Flavor Boulevard

Category: Japanese

  • Sencha and yomogi mochi

      The third pairing of mochi and Japanese green tea. Perfect!


      Yes, finally a mochi that goes perfectly with sencha. Yomogi (Japanese mugwort), julienned into tiny strings and mixed with the mochi dough, gives the mochi a clean, refreshing taste, which reminds me of the tip of a Vietnamese bánh ít or a bánh ít gai (*).

      However, what struck me was the filling: red bean and sweet potato paste. The red bean is the main factor, the sweet potato is only at the top, closest to the doughy coat. The azuki sweetness subdues the fishiness (umami) of sencha, and the sencha bitterness subdues the sweetness. Is this why the Japanese use azuki for their desserts so often?

      Why didn’t the sencha – matcha-mochi pair work as well? The matcha mochi also has azuki paste, but I think the orange juice and the walnuts distracted me. The yomogi clarifies the taste in a more floral and less bitter way than the matcha; and like saffron, sometimes a spice’s presence isn’t noticeable, but its absence would be. Anyways, this pair also shows that a simpler mochi can be a better mochi.

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    • Matcha and kabocha mochi

        Another pairing of Japanese tea and Japanese snack. A bowl of matcha is supposed to suffice your daily vegetable need because you’re actually consuming the leaves themselves, in powder form.


        Matcha is served in a bowl. Mix water (205 F) with the matcha powder using a whisk, whose look reminds me of a yard broom in Vietnam, and there is no steeping time to watch out for, which I like. The whisk makes the tea foam up. The lady sitting next to me said that the foam turns her off visually, but actually the foam adds an interesting dimension to the tea. For one, it abates the seaweed taste because the foam is a cushion layer between the tea and the palate, preventing the palate to fully experience the tea. Secondly, together with the powder, it enhances the nuttiness of the tea. Near the end of the bowl, when there is more powder, the tea is extra nutty, akin to mungbean milk.


        Unfortunately, this nuttiness does not enhance the nuttiness of the kabocha mochi but competes with it. The mochi this time has a hojicha-flavored coat and a filling of cinnamon, walnut and kabocha (a kind of winter squash, also known as the Japanese pumpkin). Contrary to my hesitance, the cinnamon was too faint to be detected (no, I don’t like cinnamon), and the mochi is mild overall. It is not too sweet.


        Instead of being steamed-dried like other Japanese teas, hojicha is roasted in porcelain over charcoal, so the green tea becomes much milder than sencha. The kabocha is similar to a plain, grainy, white sweet potato in both taste and texture. (The red mushy sweet potato is sweeter than the white kind.) Because both the tea and the snack are grainy, matcha-kabocha mochi is not a good match together, although I really like them both separately.

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      • Sencha and Mochi


          Sencha in yunomi, a typical Japanese thick, tall teacup, whose name I’ve yet to find out, accompanied by a matcha mochi, whose fillings include: satsuma sweet potato, red bean paste, orange juice and walnuts. (Thanks Masaaki for telling me the name of the cup in Japanese.)

          The mochi, handmade and delivered by a mochi lady every week to Teance, is refreshing both in look and in taste. The green tea flavored chewy coat is cool and light. The filling, although dominated by red bean, is not too sweet. I opted for one with less nuts because I didn’t think that I would want such contrast in texture. The mochi lady is a small, timid Asian lady, who smiled so happily when I described her mochi as “refreshing”, and who showed me that I should dip my fork into tea or water before cutting the mochi so that it would not be sticky. Yes, it worked, the fork went straight through with such ease. Now it makes sense why we can chew without the mochi sticking to the teeth.

          This is my second time having sencha, if we don’t count the time I had genmaicha at Ippuku (genmaicha is lower-grade sencha with roasted rice), and the seaweed taste of sencha has grown on me. However, I am not convinced that the sencha is a good match for the mochi. Both are good by themselves, but I think the sencha should be an entree tea, not a dessert tea. Its seaweed taste would enhance something savory. A mochi would fare much better with a light, floral tea that isn’t too dry, like Yellow Gold, Royal Courtesan, or Darjeeling First Flush.

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        • Time well spent at Ippuku


            “Ippuku” means “break” or “to take a break”. It doesn’t surprise me that this place made it into the Top 100 of the San Francisco Chronicle last spring, I surprised myself that I had’t taken a break here all this time. How can I call myself a Berkeley food blogger without eating at Ippuku?


            Maybe it’s the signless entrance that camouflages the izakaya in the dark, minus the dimly lit sake bottles on the side and the closed door, which I can never open correctly from the inside. Maybe it’s my distrust of Yelp reviews. But I brushed through the cotton curtains to enter that long, dark, narrow, stark simple structure, saw the half-shadowed faces immersed in quiet enjoyment, and the wooden platform, on which you can sit seiza style (flat kneeling) or dangle your feet under the table like a true Westerner; from that moment, I decided that it’s a lovely place, no matter how the food was. Of course, the food was good.


            The most written thing about Ippuku must be the collection of all-part chicken edibles. Every single blog and its best buddies have something to say about (and a picture of) the omakase gushi ($14, 5 chef-choice skewers), which might include gizzards ($6.50), hearts ($6.50), shoulders ($6), necks ($6.50), breasts ($6), wings ($6.50), thighs ($6), tails ($7), varying throughout the night. They also have knee cartilage ($7) and breast cartilage ($7), which gets sold out before 6 pm. Growing up, I’ve had my shares
            of chicken from head to toe to bone marrow, and I still clean the chicken bones to its dryest whenever possible, so this is old game. It’s not that “Ippuku uses every part of the chicken to its best effect”, Ippuku simply uses every part of the chicken and (hopefully) convinces the Western palate that white meat isn’t everything (if it is anything). The chewy crunchy gizzards and hearts made me feel at home.

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          • The night before Christmas at Kata Robata


              Last night I was reading this manga, Oishii Kankei (“Delicious Relationship”), and two things there reminded me of my family: a family of three who love to eat out and explore new restaurants, and the girl who can’t cook (but she has a better sense of taste than me, it’s a story after all ;-)). I also got reminded of a ton of Japanese food, although the main plot revolves around French cuisine and a fictional restaurant in Tokyo called Petit Lapin (“Little Rabbit”). I’ve been in the mood for something comforting, and Little Mom wants to have some Japanese food that isn’t sushi, so we decided on Kata Robata for our Christmas Eve. Actually Oanh recommended this place to me just before my flight to Houston, and I trust her when it comes to the Land of the Rising Sun. My dad’s opinion today? He had to come whether he wanted to or not. That’s Beauty #27 of a family of three: odd number makes decisions come easy. 😉

              Thank goodness, he liked it here. Or should I say, he *loved* the kakuni don.


              The rice, wet with the runny yolk of a 60-degree soft-boiled, was aptly seasoned by the rich sauce of the sweetly soy-braised slow-cooked pork belly (kakuni). The kakuni was a tad too fatty, but the seasoning strikes home just right. Little Mom fancied the juicy shiitake, and Mai the crunchy pickled radish. A little something for everyone makes the don truly comfort food.

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            • Tofu misozuke – the vegan cheese

                Tofu misozuke. Image courtesy of Rau Om

                Every Saturday in Sunnyvale and every Sunday in Palo Alto, Oanh sets up the tables. She hangs a white banner with a simplified lavender elephant and the word “Rau Om” in calligraphic green, and a poster featuring a little mouse prancing with a block of tofu on his back, with the word “Mice eat Rau Om’s Tofu Misozuke” below. Then she arranges dozens of little bamboo and plastic wrap packets on the table, each containing a block of tofu in beige paper, about as big as a match box. Then she’s ready for the Farmers Market. And the tofu is ready to be sold out, every last one of them.

                Over two years of experimenting, Oanh says, including lots of PubMed searching, an 18th century manuscript in old Japanese, and who knows how many pounds of firm tofu. It all started with an accidental find in Tokyo’s night food scene in 2009, and here they are, at a Californian Farmers Market, offering a Japanese elder a taste that brings her decades back home. It’s like the tofu has achieved its American dream.

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              • Mifune’s uniqueness


                  I’m trying to think of the reasons I keep confusing myself between Mifune (San Francisco) and Miyuki (North Berkeley) when I tell people about them. Admittedly they share some obvious similarities, as much as any Japanese restaurant would be similar to another Japanese restaurant. Miyuki is for donburi, and Mifune is for udon and soba. Not only that they’re totally unrelated, I also remember them for different reasons. But that in itself is another similarity: what makes me remember them is not the focus of their menus. When I think of Miyuki, I think of its eggroll and mango icecream dessert. When I think of Mifune, I think of its green tea rice.

                  Ochazuke (green tea rice) is not uncommon among Japanese and those who know Japanese food, but it’s uncommon in Japanese restaurants in America. In fact, I just now looked at every available menu in San Fran Japantown, and found no ochazuke. Mifune doesn’t have its menu online.

                  Like kimchi fried rice (and really, any kind of fried rice), ochazuke makes good use of leftover rice. Unlike fried rice, ochazuke is not fried. It’s soupy, with green tea being the soup. When you think about it, it’s not really that strange. A number of Vietnamese people, Little Mom for instance, like to pour the Vietnamese brothy soups (canh) into rice, the rice is thus flavored and not lumped together, making it easy and quick to eat. The Koreans have guk bap (국밥). I understand the principles, but personally, I don’t condone the practice. Rice is rice, soup is soup, and rice isn’t chewy like noodle to go with soups.

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                • one bite: Miyuki sweet


                    Who goes to a sushi and donburi house to get dessert? Me. It got it all. Tropical, fried, icecreamy, salty, nutty, fruity. It’s the dessert of Miyuki.

                    Miyuki sweet: eggroll filled with banana and pine nut to pair with vanilla and mango ice cream. Ah, and a dash of chocolate syrup, of course.

                    Address: Miyuki
                    1695 Solano Avenue
                    Berkeley, CA 94707
                    (510) 524-1286

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                  • Little Kiraku on Telegraph


                      Not so long ago, I got chuckled at for not having tried every single restaurant in my vicinity. There are excuses I could make, but the bitter truth is I’m lazy. At school, I try to arrange my schedule to minimize the distance between buildings. I tend to eat at places either really nearby or a bus ride away. The things in between require walking. I can walk. I don’t mind eating alone. I love wandering into a restaurant unplanned. But when I wake up at 8 on Sunday, I don’t think “oh feet, let us take a stroll six blocks uphill to have lunch at who knows where”. I stay in, (try to) work, and blog. I would never have discovered Kiraku without Teppei-san: a number of us gathered there for a farewell dinner before he and Roland took off to Korea.

                      This izakaya kind of thing is more enjoyable with more people. It means more dishes. All in little bitty plates. With seven of them, we covered most bases, from tsumami (starter) to shushoku after the beer and shochu.


                      We also covered the immobiles (vegetables), the legless (octopus), the two-legged (chicken), and the four-legged (pork). Now that’s a balance meal. 😀 Jonathan’s all-time favorite (the only thing that he remembered getting from last time) was the takowasabi, chopped octopus marinated with a rather gentle wasabi sauce, which simply looked slimy and tasted clean. Similar bits of octopus later showed up in the yaki udon, with katsuobushi on a basil pesto twist.

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                    • Dinner with Rau Om


                        Early September. Monday night. An adorable meal that combines various elements of two Far Eastern cuisines. The parts harmonize, the mixture represents a cuisine of its own: the kind that you can only find in a home kitchen and enjoy with friends in the living room. We sit on the floor, we share twelve courses plus some, we listen to a record of traditional Vietnamese instrumental, we drink chrysanthemum tea in wine glasses. We talk fooding. We feel luxury, “like the wealthy landlords of the old days” as Dang put it. 🙂 A dinner with Oanh and Dang, the Rau Om lady and man, is fine dining without the frilly designed plates, the crisp white napkins, and the pompous lighting. Each of the twelve courses has just enough twists to wow us while retaining enough familiarity to comfort us. But what I like the most about Rau Om creations is the way Oanh and Dang use one country’s familiar ingredients in the other country’s familiar dish, surprising (at least) me with the compatibility and similarities between the two cuisines. It’s the fusion of the authentics.

                        My ladies and gentlemen, the September 5th Japanese-Vietnamese (+ a little Korean) dinner by Hoang-Oanh Nguyen and Linh-Dang Vu-Phan of Rau Om:


                        On the foreground is No. 1 – Bossam-styled Oyster con Prosciutto: the oyster was low-temp-cooked (read: “semi-cooked”) at 48°C for 20 minutes in bossam (보쌈) broth in a closed jar, rendering a literally melt-in-the-mouth texture while its fishiness is subdued by the tangy sesame leaf and the briny prosciutto.
                        In the background are two blocks of No. 2 – Tofu Misozuke, tofu wrapped in miso for at least 2 months. It’s creamy, briny, accented with a herbal afterthought. It’s cheese, but vegan, and better than cheese because the taste evolves in your mouth. We were also introduced to Rau Om’s experimental Kombu Tofu Misozuke, tofu misozuke wrapped in miso and kelp for a less salty but more aged taste.

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