2002-07-15 - 11:01 p.m.
Last Thursday night was my sayonara party given to me by my adult class. The timing was a little odd because I still have one more lesson, this Thursday, but it was kind of nice to know that it wasn’t truly “sayonara” yet. One of my students, the secret vegetarian school nurse, picked me and my co-JET Lynn up from our apartment in her cute little hatchback, with a Backstreet Boys CD playing. The class was nice enough to invite Lynn, because she came to the class once as a guest teacher about Japanese-American life. We drove for about twenty minutes to the neighboring city of Kisarazu, where we pulled up to a place that looked like an abandoned warehouse, with the word TOFU painted in big black letters on the side. As we got out of the car, a mangy-looking dog was barking in a fenced off area in the parking lot. “What is this place?” I asked the school nurse. “It’s a tofu factory,” she replied. Sweet!
We entered through glass double doors into a finished yet somewhat institutional-looking foyer, and exchanged our outdoor shoes for blue vinyl slippers. Up a flight of stairs was a large dining area, with a private tatami mat dining room off to the side. One wall was made of plate glass and overlooked the factory itself, which was empty, clean, and still at this evening hour.
We were seated on floor cushions in the tatami room, ten students, Lynn and I, and in front of each of us was a plate with a half-dozen little dishes, each containing soybeans. There were small blocks of nama yuba (a delicacy made from the skin of boiled soy milk, folded repeatedly); a scoop of fresh white tofu, as smooth as ice cream; skewered grilled tofu coated with miso sauce; a cold cooked vegetable salad with a tofu-based dressing; a tiny ceramic cup of soy milk; a salad of fried tofu and hijiki seaweed. Placed at even intervals along the long, low table were four square iron pots of soy milk bubbling over gas burners. This was do-it-yourself yuba -- one of my favorite Japanese dishes (I like interactive food). As the soymilk bubbled, a skin, like pudding skin, began to form on top. Using chopsticks, you scoop up the skin (called yuba) and dip it in soy sauce and wasabi. Once all of our yuba had been boiled and eaten away, they brought out little bowls of fat cold noodles, which looked like udon, but which were actually made from tofu. Next was abu-age-dofu, deep fried tofu in a hot broth. This course was followed by meat and tofu croquettes (for the non-vegetarians) and tofu steaks (for me and the school nurse). Then came little wooden bowls with lids containing steaming rice, with a few soybeans thrown in. This was accompanied by bowls of miso soup, with tofu of course. Dessert was even more sneaky than the noodles. We were given what looked like a traditional desert of anko (sweet red beans), mochi (chewy, pounded rice cakes), and ice cream, but both the mochi and ice cream were made from tofu. Finally, we were served a rather chewy doughnut which was made, of course, from tofu.
Toward the end of the dinner, we gathered in at one end of the room for a group photo. Getting everyone together took a while, with various people running off to the restroom, or running off to fetch people who’d gone to the restroom. When we thought that we were finally ready to have the waitress take our picture, someone pointed out that Ms. Ito was missing. An older member of the class, who’d had a lot to drink, insisted that Ms. Ito WAS there, so take the picture already. Someone calmly explained to him that there were TWO women named Ms. Ito, and ONE of them was missing. He didn’t seem to get it, and left the group to try to take the picture himself. As everyone was trying to explain to him that there were two Ms. Ito’s, the missing Ms. Ito returned and joined the group. See, someone explained, THIS is Ms. Ito, and THIS is Ms. Ito. The waitress chimed up, “Watashi mo Ito desu!” (“My name is Ms. Ito too!”). At this punchline the class howled with laughter, and I did too. I think it was the first time I understood a joke in Japanese.
New York chef Anthony Bourdain wrote a book called “A Cook’s Tour,” in which he traveled the world in search of “the perfect meal.” After a lot of great meals and great anecdotes, Bourdain suggests that “the perfect meal” is an ideal that relies as much on atmosphere, context, and memory as it does on exquisite cuisine. My dinner at the tofu factory is definitely pushing the envelope for perfect meal status. The food was imaginative, surprising, and really good. It was nice to be free from the stress of negotiating my vegetarianism. And, I was able to eat with a sense of accomplishment in great company. My adult class has been the best thing about my professional life here. A couple of months ago I realized that it is the only thing in Japan that has been enjoyable and easy from day one, and has remained that way. Furthermore, it’s the only part of my job where I have freedom and autonomy, and can clearly see the results of my efforts. Also, might I add, the meal was an appropriate farewell to tofu as I have come to know and love it here in Japan. As I lamented in my last entry, nowhere does tofu get treated with the respect and delicacy that it does in Japan. Sayonara, tofu. It was great while it lasted.
