But first there’s this:  The front page of the Globe carried a story on folks raising chickens at home in response to fear of salmonella in eggs.  Uh, folks?  The Centers for Disease Control (CDC), mentioned briefly in the piece, noted that salmonella can occur in any flock, caged, uncaged, free range, etc.  In fact, as is true with any food product, a large manufacturer has better opportunities to control and sanitize the environment to create uniformity.  While it’s true that salmonella will spread faster when many chickens are together–what I think of as The Subway Sneeze–that small flock in your backyard can poison you, too.  Forget about raising chickens and find a good producer.

Food section #1 in The Boston Globe:

1.  A chicken soup recipe by the paper’s food editor now joins the 10,100,000 you can find when you google, “chicken soup.”  A valuable addition for those without access to the Internet.  In the Globe piece, the author says that “kosher chicken” makes the best bird for the broth.  Au contraire.  Any brined bird will do.  Further, most kosher chicken is raised factory-style in cages.  That doesn’t sound very good to me.  Disapproval is then registered with “a chicken soup recipe” by ***-Michelin chef Jean Georges Vongerichten (JGV) for using wings instead of the whole bird.  Yikes!  Food fight!  In reading JGV’s recipe, however, we find that the master chef is using two pounds of wings, rather than one bird, that he is roasting the wings before putting them in a pot, and, most importantly, that he is making stock to make soup.  Does the Globe writer know the difference between soup and stock?

2.  Nice review of a cool restaurant–Jacky’s Table–opened recently in Brighton.

Food section #2 in The NY Times:

Mostly here we’re talking about a number of Italian or Italian-American or low-key places opening up: Carmellini’s new place; Osteria Morini; Ciano; and, Benno’s new place.  Very exciting.  As soon as Boston discovers regional Italian cuisine, I’m on it.

I don’t mind being up.  It’s black outside, very quiet, and a sense of calm is obvious.

Of course, at 4 P.M. today it may get ugly.

The cure I have found is to eat when I am hungry and to exercise routinely, but even with all of that, it is impossible to avoid the body’s reaction to change.  I mean, the bread and butter and coffee yesterday were good; they are selling rolls of Amish butter these days and not only is it cheaper than commercial brands, it’s saltier and has thicker texture.  The lunch of a “snail” from the bakery was delicious; toasted bread with dollops of mushrooms under baked cheddar that was soft in the middle and crispy on the edges.  Dinner of salami from Volpi in St. Louis followed by grilled waygu-style Swiss cheeseburgers with onion rings followed by Madeline’s signature dish of Key lime pie was great.  But I am still awake at 4 A.M.

So the cure must be to embrace consciousness, right?  What is jet lag, anyway, man?  It’s a construct.

Last night I expedited a veal Bolognese cooked by Chef Madeline: Rather delicious.

Tonight?

Obviously, it’s fat, juicy cheeseburgers, Prime or Australian Waygu, grilled on the Braunfels and served on sesame seeded buns.

Runners in gear and those magnificent, huge, black Tokyo crows hovering and cawing.

A quick buffet breakfast on the 17th floor: The hotel has the usual Japanese details that are wonderful–juices, fresh fruit, scrambled eggs, little pancakes, crispy bacon, and sprouts with cherry tomatoes.  Highlights? Eggs, bacon, fat purple grapes.

Fuji mizo for the airport ride in 25 minutes and it’s Sayonara Tokyo until January.

Arigatoogozeimasta!

En route to a Spanish restaurant in Tokyo I was criticized by a very prominent individual based here who had read my essay at this site where the assertion had been made that an enjoyable meal of hamo, “an eel,” I’d written, had been enjoyed while a guest at the very estimable Hotel Anaga on Awaji Island.

I am disguising her identity to protect virtue.

“Hamo is not eel,” she had said.  Her tone was convincing and being so polite that I will agree that black is white, when pressed to do so, I had let it go at that.

But when I returned to my comped room at Hotel Imperial–tony, pleasant, well-situated–I took off my Hungry Hat and put on my Scientist Hat.

Hamo is eel!

No less of an authority than Elizabeth Andoh, the Tokyo-based expert,  notes this on her website: “In addition to unagi, three other varieties of eel are regularly, and eagerly, consumed by the Japanese: anago, hamo, and dojo.”

Wikipedia weighs in on hamo: The Muraenesocidae, or pike congers, are a small family of marine eels found worldwide in tropical and subtropical seas.^[1] Some species are known to enter brackish water.  Pike congers have a cylindrical body, scaleless skin, a narrow head with large eyes, and strong teeth. The dorsal fin starts above the well-developed pectoral fins. These rather aggressive fish range from 60 centimetres (2.0 ft) to 250 centimetres (8.2 ft) in length.”

Tangorin, the Japanese web-based dictionary adds its definition:

hamo ・ hamu ・ HAMOnot assoc. with kanji 【鱧】

1. –common noun
2. daggertooth pike conger (Muraenesox cinereus) —Usually written using kana alone.
3. (in Northern Japan) conger eel;  garden eel

Let’s leave the hamo, a pike conger eel, to swim away and turn now to a second controversy: The same individual insisted that hard alcohol is added to port.  Specifically, the point that was reiterated was that brandy is added to create port.  I said it was not, but again, being polite, found merit in the point and later sought an answer.  Here it is from Wikepedia:

“The wine produced is then fortified by the addition of a neutral grape spirit known as aguardente in order to stop the fermentation, leaving residual sugar in the wine, and to boost the alcohol content. The fortification spirit is sometimes referred to as Brandy but it bears little resemblance to commercial Brandies.”

I’ll tell ya, when you don’t know, isn’t it always better to say, “I don’t know?”

I guess what bugged me here was how my efforts towards veracity were belittled.  It wasn’t enough that her point was correct: I was told I was wrong.  But I just kept smiling, thinking ironically of Son House:
“Don’t you mind people grinning in your face / There’s one thing to bear in mind / A true friend is hard to find / Don’t you mind people grinning in your face?”

On a more upbeat note, the individual described was extremely pleasant and engaging.

Kids were suited up and playing ball below.  Yuko said she sometimes wakes up to the sound of a hit.

The lunch?

She served cold tofu with oil and vinegar.

Then: Cold, grilled eggplant.

Then pan seared bonita.

Washed down with a Chard from Nagano.

The ingredients available in Japan are exceptional.

It’s sort of the Japanese version of certain, um, institutions in the West one might go, or perhaps be sent to, for restoration of balance.  “The Magic Mountain” of our times (although ryokans coincided with the sanatoriums).

Anyhow, as a guest of Beniya Mukayu–thank you very much–I felt a sense of emotional detachment that was much needed.

I met a colleague and had a bath.  Too polite to ask for food, I drank two cups of the delicious, local, sparkling sake.  I say!

Reaching the end station at approximately 5 P.M.: Beniya Mukayu, Yamishiro Onsen, Kaga, Ishikawa.  Hai!

A bath followed.  Then another bath.  A very good kaiseke dinner.  And then a fourth bath.  Was it so hard to remove the stains?

The lovely, dramatic, energetic owner of the ryokan proposed that I have a spa treatment before dinner, but the attendant was fully booked so at 10 P.M. the two hour intervention began.

Yukushiyama Body Treatment: Here we’re talking about the medicinal herbal complex, yes, that one, of “Ho, Sha, Ryu, Cho,” which is meant to cleanse the mind and body of impurities.  Back first, then head and face, skipping over the body’s top, which, I reckon, remains impure.  But that’s just me having bad thoughts.  As usual.

After the Rx, the attendant who may have been nubile–hard to say since my face and head had been made pure, it was like looking at a pin-up through smudged eyeglasses–recommended: A bath.

“But no soap,” she added with concern.  “Your left side is strong, but your right side is weak and your whole head is weak, too.”

Don’t I know it.

It was transcendent in the way ceremony can be if done properly.

And calming.

At this moment, looking at the Pacific, I can see the Shinto priest with his conical cap and bright, black clogs chanting.

However, moments from now, it will be time to drive two hours to Osaka and then head north two hours to Kanazawa.

A cold beer may be needed before my 1337 appointment with Destiny.

Vegetarian mosaic terrine.  Great textures, nearly raw, delicious okra.

Cauliflower custard with two pieces of roasted chicken the size of tablespoons.  Contrasts and chicken that was intensely flavored.

A slice of broiled sea bass.  Very much like a sarde en saor–capers, vinegar, pine nuts.

Awaji beef.  Lots like Kobe.