I love Japanese breakfasts.
My second day in Japan I woke up at 3 am. Did you ever see the movie Lost in Translation? There’s not much to do in a hotel at 3 in the morning, especially when your husband is asleep in the same small room. I took two pillows into the bathroom and sat on the floor, reading until 6 am.
By this time my mother was awake and she accompanied me down to breakfast. We went to Omborato, the Japanese restaurant inside the hotel and sat next to the windows with a view of Shinjuku Central Park.
The waitress brought us a piping hot cup of tea. It was delicious. I was expecting green tea, but this tasted more like oolong, brown and slightly smoky. She told us was hoji cha. As I learned here, hoji is a green tea, but it is roasted over charcoal, which gives it a toasty flavor. Apparently it doesn’t contain much caffeine either, which explains how I was able to drink 10 cups of this without any ill effects.
Within minutes our breakfast arrived on a black lacquer tray. It was a spectacular sight, a marvelous array of colors and textures and variety of foods. But, honestly, my first reaction was—I don’t know what any of this is!
After I removed the lids, I did recognize the rice porridge and the miso soup. The fish in the center was clearly salmon. But everything else? I was as happy as a kid on Christmas morning. What should I try first?
Clockwise from top left:
- Fish cake/dumpling with a dab of wasabi in the center, served with cooked snowpeas, carrots, and a bundle of roots tied together
- Sweet preserved tuna, roe sac with lemon, and greens
- Cold poached egg in broth
- Hoji cha
- Tuna sashimi topped with potato paste
- Miso soup. (I loved the tiny baby mushrooms)
- Salt
- Sauce for the porridge
- Rice porridge
- Pickles
- Grilled salmon with fishcake, seaweed and ginger shoot pickle
The meal set me back $20. A bit expensive for breakfast, but about what you would expect to pay in a big-city hotel. My in-laws, who went out for breakfast, told me they got a similar Japanese breakfast at nearby Denny’s (!) for about a third of the price.
I had a wonderful time exploring all of the different tastes and textures. Since I am not that familiar with Japanese cuisine, at first I had planned to write this entry based on my best guesses as to what I had eaten. My culinary curiosity got the better of me, however, and I ended up going back to the restaurant again a couple of days later. I wanted to compare my experience and see if the meal seemed as exotic the second time around. I wanted to know more.
The nice thing about being in Japan is that no one thinks it odd that I am taking pictures of my food—or if they do, they certainly don’t say anything. My waiter kindly answered all of my questions. Despite the fact he didn’t speak much English, he went back to the kitchen and asked the chef about everything. He returned with a hefty Japanese culinary encyclopedia and showed me pictures of all of the ingredients I had asked about:
What is that white stuff on top of the tuna sashimi?
It had the strangest consistency—stretchy, gelatinous, slight crunchy, starchy like a potato. The picture in the encyclopedia showed a knobby tan root vegetable, which I’m guessing may be Japanese yam or mountain potato.
What is that yummy broth the poached egg is served with? Dried skipjack tuna flakes, kombu and mirin (sweet rice wine).
What is the long pink and white pickle that tastes like ginger? Oh, that is ginger—it’s the tall leafy shoot that grows up from the knobby root.
A friend emailed me while I was here and told me she could never come to Japan because there is “too much weird food.” That’s the very reason why I wanted to come.
It got me thinking about how we judge whether food tastes good or not. We tend to like food that is similar to something we already like and are familiar with. When we eat chocolate cake, we compare it to our memory of what chocolate cake should taste like and it satisfies us, both physically and psychologically.
I think it’s hard to really like a food that is completely new and different—like the potato goo above. It’s not that I didn’t like it, but I didn’t love it either. Mostly I was intrigued by it. What is this? What does it remind me of? I like the way new foods challenge my personal notion of what is good and how things should taste.
The poached egg above was a perfect example. At first I tried to eat it with my chopsticks. I managed to get one tiny bite of cold, slimy egg. Eewww, not exactly the way I like my eggs. Plus, the egg was so soft it completely fell apart. But I took a little drink of the broth it was served with, just to see what that tasted like: very sweet at first, followed by a slightly salty, delicate fish flavor underneath. It was wonderful—and it completely changed my perception of the egg. Now it was no longer a poached egg gone cold, but a delicious soup.
I love Japanese breakfasts not only for the way they taste and look, but because they seem to be perfectly balanced. Hot and cold. Starch, proteins, and vegetables. Salty, sweet, sour, bitter, and of course, umami.
That brings me to my favorite part of the meal: the seaweed. That’s right, seaweed. With the salmon were 2 small dark green squares of thick seaweed. I put one on my tongue like a lozenge. Pure salt, at first, then an overwhelming briny taste, like drinking the sea. The leathery texture began to melt away. I chewed and the square softened to jelly, finishing with a subtle sweetness. I realize this may not sound particularly appetizing, but it was an incredible taste experience. I could have eaten many, many more of these fruit (of the sea) leathers.
But that’s the thing about this meal. Except for the large bowl of rice porridge, everything on this tray was just a bite or two. Enough to stimulate the senses and the palate, but not to stuff you silly.
Yet the meal was deceptively filling. It didn’t look like a lot
of food, but because I ate slowly, discovering and savoring each bite,
I found myself quite satisfied at the end of the meal. I wish I could
enjoy all my meals as I did this one. Eating slowly, enjoying a long
conversation with my mother, sipping cup after cup of hot tea, and
watching the city come to life outside the window.