Tag: japan

Ramen Bloggers

Ramen bloggers aren’t just passive observers of the noodle soup phenomenon: to be a ramen writer of Kamimura’s stature, you need to live in a ramen town, and there is unquestionably no town in Japan more dedicated to ramen than Fukuoka. This city of 1.5m along the northern coast of Kyushu, the southernmost of Japan’s 4 main islands, is home to 2000 ramen shops, representing Japan’s densest concentration of noodle-soup emporiums. While bowls of ramen are like snowflakes in Japan, Fukuoka is known as the cradle of tonkotsu, a pork-bone broth made milky white by the deposits of fat and collagen extracted during days of aggressive boiling. It is not simply a specialty of the city; it is the city, a distillation of all its qualities and calluses. Tare is the flavour base that anchors each bowl, that special potion – usually just 30 ml of concentrated liquid – that bends ramen into 1 camp or another. In Sapporo, tare is made with miso. In Tokyo, soy sauce takes the lead. At enterprising ramen joints, you’ll find tare made with up to 24 ingredients, an apothecary’s stash of dried fish and fungus and esoteric add-ons. The objective of tare is essentially the core objective of Japanese food itself: to pack as much umami as possible into every bite.

The lonely end

In aging Japan, 1000s die alone and unnoticed every year. Toru Koremura is there to clean up what they leave behind. 3 months ago in an apartment on the outskirts of Osaka, Japan, Haruki Watanabe died alone. For weeks his body slowly decomposed, slouched in its own fluids and surrounded by fetid, fortnight-old food. He died of self-neglect, solitude, and a suspected heart problem. At 60, Watanabe, wasn’t old, nor was he especially poor. He had no friends, no job, no wife, and no concerned children. His son hadn’t spoken to him in years, nor did he want to again.

Mother of the Sea

In 1948, with Tokyo still largely in ruins and the reins of government still in the hands of an occupying army, the nori harvest completely failed. And it kept failing. No one knew why. Years and decades and a world war passed and Kathleen discovered something that no one suspected: Porphyra and another seaweed called Conchocelis rosea weren’t actually 2 different organisms. They were actually 2 different phases of nori’s lifecycle. Conchocelis rosea was a tiny spore-like thing that clung to tiny particles of seashell adrift in the water. The shell fragments were essentially life preservers for the nori-spores, which would otherwise sink to the bottom and be swallowed by the sediments. The nori fishers didn’t know that their harvest was dependent on another harvest, that of the shellfish along the same shores, and the shoals of discarded shells. The nori fishers of Ariake Bay, the producers of over half of Japan’s nori harvest, raised their small shrine to Kathleen. This coming April, they will mark the 51st anniversary of their small festival celebrating a woman that they never met, but whom they call “the mother of the sea.”

Zentai


there are ways to deal with the end of privacy.

By day, she is a mild-mannered office clerk whose modest make-up and conservative hairstyle allow her to blend in with any crowd. By night, she dresses in a skin-tight, all-in-one Spandex body suit that covers everything — including her eyes — and sits in bars, alone but liberated, she believes, from the judgment of others.