The cupboard’s been bare since we moved in, so yesterday afternoon I shopped along one of my nearby arcades.
I bought one item at each of four or five stores. The old ladies who ran the tiny shops were pretty calm about a foreigner coming to buy katsuobushi, kombu and mikan. But when I pointed to some homemade nuka-zuke, a sort of Japanese pickle, and asked if I could put them in a plastic bag, the shopkeeper launched into a happy tirade.
“Oh, you like nuka-zuke? They are very delicious. We make these ourselves. I didn’t know that foreigners like nuka-zuke. How many did you want?” she said as she reached for a bag.
So this morning’s breakfast will be pickles and onigiri, rice sandwiches, made from last night’s rice and seaweed paper. Mmmmm. Honest.
