Tsukudani

Tsukudani (pronounced “Skoo-Dan-Knee”) is still my favourite rite of passage with food, and the most interesting marker in my travels and choice of diversions. I was raised in a family with many challenges that were usually gastrointestinal (green bananas, fish heads and various unique tubers and vegetables were always on our plates), but there was nothing to compare with the challenge of tsukudani. It was a meal that my mother would not prepare; it was a dish she still has not forgiven me for enjoying.

So, what is it? By definition, it is a side dish fermented with soy sauce and mirin (rice wine used for cooking). This can be seafood-, meat- or seaweed-based and incorporated into any dish served at breakfast, lunch or dinner. Of course, this is not a part of the North American diet. I tried this dish as a visitor and working teacher in the Land of the Rising Yen. Japan was a country that I lived and learned in for a few years; it was also a place where I discovered a great deal about my own taste buds and stomach’s capabilities. But I had better be very clear about where and when I tried this dish.

During one winter vacation where I did not have much to do, I decided to go off into Nagano to enjoy a lifestyle that was the complete opposite of the life I was living in Tokyo, at least for a few days. I had worked as an ESL instructor for over a year at that point, sharing a house with other gaikoku-jin (foreigners) from all over the world. There would be five of us on this trip and we had several different plans for our stay.

There was a train, a bus and a taxi before we arrived at a small inn near the Jigokudani Monkey Park. I can name it today because it is the only park in all of Japan where you could go out and see the Japanese macaque in the wild (otherwise known as snow monkeys). They were quite beautiful, not too aggressive, but a little mischievous. Another feature of the park – Jigokudani translates as “Hell’s Valley” – are the outdoor hot springs (these are known as “onsen”). The monkeys would often be found in them attempting to relax while tourists surrounded them and took their pictures. I had a very concerned thought that some of these monkeys would appear later that evening when we were to enjoy ourselves in those same baths. It really would be Hell’s Valley if I had to sit naked in a hot tub with a primate that I had not shared the price of an inn with, but the worries were unfounded. For some reason, they made their way into the mountains and trees when we enjoyed ourselves in that wide open spa.

Oh, yes, I almost forgot the tsukudani. There was a great deal that went on behind the scenes as I prepared for the meals. We were a mixed group, two men and three women, and one of those women had a very obvious interest in me. I did not reciprocate, so it became awkward sharing a bath and a building with her. We were also there in the off-season, so our motley crew was the only one that occupied the building besides the staff and owners. There was nowhere to hide or to plan my defense except in my shared room. The other male found this all amusing. I found that I just could not spend any time alone with her without the conversation getting awkward.

Ah, the tsukudani. This time, I will talk about it. It was on our very last day that I noted the presence of something on our plates that was not rice or fish. Remember that description of the side dish? I knew that it could be meat, seafood or seaweed. I did not know that it could also be something a little more challenging to the palate:

Grasshoppers.

Yes, grasshoppers were served with our final meal. If I had done some research on this, I would have realized that the Japanese turned to the insect as a source of protein during World War II and that it was still a delicacy in different regions of the country, including Yamanouchi, the village where we were staying in Nagano (not so much in Tokyo). I had already known that in parts of Africa that roasted ants and other insects were considered normal snacks and dishes, but this was still a surprise to me.

And how did we react?

Well, I took a look at the faces of my other companions as the owner of the inn watched us staring at our food. No one dared to try it. The woman who made of point of making me her point of interest said that she would not even speak to me for the trip home if I dared to eat it. And that seemed to be all the incentive I needed to tuck in.

And how was it?

Delicious! It was absolutely wonderful as an accompaniment with the other food. It was also both savory and sweet and decidedly crunchy (these insects were not at all raw; they seemed to have been fried and then fermented with the soy sauce and rice wine). I may have pushed it by taking the tsukudani of all of my other fellow travelers, but the owners were quite impressed that I had the nerve to even try it. Eat your heart out, Anthony Bourdain (may he rest in peace)!

She did keep her promise and refused to talk to me on the trip home. And I made the further mistake of mentioning in a letter to my mother what I had ingested on the trip. No real regrets about this. But the story does not end there.

I met a manager of one of our schools, a man from the United States, who had also discovered the dish, and he brought a small bucket of the snack with him to our office. It was a challenged to see who would dare to try it; he wanted to see who would have the nerve to dig in.

I soon surprised him with my hunger and made a good friend over a mélange of grasshoppers.

Now, if I could only make it or find it here in the dry great white north…

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You can find more poems, stories, and articles by Kendall Defoe on my Vocal profile. I complain, argue, provoke and create...just like everybody else.

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