Turning Japanese

I made my first bold attempt at traditional Japanese cooking.

Here was the menu:

niku jaga (thin beef mixed with potatoes and carrots and onions in a sauce base of sugar, soy sauce, bonito soup [fish flakes] and sweet sake)

dashi maki (eggs rolled thinly over and over mixed with the bonito soup--like a sushi roll)

miso soup (from scratch--tofu, dried seaweed and green onions)

daikon salada (white japanese radish sliced thin mixed with tuna--served cold)

gohan (steamed rice)

Everything was simple and delicious, much like the majority of Japanese cuisine. But, I had a sense of pride for understanding how to do it. And how to find the ingredients without really being able to read any of the labels. I was guided by a few helpful women who have generously cooked for me before, and encouraged me to try. I felt a sort of duty to perfection because that's how most Japanese make their food--even foreign foods. The French bakery is as authentically French as possible. The Italian restaurant attempts native flavors. And presentation is flawless.

In my makeshift kitchen with only one burner top, I was able to win the stomach of my dinner guest, who said it was better than his mother's. I think the trick was the thinly sliced, small shaved pieces of beef. It was proportionally balanced.

There is a Japanese word I've come to love--kaia. It means from the heart. Cooking definitely takes quality, fresh ingredients, but if it's made from the heart, with a sort of passion for who you're cooking for, it will undoubtedly taste better. And so it did.