May 26

Kirsten’s World: 柏崎：A Culinary Tribute

Food & Drink, Writers Comments Off on Kirsten’s World: 柏崎：A Culinary Tribute

By Kirsten Phillips (Niigata-ken, 2005-08)

As I have mentioned before, I am not well traveled in Japan. Hence, I have very little basis for comparison as far as varieties go. Whether or not a specific food was particular to my region or even just my town remains a mystery to me. A prime example of this is 新潟お米。 Known by the fancy name of Koshi Hikari. Is it the most delicious rice in all of Japan? I could not tell you with any certainty. I do not know what rice tastes like in other parts of Japan. The rice was certainly of a noticeable quality and texture and I was always happy to eat it but filled with rapture? Not so much.

I’ll tell you what did fill me with rapture, though. マーポーめん

Has no one else heard of this? Really? No one thought to do this?

Just across the bridge and right next to National Highway Route 8 was a tiny pink ramen-ya called Kuishinbo. It was consistently packed with students, families and unwashed truckers who would stop to eat on their way to Kariwa. They made the best and cheapest ramen in town, superior by far to the chain ramen-ya we had scattered about the district. The staff was always super friendly too.

They had such pseudo-Chinese ramen staples like gyoza and cha-han (fried rice). They even made a weird thing known as cheese gyoza which was basically average gyoza with wacky plastic-y processed cheese in the middle. Uck. I never took to it. Now winter in Niigata has been the source of several nationally-acclaimed novels for its brutality. Thank goodness there was Kuishinbo, ready to offer a gigantic bowl of “mabomen” for the unbelievable rate of 500 yen a pop. That made the winter blues all go away.

Mabomen was just regular shoyu ramen with a huge serving of the divine chili-based slime known as mabodofu floating on the surface. Not to be confused with 担担麺. It was always piping hot with huge chunks of tofu and it was unrealistically fucking tasty.

Not far from 柏崎駅 was a haven for aging housewives known as Gram Masala. Strewn with handmade doilies (this is the old lady equivalent to a graffiti tag) and plushie Winnie the Pooh characters, I was convinced it was too contrived to be anything but a facade for some shady yakuza operation. To describe the place in 2 words? Desperately quaint. In addition, it had very erratic hours of operation, closed on Sundays and only open until 2 PM on weekdays. In reality, this intimate and cozy establishment was owned and run by two housewives who maintained a pretty consistent clientele. The reason they closed so early was because they had to pick up their kids from school.

The shop was used mainly for kissaten purposes and grown men/children were not often seen there unless they were too young to exist unaccompanied. It was almost exclusively patronized by other housewives and me. On a rainy day (and in Kashiwazaki, this meant more than half the fooking year), Gram Masala was a needed escape. The ladies were sweet and I often stayed to chat with them. They spoke not a word of English but were easy to forgive my Japanese blank spots.

They were known for their original curry recipes. One of the housewives had learned to make regional curries while living in Bangladesh with her husband. She took the recipes back to Kashiwazaki and tweaked them slightly to cater to Japanese tastes. She bought all her spices overseas and was downright pernickety about her ingredients, determined not to create a mere facsimile of ready-made “Indo Kare”. In addition to curry, the ladies also offered homemade cakes and jam for those who came looking for just tea and conversation.

Gram Masala was a bit pricier than your average comfort food but the quality stood out. Always served with yellow saffron-infused koshihikari, they included a small salad of cabbage and chick peas coated lightly with original dressing made from sesame oil and curry spice. A little shocking for those who had never tried it before. My favorite things to order there was the “cake set”. This was a set that included curry, a drink and a slice of the cake du jour. Not bad for 1025円. The meat curries were often spicier than I typically liked so my normal order was the 野菜カレー。This was a mild, sweet curry with eggplant, tomatoes and thin slices of kabocha. Whenever I got the cake set, I always prayed for their maple chiffon which was equivalent to a cloud of burnt sugar. My standard drink was hot 紅茶 because it got served in exactly the kind of china you’d expect from anyone owning a doily.

Thursday night was onsen night. After 8 PM 潮風 reduced their admission price to just 500 yen so me and a comrade would soak for 2 hours and bitch about １限 with 阿呆先生 or whatever happened to be the matter that day. Aggressively lounging in hot water for long periods of time can make one savagely hungry so we’d dash directly to the local 大吉焼き鳥屋 and attack it. GENKI YAKKKIIIIIII! I miss it so badly. Genki yaki was just impaled chicken roasted in garlic pepper and was the ideal accompaniment to a beer. They also had a kind of pickled garlic called “baraki” (I think that’s what it was called) which acted as a palate cleanser of all things. They were also responsible for a mean jaga-bata (baked potato) with shoyu on the side. Daikichi was also where I satisfied my nankotsu jones, 塩でonly please. I have Japan to thank for meeting my inherited Hebrew lust for softened bone consumption.

I also share Japan’s national adoration for gelatinous products on sticks. A specialty of Yamagata were these sizable orbs of quivery 蒟蒻 (hey, there’s a kanji for that word? Sweet!) soaked for eons in dashi. I am a gung-ho supporter of konnyaku. That stuff had class. But the best thing I ever received on a stick was at our summer food festival, Enma-Ichi. Yuzu-infused daikon pickles. Bliss on a spit.

For some mysterious reason our town had a Turkish restaurant. The owner spoke only Turkish and Japanese and was a bit of a scumwad as certain married men are wont. Nonetheless, come summer he made good with the jajik. That’s yogurt-cucumber soup for those not in the know. Having been raised on any number of yogurt-based products, this was always welcome in my book. He also pulled off a decent doner pilaf if you happened to be in the spirit of gorging yourself to bloatation.

Last but not least was Coffee No.1. When I arrived in Kashiwazaki on my first day, I was taken to meet the owner of the inaka Starbucks. Kuro-chan was passionate about coffee. He had traveled to every corner of the earth in search of beans and exotic blends. He spoke admirable English if pressed but preferred to pepper it with dramatic facial gestures in lieu of Japanese. He was a character, an alchemist, explorer and he welcomed foreigners in his shop. The more the better. Since Coffee#1 was a popular spot for ALTs to hold lessons, more and more English-inquisitive clientele would manage to squeeze themselves into his tiny 2nd floor cafe on 駅前。 His cafe au lait was perfect and if you were very good indeed, he’d make you some complimentary black sugar toast. UNNNNNNNNNN!

I miss him more than I miss his coffee. He made the place.