My Japanese Table. Debra Samuels
Simmered Vegetables with Chicken 128
Grilled Eggplant with Sweet Miso Sauce 130
Eriko's Simmered Eggplant 131
Tofu and Vegetable Scramble 132
Steamed Fresh Asparagus with Soy Mustard Dressing 133
Sweet Potato Tempura Fritters 134
Japanese Mushroom Melange with Butter and Soy 135
Pumpkin Rounds 136
Okra with Umeboshi and Katsuo Shreds 137
Sliced Okra with Wasabi Soy Dressing 137
Tofu Hot Pot with All the Trimmings 138
Chapter 8 Bento
Bento Equipment 142
Helpful Bento Tips 143
Elementary School Sampler Bento 144
Office Lunch Bento 146
Traveler's Bento 148
Picnic Bento 149
Teen Bento 150
Vegetarian Bento 151
Chapter 9 Desserts and Drinks
Fruit Cup with Mochi and Sweet Bean Topping 154
Mochi Balls 154
Mochi Dumplings with Strawberries and Red Bean Paste 156
Mochi Dough Made From Sweet Rice Flour 158
Black Sesame Seed Pudding 159
Matcha Chocolate Coffee Cake 160
Matcha Mochi Cupcakes 162
Steamed Ginger Lemon Walnut Cake 163
Crepes Stuffed with Red Bean Jam 164
Black Sesame Chiffon Cake 166
Sweet Shiso Ice Dessert 167
Matcha Ice Cream 168
Black Sesame Ice Cream 169
Sencha Green Tea 170
Hot Matcha Milk 171
Matcha 171
Roasted Green Tea 171
Bibliography 173
Index 174
Having been born and raised in Japan, I often crave the food that I remember from my childhood. Sushi, ramen, and okonomiyaki to name a few, immediately transport me back to the sights and sounds of growing up in Japan. As a young child, some of my fondest memories revolved around visiting some of my father’s favorite markets looking for octopus, crab, Yellowtail, and one of my favorites: Himono, (dried fish).
In My Japanese Table, Debra Samuels has captured, and translated many of my early memories of what Japanese food and cooking means to me. From the cooking of my father and mother who would spend hours in the kitchen preparing dinner, it was never fancy but it was always prepared with love.
I try to incorporate Japanese cuisine into my cooking because it reflects my roots and heritage. It is a large part of why I became a chef and who I am.
Although the simplicity of presentation in Japanese cooking expertly cloaks the real complexity of preparation, translating the techniques and ingredients of a centuries old cuisine is not for the faint hearted. Debra has managed to create a compendium that does just that.
The chapter on bento took me back to my childhood, when my mother would pack a bento for my school lunch, it would be as simple as one layer of rice with leftovers from the night before but it always made me happy. When I wasn’t enjoying one of my mom’s homemade bento, I looked forward to purchasing eki-bento when we would travel on the bullet train to far away cities. I loved the variety of eki-bento that I had to choose from.
Variety is a large part of what I try to achieve as a chef, incorporating different flavors and textures on a plate is important to me, it keeps peoples interest, it amuses, and satisfies, I think that without really knowing it, I may have derived inspiration from the humble bento.
While desserts have never really been my forte, mochi is my one weakness. Debra’s descriptions, and methods of preparation of this Japanese staple make me long for the multi colored, sticky sweets that we would get from department store food courts in Tokyo.
Debra is able to take the intricacies of Japanese cuisine and translate them into a very approachable cookbook that delivers achievable results. My Japanese Table takes you on a valuable journey of all the different facets of Japanese cuisine.
From simple street foods to sushi, seafood, and comforting desserts, it is a journey through my memories of Japan.
Roy Yamaguchi, chef and founder of Roy’s Restaurants
A Lifetime of Cooking Japanese Food with Family and Friends
My taste buds and I came of age together in Japan. In the early 1970s, when I was twenty and just married, my husband, Dick and I arrived in Japan for a semester abroad. Although we had studied Japan and Japanese, we knew nothing of the cuisine. Just like love, there is a first time for everything, and so on our first visit to a Japanese home we were offered a traditional bath and sashimi (in that order)—neither of which we had ever experienced and neither of which we could possibly refuse. Still wet from the bath, we were directed to a low table with a kaleidoscopic platter of gleaming raw fish. Nothing had prepared me for this; I was horrified by the very idea of raw fish—but there was no polite way out. Our smiling hosts watched eagerly as I took my awkward first bite and, sure enough, I could barely swallow the slippery repast. I like to believe that somehow I managed not to embarrass myself or them.
After further language study, our next stop was a home-stay in the port town of Tsukumi, in rural Kyushu. We lived at the home of a physician, Dr. Chikanori Oishi (Oishi Sensei) and his 15-year-old son Shingo (Shingo’s brother, Seichiro, and sister, Eriko were away at university). As is common among Japanese doctors, the doctor’s home was also a small hospital, with beds for patients. Ordinarily, the doctor’s wife would run the home, but Shingo’s mother had died the year before, so a small staff of nurses and a housekeeper looked after the patients, the doctor, his son, and now us. Each day we awoke to the smell of miso soup, steamed rice, and roasted fish. I hung around the kitchen and helped the staff prepare the lunches. The aromas in that home remain imprinted on my senses today and are strongest when I prepare the basic Classic Miso Soup you will find on page 81.
After graduation, my husband began his graduate studies, and his field research brought us back to Japan in the late 1970s with our then 5-month-old son, Brad. For 2 1/2 years we lived in a tall gray concrete apartment complex in a working class Tokyo neighborhood. Our apartment was spare—two small tatami mat rooms with a kitchen/dining area. We slept on a futon, Japanese style—Brad in between us—which I folded up and stored away every morning. Our small washing machine was outdoors on our tiny cement terrace, and my kitchen was a six-foot counter with a 2-burner stove top and a toaster oven. The fridge was “dorm room” size, so like all my neighbors, I shopped daily. Dick, who is 6’4” (193 cm) felt cramped, but I was thrilled. He began a lifetime of banging his head against low doorways and ceilings, while at 5 feet tall, everything was in arm’s reach for me. In downtown Tokyo my taste buds were educated by my kind