Peeling Tangerines

 Sometimes the sameness in Japan is suffocating.  Or maybe it’s just the expectation of sameness.  I take perverse pleasure out of doing some things differently, but mostly it’s easier to just follow the flow.  Continually butting heads is tiring and in the end fairly futile.  I pick my battles.  I guess that means I’m not really a true American.  The need to disclose my "honest" (yet, hurtful) opinion or “have it out” no longer drives me.  In a way that’s a relief.  Of course that doesn’t mean I don’t go to bat for someone when I see an injustice in front of me.  I just don’t need to go to bat for myself.  As they say, I’m so over that.

But in food matters, I hold my ground.  I won’t give in to eating the ever-present MSG-laden fare available at supermarkets or convenience stores.  I won’t settle for “good enough” and I won’t sacrifice taste for so-called surface beauty.  Food should be wild, visceral and maybe even should dribble down your hand.  Food should be fun.

Japanese adults are exceptionally clean eaters.  Tadaaki can eat a drippy, 4-inch thick hamburger without getting his fingers dirty while my napkin, streaked with meat juice and pink run-off from the homemade mayonnaise and catsup, gets tossed straight in the dirty laundry pile.  But there is also a tendency towards fussiness in the eating process here that is somehow off putting.  I like messy food and also think touching food is essential to any eating experience.  Many traditional Japanese country foods were all meant to be made and shared communally, so hands were definitely involved.  But these days, Japanese don’t touch their food much.  Sandwiches wrapped in cellophane are eaten by peeling the wrapper off little by little, never actually touching fingers to bread.  People break off little pieces of a cookie rather than grabbing the whole thing and chomping off a bite.  Perhaps we’re somehow upsetting unspoken tradition, but at Sunny-Side Up! we teach kids to be a little less dainty and a bit heartier in their enjoyment of food.  And they do eat with great gusto.  They’re true Japanese country kids.  Throwbacks, really.

In Japan, most fruit is never eaten whole.  It’s unimaginable to pick up an apple or pear and just bite into it.  First, they’re often too big.  And second, they’re always peeled—not particularly to remove the chemical sprays—but because most Japanese don't like the “coarse” skins.  Apples, pears and persimmons are peeled with a small knife and cut into segments, then stuck with a toothpick.  Grapes are large and thick skinned, so you squeeze the juicy insides out with your teeth and discard the leathery skins.  (This always confounds Westerners.)  Tangerines are peeled in triangular segments starting at the top, thus ending up with one piece of peel resembling a large orange spider rather than a pile of little motley squares of skin.  (This skill escapes most Westerners.)

I don’t eat apples and pears because they’re heavily sprayed, but we do eat a lot of citrus.  One of our friends is an 85-year-old organic citrus grower on a small island near Hiroshima and she sends us boxes (and boxes) of fruit when in season (now).  Recently one of my little students was coming to our house early in the morning because his mom needed to drop him off before work.  I’m not much of a morning person, so after getting up at the crack of dawn to make my boys’ school lunches this fall, I’d take a little nap before my student was deposited on my doorstep.  I’d still be fairly groggy from my post-lunch-making session nap when he arrived, so he and I would camp out on the sofa with my laptop.  He had been coming since April, and having the run of the house, often went off exploring.  In early October, Tadaaki had offered him a tangerine, so when he discovered the box of tangerines on the floor a few days later, he immediately announced, “I want mikan.”  Firmly ensconced in my sofa nest, I directed him to bring a few over and this started our daily mikan ritual.  A hard and fast rule in our house is no eating on the sofa.  Oops, there I go breaking my rules again. 

Japanese all peel tangerines in one fell swoop:  peel, peel, flop.  When the boys and Tadaaki have a tangerine eating session after dinner, they leave piles of empty skins reminiscent of old maps of flattened globes.  I, on the other hand, stubbornly cling to my American method of chipping away at the skin to finally free up the juicy tangerine segments inside.  I get the job done, but don’t obsess.  But that morning, not wanting to have 20 stubby pieces of tangerine peel in the living room, I gave in and peeled the tangerine in one piece.  Despite having held out for 21 years, because of my little visitor and my groggy morning fog, I just capitulated to the easier (and more logical) way.  The Japanese way.  And giving in didn’t feel half bad at all.  In fact, it felt good.  In the end, I realized my mornings were a mess, I couldn’t wake and nap and wake and nap.  So as much as I loved my little mikan mornings with my student, I asked another teacher to watch him at the school and have reclaimed a bit of normalcy in my schedule.  Though this could be a false feeling, since I recently returned from a couple weeks on the West Coast and jetlag makes it easier to be an early riser.  We’ll see if this newfound energetic morning schedule lasts.  But even if it doesn’t, it’s a relief to have given in to that one small little thing.  Peeling a tangerine.

 In the last few years, I’ve started back making dessert soufflés.  They’re foolproof if you have strong eggs and most of the prep can be done ahead of time.  Tadaaki grows our wheat and raises the eggs, so I always feel like a soufflé reflects our life—especially a tangerine or lemon one with Mochizuki-san’s fruit.  I serve them with Lindsey Shere’s Crème Anglaise (positively addicting):  Cut half a plump Madagascar vanilla bean in half lengthwise and scrape the seeds into a small heavy saucepan.  Add 2 cups milk and 3 tbsp. organic sugar and heat to dissolve.  Whisk 4 egg yolks lightly, then whisk in some of the warm milk mixture before adding back to the saucepan with the remaining warm milk.  Stir constantly until the custard thickens and coats the back of a wooden spoon.  Transfer to a glass container and chill in fridge. 

 Lindsey’s Tangerine Soufflé:  Break 4 eggs into a medium sized stainless steel (or copper) mixing bowl.  Scoop yolks from whites with gentle fingers and reserve in another medium sized bowl.   Add one more egg yolk, discard the white.  Mix 1 tbsp. + 2 tsp. flour and 1½ tbsp. organic sugar in a small heavy saucepan.  Gradually stir in ½ cup milk until smooth.  Cook over medium heat, stirring constantly, until it has boiled for a couple minutes to cook flour.  Whisk egg yolks lightly and add some of warm milk mixture into yolks, then whisk yolk and milk mixture back into saucepan of warm milk.  Return to heat and whisking constantly, cook until thickened.  Remove from heat.  Add 1 tbsp unsalted butter and stir until melted.  Finely grate peel of 2 organic tangerines into this mixture, stir once or twice and let stand for an hour or two.  Butter a 1½-quart soufflé dish and sprinkle with sugar.  Thirty minutes before serving, heat oven to 400 degrees.  Warm egg whites slightly over gas flame (hold bowl above flame and wave it over flame until whites are barely warm).  Beat whites with ¼ tsp optional cream of tartar until they form soft peaks, then gradually add 4 tbsp. sugar while continuing beating until whites are stiff and smooth with very fine bubbles.  Fold ¼ of whites into yolk mixture to lighten, then very carefully fold this into whipped whites until just mixed.  Be careful not to deflate the whites.  Pour into prepared soufflé pan, sprinkle with sugar and squeeze in a little tangerine juice.  Bake for 20 minutes or until soufflé has puffed and is golden brown on top.  If soufflé is browning too fast, turn oven down to 375F.  Finished soufflé should still wobble when done, but can be cooked longer until completely set.  Serve with very cold crème anglaise.

 

Comments

[Rodney Fong]

It's funny that I never stopped to think about the food rituals we go through. Sometimes they are personal habits that you pick up, just like the tangerine peeling you described. While not so ritualistic, I cut my left thumb preparing Thanksgiving, and I found I could not peel a tangerine with my right hand. I don't quite go to the extent of the Japanese ritual, but I do try to keep the peel in one piece. And done with my left hand. Doing it with my right was foreign to me. Your piece made me stop to think about observing people when they eat, and I do notice that Japanese visitors here are very regimented in how they eat. Of course, I love how they always have to take photos of their food. I guess that's because they are documenting their travels and experience, but still funny to me, as I don't think I would think of doing that on my travels. Great to read your posts again.

[Jo Lynn in Virginia]

Nancy~

Last week before lunch with you at CP, I popped in to Andronico's for a few items and was immediately sidetracked by a small mountain of Satsumas- organic, too. So I filled a bag (gleefully), knowing my parents would later enjoy this treat of "zipper tangerines." Last year when I introduced my father to them, he and I played a game to see who could peel the fruit in a perfect spiral. Then we re-coiled the peels in the fruit basket for the next (and unsuspecting) eater to discover the ruse.

I do like your exercise on the rituals we follow, and thought about how they can comfort us and bind us in welcome ways (like the traditions and rituals at Thanksgiving) or suffocate us (as you pointed out). My mother-in-law (a steel magnolia from Tennessee)was adamant about bringing any and all condiments to the table in little dishes, with tiny serving spoons or paddles. The prep for a simple sandwich lunch was pure tedium (and waste) to me. I would scoop dollops of mayonnaise and mustard, and small amounts of sliced pickle or olives into miniature bowls (think the smallest French Arcoroc brand glass prep bowl. Then these would be borne to the table on a tray, where they would accompany plates of bread, cold cuts, sliced tomato, and romaine or butter lettuce. Of course, the reverse process of returning the unconsumed condiments took even longer, and with a wild-man toddler to supervise, I found the whole routine crazy-making. It was all so very civilized and in an odd way, relaxing- because once seated after all that fiddlywork, I made sure I stayed there as long as possible before cleanup duties. And because we'd just been through this ritual at breakfast, with toast, eggs, butter, jam, tea, and cut-up fruit. Absolutly no unpeeled tangerines at the table!

Your photo, as always, is beautiful and evocative. The pottery- is it one of Tadaaki's or Andrew's, or perhaps an antique? I can imagine the bowl resting in the palm of one hand, with the fingers of the other following the hills and valleys of the glaze. And the light- morning? How early?

[Nancy Singleton Hachisu]

Rodney: Great to hear your perspective. I can see all the Japanese tourists snapping photos of their food (and everything else). But so do I. Sometimes I just give in to the moment and enjoy myself, however. Taking photos does put a little buffer between fully experiencing the moment. I wonder if you've seen a drop off of Japanese tourists in Hawaii with the economy decline? I've been thinking a lot about the homogenous nature of Japanese culture, but am leaning towards finding our own American culture a bit more so than I thought. I'm working on the next post but am veering between Thanksgiving and deeper cultural issues and need to find a middle ground. I don't want to piss off my American compatriots.

J-L: Loved the mother-in-law story. I've held my ground about no milk cartons or tupperwear (gog forbid) on the table, but gave in on the stacking. Here in Japan, they scrape and stack at the table...yuck. I've held that practice at bay, thank god. I can also sympathize with the little dishes. There are about a zillion little dishes involved in a Japanese dinner. I'm curious about the custom of making sandwiches at the table. Is this southern? Why not just make them in the kitchen? But I've given up on the idea of serving dishes all together. I found guests were uncertain on how to serve and how much, often using too much restraint when a more generous dollop was needed. I now put together the plates in the kitchen and send them out to the tables (but only serve a reasonable & smallish portions). Guests fend for themselves for seconds). i think I've mentioned this before, I'm not the "hostess with the mostest." When I'm done, I'm done.

The photos were taken just before 3pm right in front of our entry door (so full sun). Traditionally, Japanese build houses facing south for the best sun exposure for the guests coming to visit. The top plate is my very favorite plate and was made by a young Australian potter here, Richard Ballinger. He went back to Australia and we lost contact. The lower plate is Christopher's (also a favorite).