Elizabeth Andoh wrote . . . . . . . . .
Shortly after the Black Friday rush on shopping specials ends, the year-end madness in Japan known as “shiwasu” (loosely translated as “professors running in a tizzy”) officially begins.
Before greeting the new year, Japanese society is focused on tying up loose ends — clearing outstanding debts, finishing uncompleted projects and other tasks that got away during the year that was — making everyone super busy. Those in the food service industry resolutely cater to harried households during the year-end holidays, selling elaborate Christmas cakes intended to be eaten on or before Dec. 25, as well as osechi ryōri — traditional holiday fare that is eaten on New Year’s Day and several days thereafter.
Shortly after arriving in Japan in the mid-1960s, I experienced my first oshōgatsu New Year holiday in the rural Shikoku kitchen of the Andoh family. I spent the holiday making the many, varied dishes typical in an osechi feast under the tutelage of the women who would, several years later, become my mother-in-law and sisters-in-law. None of the food they taught me resembled any holiday fare I had ever eaten growing up in America — it was at once intriguing and daunting.
Perhaps the most surprising was a dish called tazukuri — sticky-sweet, soy-glazed baby dried sardines sprinkled with toasted sesame — that turned out to be addictively delicious. Written with kanji for “tilling a rice paddy,” this dish, I learned, has its origin in wishes for fertile fields (katakuchi iwashi sardines had formerly been used as fertilizer) in the coming year.
The names of many osechi dishes contain homophonic wordplay: for example, the slow-simmered, sugar-stewed black soybeans called kuro mame. Depending on the kanji used, kuro could mean the color “black” or “hard work.” Similarly, mame can mean either “bean” or “diligent” and “earnest.” Kuro mame has thus become a symbol of diligent effort that brings sweet rewards. Kazunoko, written as “numerous children,” enables herring roe to signify fertility and prosperity.
In addition to wordplay, color and shape often determine the reason why certain foods are part of the New Year holiday menu. Kuri kinton (sweet potatoes studded with syrup-stewed golden chestnuts) look opulent, suggesting wealth and good fortune. Subasu (pickled lotus root) is thought to offer a glimpse of the upcoming year through the (naturally occurring) holes in the rhizome. The auspicious color combination of red (or pink) and white is evident in slices of kōhaku (red and white) kamaboko fish sausage and in kōhaku namasu, a salad-like dish of shredded white daikon and red carrot.
For centuries, these and other symbol-laden foods have been part of osechi ryōri, though in the past few decades menus have expanded to include French, Italian, Chinese and other cuisines in addition to native washoku fare. Nowadays, osechi dishes designed by and prepared under the supervision of famous restaurants and chefs command especially high prices. One such wa-yō (Japanese and French) two-tiered jūbako box, a collaboration of items made by Kyoto’s Kitcho and Hotel de Mikuni, is being sold this year for more than ¥50,000.
Recent innovations in osechi include dessert boxes. Both traditional Japanese-style wagashi confectionery and Western-style cakes can be included; Kawasaki Nikko Hotel’s combo is a good example. Other novelty options being offered to customers these days include child-centric osechi themed around beloved cartoon characters such as Anpanman.
Modern technology has had an enormous impact on osechi customs. Since my arrival in Japan, the steady proliferation of home refrigerators and freezers, coupled with the advent of the internet, has transformed osechi-making from what was once the homemaker’s domain into a multibillion-yen commercial operation. In the 1960s, many homes (including that of my Tokyo landlord) did not have a refrigerator — shopping for fresh food was a daily undertaking, mostly at mom-and-pop shops, though supermarkets were beginning to appear in urban neighborhoods at that time.
By the 1970s, the first konbini (convenience stores) began to pop up in and around major metropolitan areas, eventually spreading across the country. Although best known for daily grab-and-go foods, all the major konbini players offer (relatively) inexpensive osechi options, such as 7-Eleven’s ¥13,000 assortment.
The late 1990s and early 2000s saw the rapid growth of online shopping, and today, it’s difficult to imagine life without it. Because so many osechi dishes are time-consuming to make and require both special equipment and considerable culinary prowess, the average family today purchases osechi rather than preparing it from scratch.
Most Japanese turn to depachika (department store food halls), supermarkets and online specialty sites to make their osechi purchases. Surveys conducted by various market research organizations indicate they do so for nostalgic reasons — New Year’s is Japan’s most revered holiday tradition, after all. People even feel like they should eat osechi at that time even though not all the dishes are well-liked.
Year after year, however, kuri kinton is ranked the No. 1 favorite when newspaper and magazine readers are polled (kōhaku kamaboko comes in second place in most surveys).
For those who live in Japan, it’s a simple matter to purchase osechi. Options run the gamut from affordable konbini assortments that cost under ¥10,000 to high-end restaurant collections that can cost more than rent in downtown Tokyo.
However, most decent osechi sets average around ¥20,000, and a good place to start would be to pick up a feast-for-the-eyes, full-color catalog at a depachika, convenience store or supermarket. Some restaurants sell vacuum-sealed components of items such as kuri kinton and kuro mame separately as osōzai (prepared dishes) through their online shops.
No matter what your holiday menu may be, best wishes to everyone for a healthy, happy and prosperous New Year!
Source : The Japan Times