

Baachan

My mother-in-law gave up on life a couple years ago.  She just stopped eating and slipped into unconsciousness.

There was nothing physically wrong with Baachan, except for a little dehydration.  She just didn’t see any reason to live any more.  “Mou juubun ikita kara.  Mou ii.”  She had lived long enough and it was too much trouble to go on every day. 

Too busy to see what was happening under our own roof, I hadn’t noticed her loneliness or withdrawal.  I send the boys over to chat with Baachan/Jiichan (grandma/grandpa) before dinner whenever I remember.  Maybe I hadn’t been as forceful as I could have.  The boys love their grandparents and enjoy hanging out with them, but they also love being up in their room with all its attractions:  books, TV, computers, guitars (and contraband electronic games that are kept secret from me).  Once upstairs, there is a certain amount of inertia involved in getting them to come down.  I should have stayed on top of that.  I should have made sure someone went every evening.

Sobered by my apparent inattention, I promised Baachan it would be better.  I pled with her to live.  I offered all sorts of lovely scenarios to entice her back to the living (including the use of our squishy couch and flat-screen TV).  Jiichan/Baachan live in a new part of the old farmhouse that Tadaaki’s father added on when Tadaaki and his brothers were in high school.  It was a quiet place for the kids to study and meant for the young couple whenever someone got married.  But it didn’t work out like that. 

When we renovated the farmhouse 9 years ago, our family took over the larger area and Jiichan/Baachan moved into the smaller section.  Baachan was happy to have less to clean, while Jiichan chaffed a bit from the transition.  Understandably so.  I realized that Baachan didn’t come much to our side of the house.  Sometimes she would creep over, but disappeared quickly like a ghost.  Maybe I hadn’t pushed her enough…maybe I hadn’t wanted to.  I had to face that and be a bigger person. 

I knew that vegetables from our farm would tickle her senses, so I started to make food for Baachan.  Tadaaki and I switched off, bringing lunch and dinner to the hospital.  Our boys came with us sometimes, but also took the train or rode their bicycles the 10 miles to visit.  They added their pleas.  I brought her wedges of garden tomatoes because I knew she loved them and crisp just-picked cucumber halves sprinkled with sea salt.  I made her little herbed sausage patties from chicken or pork…sometimes a piece of local fish sautéed lightly in olive oil and butter.  I gave her squares of silky organic tofu made near here and always, always included a little mound of our homegrown rice on the plate.  I gave her a small amount of each thing so as not to dull her appetite and was amazed how much she could eat.  She would always tell me not to bother, that it was too much trouble, but her protests were half-hearted, not her usual style.  Baachan lives her life by enryo.  Enryo is kind of like “oh, no, no…you really shouldn’t…well OK…if you insist” (but notch it up a lot and that’s enryo).  It was transparently clear that she absolutely adored it that we brought her food and that our making her the number one priority was something she really, really needed us to do.  So we did.

Baachan started to perk up and she loved being taken care of by all of us.  You could almost see her chest puff out from the attention.  She was so proud of all the visitors, but mostly she had “arrived.”  She now had a good oyome for all to see (oyome=bride=me).  Her oyome did what no other oyome did:  she brought home cooked meals from homegrown vegetables.  Every time a nurse came into the room Baachan told the story.  No matter, that she didn’t always eat Tadaaki’s vegetables at home (often buying food at the local convenience store because it was novel).

Back home, I continued bringing meals to her.  She enjoyed being fussed over, though began saying not to bother.  I couldn't decide if it was enryo, and was conflicted, but sometime in September, I finally gave in to her protests and let the food peter out.  One (or more) of our boys went over each night to watch TV or chat.  And though I often encouraged her to do so, she never did come over and watch TV on our squishy couch.

Christmas 2006

Jiichan died in October.   It turned out the doctor who did an endoscope nicked his esophagus, so he bled out.  I wondered why Jiichan had wanted the tests, but knew that, in fact, he had had the time of his life in the hospital and, in fact, had died as he wished, before Baachan.

One night a few months later, I asked Baachan if she was lonely.  Startled, she cocked her head to one side, laughed and repeated, “Samishii?” then answered unequivocally that she was not lonely.  “Samishikunai.”

Now Baachan has her own life.  She comes and goes as she pleases and doesn’t have to wait on Jiichan or his friends.  Tadaaki eats breakfast over in her area, then she eats dinner with us.  Lunch is an either or kind of thing, depending on what food we have or if Tadaaki and the boys are eating at my school.  Our kids don’t need to be told to go over anymore, as somehow it’s easier to slip into Baachan’s world.  Jiichan was always a challenge.  And Baachan comes over to our side often.  Still the ghost, she surprises me in her stealth as she slips in and out of the room.

She has her jobs:  she’s “ofuro toban”-- which means she makes the bath every night; she prepares tea for Tadaaki’s two workers; and she makes the inaka zushi for our trips or special Japanese days.  She always says she can’t do a good job, but she does, and we always tell her so.  It’s Baachan’s time now and I’m happy she has it.  She may have a bent back from a lifetime of subservience and calcium deficient diet, but she’s no push over.  Also she works hard, so she stays healthy.

And once again, I’m a good oyome.  At 81 years old, 4’8’’ and 66 lbs, Baachan eats about the same amount at dinner as I do, but not only that, she’s interested in each new thing that appears on her plate.  The food is her daily stimulation and that is how I can show my love.  I’m glad we’re keeping her alive.  For now.

Baachan’s Inarizushi

Inarizushi:  usuage (deep-friend tofu skins), sushi rice, soy sauce (Japanese, preferably organic), dashi

*Dashi:  katsuobushi (dried bonito flakes), konbu (dried kelp), soy sauce

Sushi Rice:  Japanese short grain rice (preferably organic), sea salt, saké, konbu (dried kelp), komezu (rice vinegar—not ajisu), granulated sugar (preferably organic)

*left over dashi can be mixed 1:1 with rice vinegar for a delicate Japanese salad dressing—store in fridge up to 3 months

Sushi Rice Method:  See On Washing Rice post for rice washing and cooking.  Use 3 cups rice and 3 cups filtered water + an 8-10-inch segment of konbu.  Remove 2 tablespoons water; add 2 tablespoons saké and 2 teaspoons salt.  Cook.  Prepare sushi vinegar (see below).  Five minutes after rice is done, remove to a large open container—preferably wooden. Sprinkle the prepared sushi vinegar over the rice.  Aerate with a flat paddle, cutting into the rice lifting, up from the bottom (similar to folding in egg whites) while fanning the rice with a flat Japanese fan (uchiwa) or piece of cardboard with your other hand.  Do not smash!  This should only take a few minutes.  Cover with a damp cloth.  Do not store in the fridge.

Sushi Vinegar:  add 2 tablespoons sugar to 6 tablespoons komezu (rice vinegar) set aside to dissolve while rice is cooking.

Dashi Method:  prepare cold water in a medium saucepan.  Add a couple 6-inch pieces of konbu.  Bring to almost a boil, take out konbu and throw in a handful of katsuobushi shavings.  Turn flame to low and simmer 6-7 minutes.  Turn off flame and let sit 20 minutes before straining out the katsuobushi.

Inarizushi Method:  Slap usuage against the counter to help pop the two sides apart (this was traditionally the kids’ job).  Place in boiling water for 1 minute and drain.  Cut in half horizontally.  Simmer in dashi to just cover, seasoned with soy sauce and sweetened with mirin.  Let cool in broth.  Prepare a small bowl of cold vinegar.  Drain skins, dip your hands in the vinegar, then grab a small handful of sushi rice.  Stuff skin, tucking one side of the ends over the other to close up the bottom.  Cover with plastic wrap until serving.

Digging Potatoes

Potatoes aren’t very sexy.  Not like a slender stalk of spring asparagus or those first delicate snap peas.  They don’t have the natural beauty of a gorgeous leafy red speckled head of heirloom lettuce.  They’re just there. 

But that’s not really true.  There are boring, “need to dress them up” or “cook them fast before they turn brown” potatoes and there are “melt in your mouth incredible as they are” potatoes.  We grow the second kind and I don’t know who grows the first.  Maybe some potato factories out in the vast anonymous land of “mass ag”.  But one thing I’m sure, most potatoes have probably been held in cold storage before getting to the supermarket shelf.  So they won’t taste like much.  I’d rather have a wrinkled little guy with a few eyes spouting out than one of those “quick to turn orange” rubbery (supermarket organic) potatoes that drove me crazy last year when I was trying to make gratin in California.  Silly me, it was February.  It wasn’t potato season.

We crop potatoes in late June or early July.  Though, sometimes Tadaaki’s busy and we end up cropping them later.  Much later.  And some years, Tadaaki is able to get a second crop planted for late fall or early winter eating.  But not this year.  This year the potatoes lay in the ground all summer and we only just started digging them up this week.

We took the little SSU! kids out to help collect the potatoes the other day.  Tadaaki could barely keep up with the digging, as the kids were impatient to grab the spoils each time he turned over the earth mounds and uncovered more potatoes.  The kids love to get their hands and feet into the dirt and also love to help with the “fun” aspects of farming.  But we need to keep them corralled, so it’s a bit busy for the teachers.  First, the potatoes should be separated by type.  Also we took the eyes off before dropping them in the feedbags.  Any potatoes sliced by the digging tines had to be kept aside to be used right away.  Oh, and the kids had to drink water and go pee-pee.  Tadaaki told them to do it in the rice field because it would add nitrogen.  (This was not his rice field, mind you.)  We only got a couple rows done before it was time to go back and work on lunch, but Christopher and Tadaaki went back the next day.  There are still a few more rows to dig but now it’s raining.  That’s how our life is defined.  Work, rain, eat.

One year we had a really small crop of fall potatoes.  We had about 50 kids in the preschool at the time and 8 staff members plus the Hachisu’s, so one lunch used up the whole crop.  I didn’t realize that until later and was initially (selfishly) sorry to have “wasted” them on the school.  But then I remembered Riku Arai.  Riku is a very passionate little boy.  He came along with a couple grade school girls and my boys on a trip to the U.S. two years ago (no moms).  At first he didn’t want to go, but then Andrew and Matthew told him about Swan Oyster Depot and the “best clam chowder he would ever eat” and the dinners at Chez Panisse and the Acme bread, and the “kid wine” (Navarro Gewürztraminer Grape Juice) and the desserts and all of the glorious food we would be eating in California.  “Okay, okay, I go!” he shouted.  He also told his mother that maybe he would like it so much in California he might not come back.  He was five at the time. 

When Riku was four, he ate those just harvested potatoes at Sunny-Side Up! for lunch.  I cut them into chunks and boiled them unpeeled in salted water.  I probably served them with curry flavored chicken hamburgers made from coarse ground thigh meat and a garden lettuce salad.  Riku speared up a whole hunk of potato, held it aloft and grasping the fork vertically, started taking little bites (sprinkled with sea salt).  He closed his eyes (almost in rapture) and slowly chewed, his face deeply reverent.  For a plain boiled potato.  That image has stuck with me as one of the most stunning examples of how something so simple can be so good and how something so simple can speak to a child on such an fundamental level.   It still gives me shivers.

Late Summer Potato Salad

Boil potatoes in their jackets until the center is cooked, but not mushy.  Drain and cool.  Peel potatoes (or not).  Cut into small (½ -inch) cubes.   Add various chopped seasonal vegetables, herbs and homemade mayonnaise.  Fold gently and serve immediately with grilled meat or fish.  I used:  chopped red onions, shaved corn kernels, thin (not paper-thin) sliced okra (wipe first), Japanese thin-skinned green peppers slivered, a few green beans cut vertically, then crosswise into thin short segments (parboiled for 2 mintues), cherry tomato halves, and basil chiffonade.

Mayonnaise:  eggs & oil should not be cold.  Use only the freshest farm eggs, otherwise it will be very difficult to emulsify (and risky for salmonella).  Put yolks, a little Dijon mustard, and a squeeze of lemon in smallish bowl.  Whisk lightly to combine, then whisk in a fine stream of canola oil until the mayonnaise “takes.”  If it does not emulsify soon, it never will.  Once the mayonnaise looks like a creamy sauce (not oily-looking), then you can add the oil a bit faster.  At this point, I start adding some good olive oil for flavor.  I usually add a big dollop of oil, then whisk powerfully.  Making mayonnaise successfully depends on fresh eggs, initial patience and confidence in the process (experience doesn’t hurt).  One yolk will take about 150 to 200 cc oil.  It depends on what I’m making, but for potato salad, I usually use about 75% canola and 25% olive oil.  Add sea salt and fresh ground pepper and taste for more lemon juice.  The mayonnaise keeps for a few days in the fridge.

Japanese Potato Salad:  According to Maki Itoh from Just Hungry you can make Japanese-style mayonnaise by using rice vinegar instead of lemon and adding a little sugar.  Though Tadaaki uses the non-sweet lemon version.  The big difference is you mash the potatoes before adding vegetables and mayonnaise.  The only think I object to is adding the mayonnaise when the potatoes are still warm (like Tadaaki sometimes does…).  Peel the potatoes, cut them into large chunks and boil them in salted water with a few carrots.  Cook the carrots half way (they should not be soft) and the potatoes until the center has no resistence.  Mash the hot potato pieces until fluffy, cool then add:  thinly sliced cucumber and partially cooked carrot rounds along with some finely sliced onion.   Fold in some Japanese-tasting mayonnaise and salt.

French Potato Salad:  If the potatoes have thin skins, boil without peeling, otherwise peel and boil as for the Late Summer Potato Salad—the centers should be a touch hard.  Drain and cut immediately into thick ½ -inch rounds.  Toss into a large bowl as you go and every so often sprinkle a layer of potatoes with good olive oil and intense red wine vinegar.  Pinch in some salt and fresh ground pepper.  Continue slicing and seasoning the layers while the potatoes are still warm.  Once cool, fold in seasonal chopped or sliced vegetables as per the Late Summer version.

Don't Drink the Kool-Aid

Matthew & Christopher June '09

Japanese junior high is a bit like prison.  Both institutions strive to maintain order among their “inmates” by implementing strict dress codes and rules of conduct designed to keep natural impulses in check.  The food shares similar attributes:  lots of volume, with no flavor, dressed up to be quasi-palatable. 

After our oldest son, Christopher, left for Winter/Spring semester in a California high school last January, the heart sort of went out of our house.  Around that time, our 14-year-old son, Andrew began making noises about attending Japanese school.  Until now, our kids have always been homeschooled, though I often used teachers from my English school to help out with the process.  Matthew was (at the time) still holding out for living with my older sister and going four years to a new high school in Gilroy, CA.  But Christopher coming back to Japan in June put a stop to that idea.  Christopher had plenty of stories to relate about American high school life and none sounded good to Matthew.  On an about face, he joined Andrew’s appeals.  Finding no other workable solution, we agreed to let them enter the local junior high in September…with certain stipulations:  they needed to continue their English on-line course, they needed to read English books and they needed to prioritize the family.  They would still accompany me on trips and they would find time to continue pottery and jujitsu.  Andrew also had to arrange an evening time he could intern with Kanchan, at Soba Ro.  School was not going to become the most important thing in their lives.

And I told them one more thing:  “Don’t drink the kool-aid.”

Perhaps our home-centered life seems strange to most people.  Perhaps it is.  But strange does not necessarily mean bad.  And one other thing I told Andrew and Matthew: “You are different.  There is no escaping it from the way you look and the way we live.  You will always be different no matter where you are, Japan or the U.S..  Learn to live with that and don't try to be like everyone else.”

Christopher experienced a lot of frustration in American high school life (both public and private).  Despite knowing that he came from Japan, most teachers viewed him as American.  Because he walks and talks like one.  But he’s not.  I explained to the teachers at length how truly Japanese Christopher was.  They still expected him to be more forthcoming.  To raise his hand in class and be talkative.  Christopher finds this to be unseemly or show-off behavior, so he hid behind letting them think him “shy.”  So much easier than trying to explain.  This August Christopher attended summer session at one of the most respected prep schools in the U.S..  Half the kids were foreigners, and Christopher found himself able to not only negotiate both the American world and the Japanese friends’ world, but he also found himself a go-between.  His new friends looked to him for clarification and elucidation regarding cultural differences.  Christopher came back visibly reflective and newly perceptive of his unique position in the world.

So, we’ll see what happens with Andrew and Matthew.

Matthew & Andrew September '09

Even without enrolling in the almost mandatory club activities, they now spend 7 or 8 hours a day at school.  The kids in clubs don’t come home until after dark, only to leave again quickly for (the almost mandatory) cram school.  Dinner?  Probably something picked up at the local convenience store.  Family life?  Non-existent.

Hmm.  Who’s bringing up the kids?  No big surprise that disaffection and young people killing family members is on the rise in Japan.

At our entrance meeting with the Vice-Principal and teachers, I explained that family life is just as, if not more important, than school.  Our children are not only Japanese, they have a whole other half that needs to be cultivated and explored.  The teachers nodded, surprised that I wanted the kids home.  I suppose many parents are happy to have the schools take over the difficult job of raising teen-agers.  I slipped in about the February trip to the U.S..  Their eyes glazed over.  More head nodding.  More conflict to come.

The town office education section had already told me that bringing lunch to junior high was a no go.  Unless your kid has allergies, he has to eat the school lunch (kyushoku).   Not one to give up, I explained (with much passion) about how food is deeply imbedded in our life and how important it is to us that our children put “clean” food into their bodies.  Food grown and prepared by us.  The vice-principal told me the school lunch was delicious (ha).  He assured me that he and the principal taste the food each day before giving it to the children.  Frustrated that he had completely not understood my words, I laughed, and said that was not my concern (not really, but food safety is an issue in Japan now).  Knowing when to retreat, I slipped him the Slow Food Japan magazine featuring my article on school gardens and school lunch.  I asked him to read it and said he might learn something.  Education is a trust and being open-minded makes for effective educators.  Junior high didn’t look promising.

As suspected, the food was inedible.  Andrew and Matthew choked it down, but had to clean out their systems with some “real food” when they got home from school.  Matthew, not wanting to make waves, at first said it was “OK.”  He missed the first day of meatballs, but had some “sweet” udon noodles the second day.  Day three was curry rice.  Matthew is a curry rice connoisseur, so it was painful to eat the one at school.  He drew the line there and agreed to bring a lunch. 

I bought the boys some bento boxes and thermoses for our local grass-fed cow milk.  Andrew had reported the milk tasted like nothing.  “How can milk taste like nothing?” he asked me.  On reflection, he continued, “No, it tasted like shit.  Really.  You could taste the cow shit.”  His not very eloquent, yet nonetheless heartfelt assessment of the first day lunch: “the rice tasted bad, the meatballs were disgusting, the vegetables ‘crap’ and I couldn't eat the soup.”  Hmm.  Sounds good.  Monday, September 7^th is Time for Lunch—a day dedicated to Slow Food U.S.A.’s call to put “real food” back in the schools.  So today, Andrew and Matthew are taking “real food” to school for lunch. 

With a note.

Late Summer Pizza

This dough recipe is adapted from Gourmet—it requires only a 1 3/4 hour rise time, but you can easily cut that down to 1 1/4 if you have faith and a warm environment.  The crust in the photo turned out a lot thicker because of the humid summer weather and an over long rise time.

Dough method:  Stir together 1 pack dry yeast (2 1/4 tsp), 1 Tbsp best quality unbleached flour and 1/4 cup warm water in large bowl and let sit for 5 minutes.  Then add 1 1/3 cups (200 grams) unbleached best quality bread flour (i.e. King Arthur), 1/2 cup (120cc) warm water, 1 teaspoon fine grain sea salt a d 1/2 tablespoon good quality olive oil.

Knead on a marble surface (if possible) dusting as needed with flour—this is a wet, sticky dough, depending on the flour and weather.  Keep adding flour judicially until the dough is not a mess and can be successfully kneaded for about 20 or more turns.  A pastry scraper is helpful for this task.  Mid-knead, put a little flour into your mixing bowl to clean out the lingering dough and incorporate that into your pizza dough.  After successfully kneading the dough for about 100 turns, then return dough to the large bowl and place a damp non-terry kitchen towel on top of dough.  Place bowl in a warm spot (i.e. on flour heating, near oven…not in sunlight and not in contact with direct heat blast).

Cooking Method:  Heat oven (preferably gas or wood burning) to 500F+.  Use convection if you have it.  Make sure you have your rack positioned at the bottom of the oven.  One pizza will feed 2 hungry adults, so plan accordingly.  Cook and eat as you go so that everyone (including you) is getting piping hot pizza when they’re ready for the next slice.

Constructing Method:  Line the inverted side of a heavy baking sheet with parchment paper and dust generously with semolina flour. Stretch your risen pizza dough carefully into a largish oval (you want it to be thin but not have holes) and lay on parchment paper.  Drizzle a little olive oil on the dough and smooth it out the outer edges.

Sprinkle on grated organic mozzarella cheese, thin sliced red onions and green peppers, halved cherry tomatoes and a little fresh grated Parmesan cheese.

Bake:  15+ minutes until crust is crispy and top cheese is bubbling a bit but not browning.

Optional Egg:  We have some double eggs on our farm, so I thought they’d be good for the pizzas.  For the uninitiated, quite large eggs are usually double yolk eggs and come from older chickens.  Make a little nest in the center of the pizza and break an egg in there before you slide it into the oven.

Anchovies:  You can find pretty good ones in large cans from the Italian deli’s.  Though salting your own is really worth it and very easy.  I served the anchovies in olive oil on the side for this pizza because I wasn’t “feeling them.”  As they say, sometimes less is more.