Negima Nabe (ねぎま鍋)

This is an old-school Tokyo recipe. Otoro, or fatty tuna belly, used to be something that spoiled too fast to be commercially useful. Instead of the prized sushi ingredient it is today, it was sold fast and cheap, and more often cooked than served raw, thought to be too rich to consume raw. Which is insane considering how prized and expensive otoro is nowadays. But at one point in time, we used to feed lobsters to prisoners and indentured servants here in the states because it was so plentiful. Doesn't both of these make you wistful?

Our family took us to a restaurant famous for its otoro fare, apparently the royal family has even frequented there. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to track down the name of the restaurant. I wanted to bring some of that cuisine home to Mr. Mochi and my father since they weren't able to come with us on this trip. The name of this hot pot, "Negima Nabe," is a portmanteau the two star ingredients: Japanese long onion "negi" and bluefin tuna "maguro." "Nabe" just means "pot" and refers to the donabe pot that the meal is cooked in. Don't have a donabe? A dutch oven or even a large saucepan will work fine, you might need to cook in batches however.

Hiroshima-Style Okonomiyaki (広島風お好み焼き)

If you walk into an okonomiyaki joint in Hiroshima and ask for Hiroshima-style okonomiyaki, you might get a funny look. To them, this is simply okonomiyaki and others just have it all wrong.

Hiroshima-style okonomiyaki starts with wheat flour and water, mixed to a thin batter that is cooked over a grill. Shredded cabbage is piled on top as it is halfway through cooking, along with whatever toppings you would like. Yakisoba noodles are put on top, followed by a fried egg.


This entire tower of savory goodness is topped with sauces and served piping hot.

Check out the layers!

What the difference between Hiroshima-style okonomiyaki and the rest of Japan? The more popular style of okonomiyaki mixes the cabbage and eggs directly into the batter rather than stacking them for a thicker okonomiyaki with almost a custardy inside, and most importantly it lacks the noodles.

Okonomiyaki is a Japanese dish that lots of people have tried describing it by attempting to liken it to pizza, but it's nothing like pizza! I liken it more to a Japanese savory cabbage pancake, but it's a little hard to describe even in these respects.

Okonomiyaki, in my opinion, is one of the most accessible foods to those who might be picky or apprehensive about Japanese cuisine. It's a shame that there's a huge lack of okonomiyaki shops in America because everyone who try it seems to love okonomiyaki. I myself actually dislike cabbage, but love this dish. Also in its favor is its nature of customization: okonomiyaki's name itself means "grilled as you like it," and you can add whatever you like to it: squid, seafood, bean sprouts, or anything else that strikes your fancy. For instance, Mr. Mochi loves pork belly and only wants a hint of mayo. No problem! Customization is key.

Yawatahama Champon (八幡浜 ちゃんぽん)

It was really hard to decide what to make for Yawatahama. I wanted to bring you something not just uniquely from Shikoku in origin, but Yawatahama itself. However, I was a bit stumped. A lot of what makes Shikoku cuisine unique is the island itself. For instance, the most famous local food of Shikoku is sanuki udon because the island has the best wheat production in Japan. However, that dish hails from Kagawa prefecture, not Ehime prefecture where Yawatahama is located.

Citrus is a huge part of Ehime's agriculture, however I don't have access to the more unique citrus that Japan has. I could do a citrus recipe, even though it's summer and citrus is at its peak in winter, and call it good. But there's not a lot of recipes for citrus that are unique to Ehime because the citrus is normally just eaten simply and the fruit is savored in its original form, and I've already blogged about that. I'd basically be slapping together a marmalade and making a flimsy connection to Yawatahama, something I didn't want to do. I could do a recipe of a nearby city, like Imabari or Uwajima, instead of Yawatahama. I found some awesome regional foods when I researched, however they still weren't strictly from Yawatahama.

I guess I stressed over this so much because I felt so connected to Yawatahama when I visited. My family is buried there. My family lived and died, and continues to live, there. Our creaky old ancestral house stands firmly on its soil. A tiny portion of my soul, my very essence, I think was left on that hilltop surrounded by graves and citrus and the smell of the ocean. A bigger portion was left in that house where I shared tea and smiles with family. It's only natural I wanted to share some of Yawatahama's soul with you.

I'm not normally this cheesy, but truly it was a special experience.

So really, the choice was made for me. If I was going to share a bit of Yawatahama's soul, I was going to have to get serious about creating a dish I've never actually eaten: Yawatahama-style Champon.

Amalfi (アマルフィ)

Before paying our respects at our family grave site and visiting the local temple in Yawatahama, my relatives in Japan took my brother, mother, and I to an Italian restaurant in the heart of Yawatahama called Amalfi. I wanted to share this experience with you as our meal showcased not only the Japanese's twist on Italian food, but also some of the local ingredients of Shikoku. Their attention to detail and ability to express a lot of flavor in small portion sizes were two things I was very impressed with.

Despite it being the lunch hour, our meal was a multi-course extravaganza. I think a lot of restaurants back in the states could learn a thing or two about portion control from places in Japan like Amalfi. This was a five course meal that managed to stay light!

We started out with an amuse-bouche of a warm potato cream soup with a thin savory crisp skewered on top with a side of a house parmesan cream cheese. The potato soup was pleasantly creamy and without any sort of graininess that sometimes happens with potato soup. I was impressed with how they managed to serve it piping hot as I've had amuse-bouches arrive lukewarm by the time they are done plating, and all of ours arrived at once. There was not a large staff by any means, so that meant they worked like lightning!

Dogzilla

Another food truck that satisfies my love of hapa food: Dogzilla. I am always on a quest to try every crazy mash-up of Asian American cuisine Orange County has to offer. Kimchee quesadillas? Hell yes. Japanese hot dogs? I'm there! Red bean waffle sandwiches? You better believe I even dragged my friends there.

So when I first saw Dogzilla in a Best Buy parking lot, I knew I had to pounce on this one. Unlike a lot of the food trucks I'm in love with, Dogzilla is actually based in Irvine, rather than in L.A. county. And it offers up tasty treats to rival them too.

Dogzilla's tagline, "Not Your Typical Wieners" totally fits because you won't find any mustard or ketchup on their deluxe dogs. Instead, they rely on Japanese flavorings and Hawaiian stand-bys for their unique hot dogs. This isn't exclusive to Dogzilla, the hapa hot dog can be found at places like the Tokyo Doggie Style food truck in LA, Asia Dog in NYC, and Japadog in NYC and Vancouver. I even make a version at home (and why I haven't blogged about this? Fail!).

However trendy, I happen to really love the execution of Dogzilla's hot dogs. Rather than using a normal hot dog bun, they use King's Hawaiian hot dog buns. You can get a fried egg with a gloriously runny yolk on any dog. Their Garlic Fries feature freshly minced garlic rather than garlic powder, making my breath possibly radioactive but I could care less about that when they taste this good.

The New Year: Toshikoshi Soba (年越しそば)

I seriously cannot believe it's New Year's Eve. Can I please go back to being a kid again?

Maybe I'm not cut out for the world of food blogging, alongside the multitude of smiling happy women writing their upbeat prose; prose that makes you want to whip out an apron and spatula just to capture some of that bliss, some of that contentment with life that seems to emanate from their words.

I can't do it.


On a good day, I'm endearingly neurotic, making godzilla-worthy messes out of my kitchen, introspective and analytical to a fault. On other days, I'm fickle, wrathful, and dangerously unstable, capable of destroying people in a single spiteful sentence.

I am human, I am imperfect, I am flawed.

Right now, I'm Alice, falling down the rabbit hole. When did the years start to fly by so fast?

There's so much left undone.

I guess, given my mood, that it's ironic that some translate "Toshikoshi" as meaning "killing off the year."

Toshikoshi soba is traditionally eaten on New Year's Eve in Japanese culture as a way of ending the old year and beginning the new year. The long noodles are a prayer for longevity, and traditionally soba is used because it is easier to bite through cleanly than udon, representing a clean cut leaving behind the bad of the last year and going fresh into the new year.

Zaru Soba (笊蕎麦)

The Japanese have some pretty creative ways to deal with the heat. Many Americans probably have never tried a cold noodle, with the possible exception of cold pasta salad at picnics. So this dish may seem novel to you, but I urge you to give cold noodles a day in court. Zaru soba combines cold noodles with a zesty dipping sauce that is easy to make and easy to eat in the summer's heat. The name "zaru" refers to the bamboo baskets that the noodles are traditionally served in.

Since Southern California pretty much is always hot, I love this dish year-round but it is especially refreshing during the tail-end of summer. Last week seemed like fall was upon us; the weather was the epitome of autumn sweater weather. So naturally, as soon as I start dreaming of hot cocoa, this week is back to sweltering. Sounds like a great time for some zesty and cool zaru soba!