A Passion for Freshness and Pickles

In class, we discussed the interlocking features of food and culture, which has prompted me to reflect on my study of Japanese, as well as my time spent abroad living with a host family in the old capital, Kyoto. In doing so, I have indeed come to realize how food and the environment shape not only culture but one's world view, and will use this post to expand upon our class conversations and continue to rave about Japan. 

The Japanese are obsessed with freshness, perhaps because their diet includes many perishable marine produces. Even in America now, we know of sushi and sashimi, which must be eaten at its utmost freshest state. I mentioned earlier in class that there are hundreds of words denoting the plethora of fish that the Japanese eat - and these words are known by the average citizen, not just marine biologists. However, here is something more. Freshness is taken so seriously, that even words denoting specific times have evolved. The Japanese speak of, for example, rikka (the beginning of summer), shoka (early summer), natsu (summer), and bunka (late summer). Reflecting back, I never realized how clearly lifestyles also conform to this minute division of the seasons. In Kyoto, which is famous for its heat and humidity, when I stepped out of my host family's door on a hot June afternoon, my host mom exclaimed, "It is only shoka, why are you wearing shorts?!"

"Don't you think it is hot?"

"Even on warm days in June, we don't wear shorts because this part of the month is still shoka, not natsu," my host mom explained. 

The Japanese sensitivity to changes of season is of course, evident in their culinary practices. They prefer fish or vegetables that are not only in season, but are the first products of their respective seasons. According to my host mom, it is often said that eating the first products of the season adds seventy-five days to one's life.

Kyoto is famous for its pickles. Incorporated in almost every meal are nukamiso-zuke, fresh vegetables pickled in rice-bran paste. The recipe is simple, according to my host mom: pickle fresh vegetables in rice-bran paste, a mixture of 20 liters of rice bran, 7 liters of lukewarm water, and 3.5 liters of salt. My over 60 year old host mom makes the job look easy, as she has done it since she was a child. But when I stepped up to the plate, I underestimated the amount of patience and care pickling requires. The traditional way to stir the paste is by hand. If the paste does not reach every nook and cranny of the pickling bed, the paste will ferment and a foul odor develops. Thus stirring by hand ensures the bed is well aerated. Each type of vegetable, whether it be cabbage, cucumber, eggplant, or radish has a different pickling time, requiring careful time calculations. What is even more amazing is that a properly cared for pickling bed can last for over 100 years, as my host mom said she received hers from her mother when she married off.

A pickling bed requires so much time and effort that it is thought to symbolize housekeeping. A wife who properly stays home minding her chores is said to be nukamiso-kusai (to reek of salted rice-bran paste). My host mom is very proud of being nukamiso-kusai, and often criticizes the young women of our generation, who have lost this old tradition of pickling to modern and changing times. Pickles are still common to eat but they are often purchased at the supermarket now. However, I have eaten my host mother's pickles everyday for six months, and it really shows that homemade foods are just that much better.

The following are pictures of meals that my host mom had cooked for me (arrows are pointing to her pickles!):