Saké to Drink, Saké to Enjoy—Part 1

In place, the sugidama sends out a message to all that see it.  Masao Matsumoto Photo © Copyright

Brewing

The British drink beer, the French drink wine and the Japanese drink saké.  Well, as severe generalisations these statements are useful, although nothing more than what they are—generalisations.

Cedar fronds are pocked into a wire ball.

Masao Matsumoto Photo © Copyright

A wire ball needs to be completely covered with cedar fronds.

Masao Matsumoto Photo © Copyright

The ball is trimmed and then the sugidama is put in place.

Masao Matsumoto Photo © Copyright

It is probable that saké was first made in Japan some fifteen-hundred years ago.  Initially it seems not to have been a particularly strong liquor but gradually fulfilled various religious needs as well as being used on festive occasions at the imperial court and for drinking games in a slightly more potent form from the end of the eight-century onwards.  It was not until much later that it became a drink of the general populous and these days it would not be wrong to call it the national tipple.

The inner sanctum.  The white plaster walls of the sakekura—a store house with thick wall—are as much a part of the brewing scene as the distinctive aroma.  Masao Matsumoto Photo © Copyright

Steaming of the rice.  Masao Matsumoto Photo © Copyright

Today there are saké breweries all over the country.  Some of the larger ones produce in excess of seventy-thousand kilo litres a year, while the smaller ones each make between 200 to 1000 kilo litres per annum, mostly using traditional labour-intensive methods.

No outsiders allowed.  This is the room in which the koji is put to work on the steamed rice.  Masao Matsumoto Photo © Copyright

A small brewery such as the Nakajima Brewery in Wajima still follows traditions, including the making of what is called a sugidama.  Cedar tree fronds are fashioned into a large ball, which is usually hung under its very own little roof, beneath the eaves of the brewery.  And what is it for?  Firstly it is made to give thanks to the deity of saké and to ask for protection.  Secondly it is a sign that a new brew of saké has been made over the winter.  The fresh green of the cedar fronds shows that the new brew is now beginning its maturing process and so, as the green gradually darkens to a warm brown as the fronds dry, it is an indication of the ageing of the saké, which will be ready in the autumn.

Traditionally, cedar wood barrels were used in the making of saké, hence the use of cedar tree fronds to make a sugidama.  Modern brewing methods, however, have seen the introduction of ceramic-lined or stainless steel tanks, resulting in a major improvement in the quality and purity of the saké, especially since the beginning of the twentieth-century.

Fermentation tanks.  The gentle sound of bubbling and the aroma from the mash are a sign that things are happening.  Masao Matsumoto Photo © Copyright

Although sometimes called “rice wine”, saké is brewed more like a beer than wine.  Rice is first washed and steamed before yeast and koji are mixed in.  Koji is a rice cultivated with a mould—aspergillus oryzae.  The mixture is then allowed to ferment with more rice, koji and water added over four days in three batches.  The resulting mash sits from between 18 to 32 days and is then pressed, filtered and blended.  Result: a clear liquid with a distinctive fragrance and broadly speaking either a dry, sharp flavour or a  heavier sweetness both of which have their own followers.  Me?  Well, I enjoy the dry, sharp flavoured brands.

There are a number of different types of saké as well as several grades.  The top ranking grades are more expensive, they have the most complex flavours and rich aromatic qualities.

Part 2 will follow soon.

Grateful thanks to Masao Matsumoto for the photographs and information, and to Nakajima Sake Brewery for its cooperation.  Thanks, too, must go to John Gauntner at sake-world.com for his expert advise.

Should you wish to leave a comment, please do so by clicking on the comment mark at the bottom left of this or any of the other posts.  Thank you.

Educating the Young

With a Little Help….

Wood as a material has been used by human-kind for a very long time but it was not fashioned in any significant way until after the development of stone tools and then later by the production of metal tools.  In time this led to an age when all manner of tableware such as drinking vessels, plates, platters, spoons and bowls were commonly seen along side more utilitarian pieces of household goods like buckets and, of course, all kinds of furniture.

Contemporary Treen—David Woodward, the well-known turner, has recently started to produce a lot of functional pieces of treen rather than turning pieces simply for display.  This is partly because of a visit to Japan and becoming exposed to the everyday pieces turned and lacquered tableware he saw when he was there.  He has not as yet tried using true lacquer as a finish.  At present he is using several coats of sunflower oil and then finishing with a pure bees wax.  He has also been pleased with the look of a walnut oil finish, and favours a matt or satin finish for his work.  David Woodward Photo © Copyright

It was tableware and smaller items made of wood which came to be known in Britain as treen.  As treen plates were used they became impregnated with the remains of what was placed on them and with regular washing developed the kind of patina that these days would be exalted by some but condemned by others.

The warm colour of the wood is enhanced 

rather than masked by the oil finish of 

David’s work.  

David Woodward Photo © Copyright

Surely wood harbours germs and bacteria.  Well, that would certainly be the commonest reaction to wooden tableware as it is to chopping boards.  Recent research, however, has shown that, if properly maintained, wooden chopping boards are less likely to cause infection than plastic ones.  This was discovered by Dean O. Cliver (Ph.D.) who undertook research prompted by the U. S. Department of Agriculture.

So, apart from the humble fruit bowl, why has treen tableware more or less disappeared from our homes?  In England during the latter part of the the seventeenth-century wood was still to be found on the dining tables of the gentry but it was gradually being replaced with articles made of pewter, silver and ceramics.  The less privileged members of society, however, had to be content with wooden bowls and spoons for some time.

In Japan, however, pieces of tableware made of wood are still in use today.  But that statement must be qualified.  Tableware made of wood would not still have been used today if it were not for true lacquer as a finish.  True lacquer provides a durable coating to all kinds of tableware and with relatively little extra care can be used on a daily basis for many years.

After 30 years of almost continuous use, a cheaper true lacquerware bowl shows signs of wear but it can be easily repaired.  Bill Tingey Photo © Copyright

Wajima is one of the many places in Japan where lacquerware is still being manufactured and it is especially noted for its durability.  This being the case, it would seem reasonable to expect everyone, even the young, to know at least something of its merits and attributes.  But, as is often the case, familiarity breeds contempt.

A soup bowl is raised to the lips and, although the soup may be hot, the ground and several coats of true lacquer on the wooden core of the bowl mean that it is not too hot to handle and the sensation on the lips is a pleasant one.  Many woodturners in the U.K. are disappointed that the true lacquer finish completely masks the wood grain of the core.  Bill Tingey Photo © Copyright

It was some fifteen years ago that the Wajima Lacquerware Cooperative discovered that even many local people were using cheap synthetic pieces of lacquerware in preference to the locally produced and infinitely superior authentic article.  This came as something of a shock and steps were immediately taken to make people more aware of the craft on their doorsteps.

Tray-tables set out with bowls 

in the style of a traditional 

wedding. Bill Tingey Photo © Copyright

It was, in fact, the Saishitsukai, a group of very particular ladies, who on a voluntary basis got things moving.  Just who are these ladies?  They are okami.

It must first be realised that the running of a family owned lacquerware workshop is not only the domain of men.  The wife of the head of the family—okami—is as much involved in the day to day running of the business as her husband.  She needs to be mindful of the needs of all the staff, including those with specialist craft skills, and must also be alert to the needs of the customer.  So, compared to many other businesses, the position of okami is of special importance.  They take particular pride in their work, have a strong sense of responsibility and purpose and make a significant contribution to how well the family business thrives and prospers.

Part of this work of informing the public involved introducing the art and culture of authentic pieces of local lacquerware to final year pupils at local primary schools.  The cooperative was seeking to make friends for its product by making sure, for instance, that if and when a young man or woman left the Noto Peninsula to get married or to work in another area of Japan, at least they would be able to knowledgeably sing the praises of Wajima true lacquerware wherever they settled.

A school lunch set out on table-trays.

Holding the bowl of rice in the left hand, other food is conveyed to the mouth over the rice to avoid any spillages.

Although presentations began at pre-school level, it was a request from a local primary school which really set the ball rolling.  The project has now been in place for more than ten years and pupils graduate with their own personalised lacquerware bowl.

Tea is poured in a genteel manner.  Having a loose fitting lid ensures a controlled and elegant position of the hand.

No scourer!  True lacquerware requires careful handling and rewards us with a finish that matures in colour and appearance over time.

Careful drying is also essential.  No dishwashers please.

The sessions at school last about 30~40 minutes over the lunch period and include instruction in manners.  Everybody joins in serving and setting out  the meal, which is served in the traditional way on low tray-tables placed on the floor.  Teachers have seen an unexpected improvement in the manners and general attitude of the pupils and so, what was initially seen as a way of making the pupils more aware of true lacquerware has helped to prepare the children for life in the wider world by equipping them with some social skills they will benefit from in the future.  Even hearing that Buddhist monks put a little hot water in their rice bowl to release the last few grains of sticky rice from the bowl and then drink them makes the children realise that food should be treated with as much respect as the tableware and the people who are involved in providing and preparing it.  All this can be learned with a little help.

Unless stated otherwise, photographs are courtesy of Yoshiko Daiku.  Photo © Copyright

Should you wish to leave a comment, please do so by clicking on the comment mark at the bottom left of this or any of the other posts.  Thank you.

With True Lacquer

Hitting the Spot—Takashi Wakamiya

Situated on the western shore of the Noto Peninsula, Wajima is Noto’s largest community and home to Wajima lacquerware.  The history of the making of this craft dates back to at least the 14th century and may have started even earlier.  Wajima lacquerware is particularly well known in Japan because of its durability and fine decorations.

As is true of many other traditional crafts in Japan, Wajima lacquerware is an “industrial craft” and distinct from a “studio craft”.  As such much of the output of the workshops in Wajima is for everyday use or used on special occasions rather than simply being something to admire.  The difference is that it can be admired as well as used.  So perhaps we should place it on a par with very good pieces of Wedgwood china, or any other fine porcelain.

Tappers at work on a plantation of lacquer trees in the north of Japan.

Although these days some pieces may have a core of plastic, the very best work has a wooden core or carcass and is coated with true lacquer, not the synthetic equivalent but a material sourced from the sap of the lacquer tree—Rhus verniciflua (Toxicodendron vernicifluum).

Without getting too technical, this refined sap known in Japanese as urushi is applied many times to the wooden core of soup bowls and other pieces of tableware to produce a durable finish that can be left plain or decorated.  In Wajima that usually means decorations in gold and/or silver applied with true lacquer acting as an adhesive.

The whole process is time consuming and requires a good deal of skill and dedication on the part of the artisans.  Yes, artisans in the plural.  The division of labour in the production of a piece of Wajima lacquerware is especially true here although not unique in Japan.

A wooden core is turned....

Each process has its dedicated operative to process the wooden core; to apply a ground; to apply undercoats, middle coats and top coats and others still to do the decorations.  But that’s not all.  This natural refined sap, which hardens rather than dries like a paint, cures ideally in an environment which has a more or less stable temperature of 25˚C and 85% humidity.  Summer in Noto can naturally provide such conditions although not reliably enough and in winter the temperature is too low.  Nowadays as in the past, a cabinet can be used to maintain the ideal conditions.

....and then using a diatomaceous earth mixed with true
 lacquer, the wooden core is filled and sanded when dry.

Pieces of true lacquerware with a leaning toward “studio craft” may well have been produced by a single artisan in the past and it is not unheard of even today.  But to produce such an “industrial craft” as this in Wajima, there is a pool of specialists whose skills it would be almost criminal to overlook.

One person who has found a way to tap into this skill base is Takashi Wakamiya.  He was born not far from Wajima and his grandfather was engaged in the tapping of lacquer trees.  It was not surprising, therefore, that Takashi started down the road to becoming a lacquerware craftsman.

Takashi Wakamiya with some of his
creations.

During the late 1980s when Japan’s economy was booming, Takashi was working in a lacquerware workshop, which was trying to keep up the orders that were pouring in.  He was so busy he hardly had time to sleep!  But this did not stop him from considering his way forward in what has been a difficult market place, especially since the end of hostilities in the Pacific in 1945.

Having gained a real working experience of many of the techniques, which are particularly associated with Wajima lacquerware, Takashi gradually became able to commission pieces for work, work that would best be done utilising the skilled expertise of a number of different artisans.

So, Takashi has now become a designer/producer/director of the making of highly specialised pieces of lacquerware offered to a niche market.  The pieces have been snapped up by private collectors in various part of the world and have also been bought by the likes of the Victoria and Albert Museum in London and the Museum of Lacquer Art Münster, Germany.

The price of Takashi’s pieces puts them out of reach of many people but the degree of experimentation in the work is bound to take time and as we know “time is money”.  The pieces are not to everybody’s taste, either.  But, for those who are willing not to pre-judge and who are able to recognise real quality, Takashi’s work really hits the spot.

A box in the shape of a sword guard in simulated rusty condition.

The interior of the box is something of a surprise given it's shabby exterior.

So many of the pieces produced by Takashi’s small band of skilled artisans are like samples of just what can be achieved with this refined sap, that was probably first used in a raw state simply as an adhesive during the Neolithic Age.

Ceramic tea bowl rendered
in true lacquer.

Tiny chips of gold and silver are placed with watchmaker
precision.

The interior of domed lid is finished with an incredible number of square and triangular chips of gold and silver.

True lacquer is a truly remarkable material and Takashi has been able to find equally remarkable ways of using its unique properties to reproduce the appearance of iron rust and ceramics, for example, not simple to mimic these materials but more perhaps as a way of saying “look what can be done with true lacquer”.  At a practical level Takashi is, therefore, opening up all kinds of creative possibilities.  He is also something of a magician as well as a technician, who does not miss an opportunity to inject a little humour into the work he commissions.  It is all well worth a considered look.

Below are four images courtesy of Takashi Wakamiya of an offertory box inspired by Albrecht Dürer’s rhinoceros drawing done in 1515 based on a written description of the animal.  True lacquer techniques are used to give the appearance of weathered copper with verdigris discolouration.

Should you wish to leave a comment, please do so by clicking on the comment mark at the bottom left of this or any of the other posts.  Thank you.

Except where stated all photographs are by Bill Tingey Photo © Copyright

Climate and Geography

What makes Japan Japan?  What makes Noto Noto?  Part 2

But just how are all those interconnected factors of geography, topography, climate and patterns of weather and everything else modified when we consider people who live on a peninsular.  There is something else to consider, too.  Although the culture of a particular people living in a particular location is also shaped by that all-encompassing environment, culture itself is an influence, so is history, and so is the proximity of other cultures.  Where does it end?  The answer to that question is of course elusive and, if the reasoning is too much of a generalisation, it can be misleading.

Focusing on the people of Noto for the moment, they are Japanese and therefore share a common national identity.  What’s that?  Well, once again borrowing Watsuji’s parlance the Japanese people as a whole are subjected to the rigours of a monsoon climate and must therefore endure heat and humidity.  As mentioned before, this basically means people are tolerant and yet submissive.  Is this too much of an over-simplification?

After all, Japan is a chain of islands spread out over almost 3,000 kilometres spanning 25 degrees of latitude and 22 degrees of longitude.  As a consequence it has a subarctic climate in the extreme north and experiences subtropical conditions in the far southwest.  The mountains of Japan also produce conditions in contrast to their location simply because of their height.  The climate is also subject to rapid changes as well as stable periods of weather.  One thing for sure:  its people must be prepared to endure what nature throws at them.  And that includes, tsunami, typhoons and earthquakes.

Typhoons, tsunami and earthquakes are tracked and recorded. 

It is not unusual for one meter of snow to fall in a night in the mountains of Central Japan.

So while the summers in Noto may be hot and humid, what of the winters?  In a few words they are cold, windy and wet and snow is a constant threat.  While the Pacific coast of Japan enjoys clear skies, low levels of humidity and precipitation during the winter months, in Noto it is often raining or snowing and from November to March the sky is more often than not dull and cloudy.  This has much to do with the fact that it is a peninsula that extends into a cold sea and therefore takes the full force of the winds, which blow from the Asian continent.

The peninsular is well-known for its changeable weather.  This is born out by the saying, “Beware of the mother-in-law’s hoots of laughter and a bright clear morning”.  Of course, this not only tells us something about the weather—it cannot be relied on—but also about attitudes towards one’s spouses mother. 

There is something else, too.  The Japan Sea coast of the peninsula is known as the Sotoura coast.  It is ravaged by rough seas especially during the winter months and the coastline itself is rugged too.  The height of the sea wall along this coast bears witness to the roughness of the sea.  Although crashing waves can be a magnificent sight, people tend to distance themselves from the sea on this side of the peninsula.

The strong winds along the Sotoura Coast in winter whip up the sea and produce a froth, which is poetically termed "flowers of the waves".  Shinji Takagi © Photo Copyright

The eastern, Uchiura coast of the peninsula, however, is far less austere and blessed with a number of sheltered bays and calmer areas of water.  The sea on the eastern coast is calm enough even for oyster farming. The climatic and geographic contrasts on the peninsula are therefore quite extreme.

In fact, some people who visit Japan are prompted to sum up their experience of the country as a whole as one of extremes.  The urban conurbations, for example, are so frenetic and yet beyond them the natural environment is lush, vital and engaging.  Some places are pitifully ugly whereas others are so overwhelming beautiful it is difficult to reconcile.

With Mt. Fuji as a backdrop, Yokohama's Bay Bridge forms a gateway to the harbour. 

Watsuji did not think to include large urban settlements in his catalogue of what kinds of environments affect our very being.  He concentrated on the natural not the man-made environment.  Perhaps Watsuji was right to concern himself so much with geography and climate.

Urban development east of Tokyo is far from inventive.  The
postage stamp layout of detached houses aims to make the
most of the land which is available.

The geography of a country can, of course, produce other effects that impact on our lifestyle and ultimately our attitudes.  As an example of what I mean, take Japan as a whole for instance.  80% of the population lives on 18% of the land area.  This means, therefore, if you live in a built-up urban area in Japan, you have to get used to living in very close proximity with very large numbers of people.  It also means that trains can be very crowded, the traffic murderous and even a shopping trip can be an expedition undertaken with many others, with whom you have little or more commonly absolutely no connection, except perhaps nationality.

Land reclamation in Tokyo Bay began in the early part of the
17th century.  It's still going on here in the port of Yokohama.

This kind of reality, of course, helps to define the situation on the Noto Peninsula.  Shin’ichi Shioyasu, whose family has lived on the peninsula for five generations says, “The peninsula is like a remote island on which the mountains dominate and there is very little flat land.  It makes moving around difficult.  Being so “isolated” would seem to suggest that the people of Noto would shun or would be nervous of outsiders.  On the contrary; they give strangers a warm welcome”.

So, although Watsuji’s thinking on monsoon climate peoples is a useful, meaningful guide, it is never going to be definitive.  It is never going to be right in all situations.  There are always going to be variants due to what we might call micro-climates or very particular circumstances of geography or topography.

Nevertheless, I still believe that Watsuji Tetsuro’s philosophical approach helps to define what makes Japan Japan.  And, what makes Noto Noto.

Should you wish to leave a comment, please do so by clicking on the comment mark at the bottom left of this or any of the other posts.  Thank you.

Except where indicated, all photographs and images by Bill Tingey © Photo Copyright

Climate and Geography

What makes Japan Japan?  What makes Noto Noto?  Part 1

When I was living in Japan every day was an adventure.  After all, I wasn’t born there nor was I brought up there, so even the smallest, relatively insignificant things became part of that bigger adventure of living in what was to me a foreign country, with its very own distinctive climate, culture, history, social structure and, of course, language.  The question what makes Japan Japan was therefore always in the back of my mind all the time I lived there.  Now, of course, because I am writing this blog about the Noto Peninsula, I am drawn to ask what makes Noto Noto.  How has the geography and climate of the Noto Peninsula shaped the lives, personalities and culture of the people who live there?  Few people would question that the natural and man-made environment of where we live gets into our very being.  But what does that really mean? The first time I gave any thought to such things was on a train crossing Siberia.

My wife, Lou, and I made our first trip to Japan in 1974, flying by Aeroflot from London via Moscow to Tokyo.  We spent about six weeks touring the country mainly to look at architecture and craft but we also soaked up life, just as it is lived in Japan.

Through a grimy window on the Trans-Siberian express, March 1976

It wasn’t until we set off to live in Japan for at least a year, however, that we used the Trans-Siberian route.  London to Yokohama by train and ferry took two weeks.  Riding on the train across the steppes of the Soviet Union—yes, it was still a communist country then—we were content to play cards, talk to fellow passengers and to read.  The train moved at a steady pace and also gave us the opportunity to spend much of our time just looking out of the window.  That in itself was an unexpected bonus.

I was not the only one enjoying the view from the window.
The locomotive can just be seen in the first window.

Gazing out at the scenery, which sometimes did not seem to change for very long periods of time, was hypnotic.  It was then that my mind turned to such questions as just how does the geography and climate of where we are born and are brought up shape our very being?  After all, wherever we go on the planet we encounter the same components that make up the landscape and climate.  The only real difference between each place is in the scale, frequency, intensity, volume, shape, colours and juxtaposition of those components.

We arrived in Japan on 9th April 1976.  I enrolled at Tokyo University of Fine Arts and Music as a non-matriculated student and began my studies into the history of Japanese architecture.  It was not long after this that I came across the writings of the Japanese philosopher Watsuji Tetsuro and in particular his essay on Climate and Culture:  A Philosophical Study entitled Fudo in Japanese, and first published in 1931.

This immediately reminded me of what I had been thinking about on the train crossing the immensity of Russia.  And I was pleased that someone had literally put my thoughts into words.

Watsuji took a philosophical view of our environment, in the broadest possible sense, and questioned how it shapes who we are from birth to death (Carter, Robert and McCarthy, Erin, 2014).

The Stanford Encyclopaedia of Philosophy covers the subject in great detail.  Simply speaking, however, Watsuji divided the climates of the world into three main types—monsoon, desert and meadow.  Based on the conditions in each of these climatic regions, he discusses the fundamental character of the people living in them as well as other important elements of the general environment, including events in nature, for example, that somehow resonated with people.

Although they may not show it outwardly, Watsuji feels that the Japanese respond with emotion and sentiment to certain events in nature in particular.  He cites how much affection the Japanese people have for the cherry, which blooms in profusion with apparent impatience only to wither and fall as if in votive sacrifice.

Wanizuka cherry, Yamanashi prefecture, seen against the snow capped Japan Alps.  April 2000

For monsoon regions he said that the main climatic influences on people are heat and humidity.  In such regions Watsuji reasoned that the refinement of “feeling” is best recognised in a monsoon region and people have a submissive and resigned side to their character.

High humidity helps to keep a garden looking fresh.  And plants

take root on stone.  The term uruoi in Japanese refers to moisture

and also has the meaning of "charming". 

A traditional house in Okinawa has deep
eaves, and an added lean-to roof to produce
shade and the interior is as open as possible
to catch even the slightest breeze when it is 
hot and humid.

In a desert climate, however, dryness is the key which leads to a practical and purposeful character and results in people being protective and particularly wary if not actually hostile toward outsiders.

Dwellings in hot climates have small

openings to try and keep the occupants

cool.

Arid landscape in Tunisia. May 1975

In a meadow climate, on the other hand, nature is relatively benign and has an air of logic and rationality born of its dry summers and humid winters.

Meadow climate landscape in England.

Is an English garden a formalised
piece of meadow climate landscape?

It must be remembered that these criteria are not simply applied to human nature and character.  They were seen by Watsuji as affecting everything from the temperament of the people living in such regions to the kind of dwellings they live in.

I must emphasise that these are hopelessly brief explanations of a very complex subject.  My only reason for discussing them here is to ask the reader to do what I initially did, and that is to question just how the geography, climate and general circumstances of where we are born and brought up can shape our very being.  Doing so, I believe, helps us to better understand what defines countries, places, cultures and quite importantly the creative endeavours of peoples.

Should you wish to leave a comment, please do so by clicking on the comment mark at the bottom left of this or any of the other posts.  Thank you.

All photographs Bill Tingey © Photo

To be continued

Starting Afresh

New Year decoration at the Osaki home.

It’s 5th January 2015—well, it was when I started writing this.  Most people in Japan returned to work on 5th January after the New Year holidays.  In the UK, too, this was the first day back at work for some people after a break of almost two weeks.  For me also it was the day to stop simply shuffling papers and time to start putting my desk in order.

I had thought of tackling another subject but that will have to wait.  Why is that?  Well, a very kind person living on the Noto Peninsula has sent some photographs of a wonderful spread of New Year food.

I have already introduced Osechi as prepared by Emi Kimata.  A really elegant arrangement. This time, however, it is Noto-style Osechi.  It was prepared by Etsuko Osaki, who for the past 15 years has been making traditional dishes using fresh produce obtained from the Morning Market in Wajima.

But that is not all.  She is the wife of Shiro Osaki, who heads one of the principal lacquer workshops in Wajima.  Its history is long and reputation second to none, so Etsuko is kept busy in a front-of-house role looking after customers for the made-to-order pieces of finely finished and decorated lacquerware produced under the Osaki Syoemon banner.

The stacking jubako boxes ready to be filled.

These days many housewives go to a department store and order Osechi, which comes already boxed up in stacking boxes made of plastic.  Plastic!  It would be unthinkable for a maker of fine lacquerware.  A good set of stacking boxes or jubako used for New Year Osechi food are as precious as a fine piece of porcelain in the West.  Like such a treasured piece, these finely finished lacquered stacking boxes are handed down from one generation to the next as a family heirloom.

Kagami mochi appropriately displayed in an alcove.

Etsuko began her preparations for the New Year on 28th December by first making rice cakes.  These are made by pulverising cooked glutinous rice into a stiff paste, which is then formed into cakes.  As a food embodying the spirit of rice, these kagami mochi are seen as giving strength and with other decorations are placed on house alters and at other strategic or important places around the house and workshop.

Kagami mochi toward the back along with cut bean-filled mochi for eating.

There are some regional differences in the way these rice cakes are displayed.  Nevertheless, what is perhaps common is the fact that they are not simply a piece of decoration.  Instead they perform a function by being indicative of the hopes and wishes of the people.

In the same way that Christmas decorations should be taken down by 12th Night, New Year decorations in Japan should traditionally be removed by 15th January, although more recently it is by 7th.

Incidentally, 7th January marks another food festival in Japan—the day on which to eat nanakusa-gayu.  This simple Seven-Herb Rice Gruel is served for breakfast in the hope of having good health and prosperity in the year ahead.  The plain, restrained and delicate flavour of this gruel is one of those “healthy” dishes that the palate is likely to welcome after the indulgences of the New Year.

The swelling, opulent form of the kagami mochi inevitably hints at a desire for prosperity in the New Year, too.  Their form, however, is too reminiscent of a stomach before seppuku, that it is thought wrong to cut up a kagami mochi with a knife.  They should therefore be broken up by hand or with a wooden mallet, so that the pieces can be used in soups or even grilled.  Because humidity levels in some parts of Japan are low, the surface of a kagami mochi will soon dry and crack.  Even where the humidity is a little higher, temperatures are usually low enough for the rice cakes to dry out rather than show any real sign of going past their use-by date.

The food in place, the guests are awaited.

The Osaki jubako is as splendid as the food placed in it.  The wooden carcass of each one is coated with many layers of true, natural lacquer before it is decorated.  Each box is water tight and inevitably has four internal corners.  This gives rise to a saying, which in essence means anyone who picks away at any remains of food in the corner of a jubako box with a tooth pick, is just nit-picking.

So, delight in this display of wholesome foods from Noto.  The food will have all been eaten by now and the jubako will be back in their box for safe keeping until the end of this year, when they will again take centre stage.

My thanks to Etsuko Osaki for allowing me to use the photographs.

From left to right: mushrooms, tofu, konnyaku, carrot, lotus root and young fern shoots.

Parcels of kombu.

Top left: dried sardines with pieces of burdock below.  Pink and white cured surimi of fish and finally two pieces of layered omelette sliced ready to be picked out with chopsticks.

Prawns, soused lotus root with chilli rings, and cooked tofu.

The jubako closed up in their own box.

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