南瓜 Kabocha (Japanese pumpkin)

A few months into Autumn last year my brother commented, “what did we eat before squash?” And I have to admit, I hope to achieve the same feeling now that Autumn is here again (it is, right Bay Area? we’ve had some rain, the ginkgos are starting to turn, DON’T COME BACK INDIAN SUMMER).

Sune and I just got back from a 5 week Autumn adventure of climbing, paddling and friend visiting from Missouri to Alaska. So, we were shocked to return to the city by the bay and find it warmer than we left it! But I shouldn’t be surprised, we did have a gorgeous outdoor wedding in the Berkeley Hills in late November 3 years ago (3 years!).

But back to the squash. Oh, what’s that you say, what is my favorite squash? Kabocha, hands down.The addiction started when I was a student living in China (nan gua in Mandarin, or, southern gourd). Hot pumpkin cakes on the street were a favorite Fall snack. When we lived in Japan, my addiction to kabocha was summarily advanced. Grilled, broiled, boiled, pureed and stir-fried—we ate kabocha throughout the Fall and Winter without turning a disinterested eye towards the stuff.  In Japan, people eat kabocha on Toji, the shortest day of the year. It’s believed that a bath of hot water infused with lovely yuzu (a Japanese citrus) and a meal of warming of kabocha will stave off the ill effects of a long, snowy winter. I think I agree.

Last year in the deep, wintry depths of rural Montana my friend Linda (my #1 partner in crime when it comes to cooking Japanese food at home) and I found a decent supply of kabocha at the local market. We spent long days out in the cold running teams of sled dogs and dreaming of our evening meal that would 99.9% of the time include at least a little kabocha. Fearful that the local market would not renew their ephemeral stock of Japanese pumpkin, we even started hoarding the stuff. So, that counts as an addiction, right? Who hoards pumpkins?

So, why is kabocha so great? The flesh is thick with creamy rather than stringy consistency, the skin is thin and delicious (that’s right, you can eat it!), and it’s a really versatile squash—great for everything from pumpkin pies to Thai curry.

Today’s recipe is miso soup with roasted kabocha.  I had some leftover miso broth (made with dark, rich hatcho-miso) to which I added a handful of slivered red onion. My number one tip for cooking with kabocha is to steam the whole pumpkin before you even think about touching it with a knife. So, take the pumpkin, cut off the stem, then scrub the skin with an eco-friendly soap, a little water and a sponge. I’m not kidding about that. Because you eat the skin, you want it to be really clean! Rinse it well and place it over some simmering water and steam for 3 minutes. Turn off the heat, and let the pumpkin continue to soak in the steam while you prep everything else.

Recipe: Roasted Kabocha Miso Soup

1 kabocha, lightly steamed, de-seeded, and cubed into bite-size pieces

1 tablespoon of sesame oil

1 tablespoon of crushed garlic

1 tablespoon of grated ginger

salt and pepper to taste

miso soup

Turn your oven onto broil. While the kabocha soaks in some extra steam (see above note), take a large non-plastic bowl and add the sesame oil, crushed garlic and grated ginger. Stir this around to combine. Take out your pumpkin and gently dry it with a kitchen towel. Cut the pumpkin in half (it should yield somewhat easily under the knife, if not, place it back in the steam basket for a few minutes). Discard the pulp and seeds in the middle. Cube into bite-size pieces and add it the oil/garlic/ginger bowl. Mix it well, spread evenly on a cooking sheet, sprinkle with salt and pepper and broil for 8 to 10 minutes. When it’s done, place half a cup of roasted kabocha at the bottom of each soup bowl and ladle hot soup over the pumpkin! Add some slivered red onion if you’re feeling fancy.

味噌汁 misoshiru (miso soup)

November in the Japanese Alps is a miserable time. Post-Fall colors, pre-ski season. There’s nothing really to do but soak in the onsens and wait for snow. Or you could sign up for an ultra-marathon, disregard the details because they’re written in Japanese, and drag your friend into it too. It will be hard. You’ll be surprised by the two mountains (mountains!) you peak during the run, your knees will protest as you bound and boulder hop down the second mountain, but you might also stay at an extremely cute Japanese guest house the night before the race where you will eat the best miso soup of your life. You’ll wake-up early to the soft footfalls of the friendly proprietor and stumble down the narrow stairs of the guest house in the dark for a pre-race breakfast of said amazing miso soup. Every kilometer of that race will be worth the soup that started out your day. You’ll run farther then than you’ve ever run, you’ll find something in you that you didn’t know existed—an inner strength that is beyond your body. And even when you finish and your stomach protests even the notion of food, you will reflect fondly on that 4am breakfast so many hours ago. Thus is the power of miso soup (well, and distance running, but man they are a dynamic combination!).

Nothing fills the corners like miso soup. It’s both clarifying and deeply satisfying. It is the epitome of unami, the elusive 5th flavor. And with so many types of miso, the variance in flavor of miso soup is vast. So how many types of miso are there? I often compare miso in Japan to cheese in France. Each region has their own special miso reflecting the qualities of that place.

My favorite miso is hatcho-miso, it’s rich and looks very much like fudge! If you’re new to miso and not quite decided on the flavor yet, genmai-miso or mugi-miso (both mixed with whole grains like brown rice and barley) yield a more subtle flavor. Aka-miso (red miso) is also a great all-around miso with a slightly richer flavor than the grain-mixed misos. Saikyo miso, or other white miso, is very light and sweet in flavor, and although I don’t make it too much myself, I believe it was the mighty miso that I had the morning of my race in Japan.

Miso is often falsely thought of as soup broth, but adding miso to plain hot water doesn’t leave you with a very appetizing soup. You need to make some broth, which in Japanese is called dashi. If you get into the habit, having some dashi on hand is really useful for adding to all manner of sauces for extra flavor instead of water. A jar of dashi in the fridge might resemble some sort of science of experiment, but it can keep for at least a week there and that way you’re ready for miso soup in the time it takes to (nearly) boil water.

There are lots of ways to make dashi. Most traditional methods include shavings of smoked katsuo-bushi (a dried fish product we call “bonito” in English). It’s tasty stuff, but, I usually make a vegetarian version. My broth always includes ma-kambu which is just dried kelp. It adds that rich ocean flavor that is quintessentially miso soup to me. Then I add flavor either with dried shiitake mushrooms or kampyo. You are probably quite familiar with shiitake’s, but kampyo could be new a one. I came to love kampyo while living in Japan— it’s a very versatile, low maintenance pantry item. Kampyo is dried gourd which is sold as a long, white sort of tubular ribbon. It has a great salty, vegetable flavor, perfect for making stock! You can find dried kombu, shiitake and kamyo in most grocery stores that show some dedication to stocking Japanese ingredients. In the Bay Area, I’ve found a great selection of these items (and other Japanese pantry items) at the Berkeley Bowl.

Recipe: Miso Soup 4 people

1 six inch by 4 inch piece of kombu (dried kelp)

1 handful of dried shiitake mushrooms or a twelve inch piece of kampyo

4 heaping tablespoons of hatcho miso (or your choice of miso)

a handful of slivered onion (green onions, leeks, red, white… just enough for a flavor)

To make the dashi, soak your kombu and shiitake or kamyo in about 4 cups of cold water for at least 2 hours on the countertop, or up to a week in the fridge. When it’s time to make soup, set aside the kombu/shiitake/kampyo (and either save for pickling or discard) and slowly heat the dashi.

When the water is hot, but not boiling, it’s time to add the miso. Adding miso to boiling water not only jeopardizes the health benefits of miso, but it also seems to deaden the flavor. Place 4 heaping tablespoons of miso in a sieve (there are even specialty miso sieves available) and force the miso through the sieve while it is immersed in the dashi. This makes quick work of evenly distributing the miso and combining it with the dashi.

At the last minute, add the onion to the soup, and cover to let sit for just a few minutes while you prepare the bowls. If you’re adding anything to your soup, place it in the bottom of your soup bowl (some grilled or blanched vegetables perhaps?). Ladle hot miso soup into the bowls. Now you can eat the best, most simple meal ever invented!

know thyself

I had two simultaneous realizations as I was making dinner last night: (1) nearly everything I make in the kitchen is vegan. (2) I’ve never actually used the word vegan in this food blog of mine. Why is that?

Classification unsettles me. Not to fit my liberal arts education stereotype too obviously, but it’s true—I never know what to make of a world of “this” and not “that” with no room for the evolution of value and understanding. And while this topic could expand into much more than what foods I choose to eat, I’ll stick to food for now.

Let’s make things clear. I am not a vegan. But I have been a vegetarian for more than half my life now, and have added “dairy-free” to that label for the last seven years. But you know, life is flexible. When I’m in Alaska and my friend offers me his freshly caught salmon or a piece of caribou that he hunted himself, I’m going to eat that salmon or caribou—guilt free.

I could probably trace my thread of vegetarianism back to my dad. In an effort to support life in whatever way he could, my dad became a vegetarian during his service in Vietnam. He kept up the practice more or less for several years and introduced me to yaki-udon with vegetables and tofu. So there you go, in some way or another, his story influenced me and planted the seed for vegetarianism. Kids are so impressionable.

But I’ve stuck with it for 16 years, so it must mean something to me, right? So what is it? Haven’t people been eating animals since homo erectus walked out of Africa? What about subsistence cultures that still exist today who depend on meat for survival? Or farmers (like my brother and his girlfriend) who raise happy, free-range hens, pigs, goats and rabbits for consumption? On a biological level, aren’t human beings omnivores who are meant to eat meat!? All these points are valid, and I’ve given each of them some serious thought. Yet, I remain a vegetarian.

My husband is a vegetarian. A vegetarian who eats bacon but not cheese. Some people find his practice hypocritical and they like to tell him that, to which he simply responds in his dry, professorial British accent: know thyself. Although his answer is often received with a fair amount of humor and exaggerated eyebrow raising, his point is a good one. Food choices, political choices, big fat life decisions, all rest on this point. So when I think about that, when I try to know myself and apply such knowledge to my vegetarian-almost-vegan diet, I come to a simple conclusion. I have a deep interest in what steers us in life—the intangible moorings that hold us to something infinitely bigger than ourself. For me, one of these intangible yet all-encompassing ideas is that of non-violence. Being a vegetarian is something I feel I can do, right now. It is one of my daily contributions to non-violence.

This has been an evolution for me. An appreciation which only I can measure. Meanwhile, more and more people are becoming interested in incorporating less meat into their diet. My hope is that my blog helps with that. If you are accustomed to relying on animal products for all the taste, richness and substance in your diet, then switching to animal-free food can seem not only daunting but really bland and uninteresting. I am in no way interested in such food! Traditional Japanese food is one of the most complete food systems I’ve ever encountered—as a non-dairy vegetarian, I’ve found Japanese food to be really satisfying, easy to incorporate into my life, and just delicious.

So whether you’re reading this blog because you like Japanese food, you are searching for some great vegan recipes, or you are interested in expanding your dietary palette, I hope you find something useful.

Miso Cabbage Coleslaw

I’ve been meaning to publish this post for some time. I make this Japanese style coleslaw that is seriously addictive. I promised some friends last week that I’d sit down and write out this recipe for them. Thanks Ami, Lizzie, Lauren and Adrianne for finally getting me to write this post!

One day in Japan, my husband came home from work with a “blessing” from the local shinto priest in our neighborhood. In rural villages in Japan it is customary for the local priest to offer something to each household as a sort of blessing and spiritual provision—our blessing came in the form of the largest head of cabbage I have ever seen in my entire life. We kept this cabbage out in our refrigerator-like indoor porch and slowly ate away at it for over a week—pickled, stir-fryed, boiled and shredded into salads. We ate the whole damn thing.

This winter I started to make a cabbage salad to which I am unabashedly addicted. The flavors are complex, rich and filling enough that this salad and a bowl of rice makes a meal in itself.  Yesterday I made this salad and then mixed it with cold udon noodles: extremely delicious.

Recipe: Japanese coleslaw

thinly sliced green cabbage (half a head for a family, a whole one for a crowd. purple is fine, but it will make a bright pink salad!)

1 or 2 carrots (matchstick thin, at least)

green onion (2 to 3 sprigs, finely chopped on the diagonal)

daikon (not a key ingredient, but a nice touch. finely chopped into thin matchsticks)

Dressing—there are many versions. you can omit or add ingredients depending on taste. less spice, no spice, more spice…

Miso (two tablespoons of really good red, dark or mugi miso)

Mirin, or agave or sugar (2 teaspoons)

Sesame Oil (1 teaspoon)

a tablespoon of grated ginger (i’ve also used beni-shyoga—a salt pickled Japanese ginger)

Soy sauce or tamari (1 tablespoon)

Rice vinegar (2 teaspoons)

Dry Sake (1/2 teaspoon) *optional

hot sauce (either a chili-garlic sauce or Siracha… to your own heat tolerance)

Mayonnaise OR Tahini OR Wildwood garlic Aioli  (i think all of these work well to add a nice creaminess to your dressing, go for 2 to 3 Tablespoons of your choice)

Whisk all dressing  ingredients together until they are seriously smooth and completely incorporated. Drizzle over cabbage salad in a large bowl, sprinkle with sesame seeds, and toss thoroughly, put it on the picnic table.

きんぴら: kinpira (Japanese stir-fry)

My poor family and friends.  I ask people what they want for dinner as if I’m really going to consider their answer, but in my mind I’m just going to make kinpira and rice. So what it actually comes down to is whether or not I have a daikon in the fridge. Maybe that’s what I should do, check and see first if we have a daikon, and only if we don’t will I ask what people want.

When we lived in Japan we had these wonderful friends named the Kurashiges. She is a  librarian, he is a backcountry snowboarder. We bonded over mountains, Tolkien, Patagonia and Tove Jansson’s moomintroll. On some of the darkest, stormiest days when the mountain was completely concealed in snow Kurashige-san would spend the entire day cooking a Japanese vegetarian feast (we’re talking at least 20 different dishes) and we’d go to their house and eat the best home-style Japanese food I’ve ever had in my life. Kurashige-san introduced me to the addictive citrus/spice combination of yuzu and togarashi, and to me there is no greater example of this than kinpira (きんぴら).

Kinpira is a simple Japanese-style stir-fry using just a few key ingredients with a wonderful swirl of citrus, spicy pepper and salty soy sauce. The key is chopping your vegetables into relatively thin matchstick pieces. And you can use any vegetable really, I like using daikon and carrot as my base, but feel free to add more or different vegetables.

Recipe: Kinpira

one cup of matchstick thin daikon (i just tried cutting mine like this. total fail).

two cups of matchstick thin carrot

1/2 cup of matchstick thin green vegetable (just a color thing really, I’ve used broccoli stem, asparagus, kale stems, zucchini/courgette…)

pinch of sugar

splash of sake

tablespoon of dashi or water

two tablespoons of soy sauce

teaspoon of grated organic lemon peel (I peel a lemon with a vegetable peeler then slice long, thin strips). if you love citrus (like me!) use more peel.

1/2 teaspoon of shichimi togarashi (japanese dry, hot pepper spice mix, available at all asian food grocery stores)

1/2 teaspoon of toasted sesame oil

Heat a large skillet (I use cast iron) on medium-high heat, add sesame oil. Add the daikon first and stir it until coated with oil for about a minute. Add the carrot and stir to coat as well. Sprinkle the sugar to crystalize on the vegetables. Splash in some sake to deglaze the pan. Add the green vegetables and a tablespoon of water or dashi (so that the vegetables don’t burn). Swirl in the soy sauce (the final product should be rich with soy sauce but without much remaining liquid in the pan). When the vegetables seem moist and taste rich (not dry!) add the lemon peel and shichimi togarashi. I always err on the side of more soy sauce and perhaps water to make sure the vegetables aren’t too dry.

When the kinpira is done, take it out of the pan. Serve immediately with hot rice or toss with noodles.