One of my earliest food memories is this:
Six or seven years old, summer time at Rittenhouse Day Camp. The campers are sent off to find a spot on the rocks to eat our bagged lunches. I find a spot on a boulder next to my friend... her name I lost, long ago. We open our respective lunch bags. Mine-- a brown paper one, edges curved over and wrinkled, damp from the sweat of my hand. Hers-- a cute little lunch case, with some sections inside. The comparison of the contents is even more stark than the packaging. Mine features a smooshed flat peanut-butter and jelly sandwich (which I adored, mind you), hers, a set of perfectly shaped balls in cellophane.
I was in awe.
What on earth were those balls-- something white covered in what looked like sheet of green plastic? Were they Tastycakes? Cupcakes? She saw me looking and handed one to me. On closer inspection I saw that they were not sweets but instead balls of white rice wrapped in something green. At age seven, I had never seen anything like this. I couldn't imagine this even counted as "lunch." Where's the bread? Where's the peanut butter? Where is the bag of Frito-Lay chips from the snack bag variety pack? What IS this?
She let me try a taste. I unwrapped the plastic covering and took a bite. And fell in love. This was the coolest thing I'd ever seen-- a ball of rice wrapped in something salty (I learned it was seaweed- which blew my mind) perfectly flavored and also somehow STUCK TOGETHER and holding in a ball shape. What magical sorcery is this? What amazing mom makes balls of RICE to give as camp lunch? What piece of heaven on Earth is this taste FROM?
I don't remember her name or anything else about her, but I do remember she explained to me that this was a very normal food in a Japanese home. Her mom made it for her every day, varying only the contents of the rice ball. Sometimes it was just plain with seaweed, sometimes with pickles, sometimes with meat.
And so we began that day our small tradition that would continue for the rest of that camp session. We would find ourselves a good spot on a boulder by the river, high up for a view of the current flowing by, and far enough away from the noise of our fellow campers. We would sit and then promptly trade our lunches; she was as enthralled by my peanut-butter and jelly as I was with her Magical Rice Ball. I felt like an intrepid food explorer, tasting something so unfamiliar and unexpected. In retrospect, she must have found me pretty ridiculous for being that excited by something that was so very ordinary to her.
It's possible I may have exaggerated the important of this food memory in the years since- but, regardless, I'll always credit her and Rittenhouse Day Camp with beginning my life-long obsession with Japanese food and flavors. I love the umami of Japanese flavor on such a deep level it feels intrinsic to my very PERSON. Perhaps I was Japanese in a past life? Perhaps my brain is just particularly chemically inclined to feel joy with the taste of miso or soy or mirin? If I for some reason had to pick a cuisine to eat for the rest of my life, happily, it would be Japanese. No contest. My last meal before execution? Please let it be a kaiseki multi-course tasting menu from that place in Kyoto by the large Buddhist temple, where they craft vegetarian magic including the Worlds Most Perfect Single Bite-- a tempura fried plum. And with that single cherry tomato stewed in a broth and served in a teeny tiny egg cup.
What, you DON'T ask yourself what your last meal before execution would be? Is that just me?
On our previous journeys to Japan we learned that Japanese food is much more than just perfect rice balls and sushi. Japanese food is about the endless pursuit of joy, in the form of moments of sensory experience. The perfect taste may last only half a second, but you experienced it and you tasted it and so it was worth it. Every moment is crafted to allow you to experience and taste food in its purest, richest form-- but to also know that the moment passes and life continues on. We are temporary and life is fleeting, might as well eat something amazing to celebrate the joy of being alive! Japanese food is art and philosophy wrapped into many delicious and adorable packages.
The Japanese live to eat- they are obsessed with food, even more than I am; the products to make the food, the process, the ritual of eating it, the experience and expression of the diner. Nowhere have I seen a country where flipping through the channels fully half of them or more are dedicated to food in some way-- people cooking food, shows about the origins of ingredients, shows in which people watch OTHER PEOPLE EAT FOOD and then watch their reaction (I'm not kidding about this. There seem to be countless Watching People Eat Food And React shows). I can't wait to learn more Japanese to enjoy what is actually being said as people eat and watch others eat.
Sitting here in our tiny quarantine apartment where we've been for seven days now, it doesn't really feel quite real that we are residents of this amazing country yet, even though we have the cards to prove it. It is surreal and overwhelming that I am now living in a place I have dreamt of since I was just seven years old.
And I can buy rice balls (onigiri) anytime I want from a 7-11 on the corner, less than a dollar a piece. And they are beautiful. And they are perfect.
So thank you, nameless Japanese friend from Rittenhouse Day Camp. You set me on some sort of path that led me here, to a new life in Tokyo.
