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“He detected a faint hint of tonkatsu in the broth, but the base was definitely chicken rather than pig bones. The broth wasn't quite transparent, but it was a great deal clearer than the turbid liquid that usually accompanied ramen these days. It seemed quite possible there was some kind of fish stock in there too. A garlicky, gingery aroma rose from the bowl. The noodles were the thin, straight type, and cooked slightly on the firm side. On top of them lay two slices of roast pork and another two of kamaboko fish cake. These were accompanied by bean sprouts, pickled bamboo shoots, and negi onion.”

Quote by Jesse Kirkwood

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The Restaurant of Lost Recipes

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Jesse Kirkwood

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“Japanese water is soft and its low mineral composition is better for making soup. Miso soup sets me up for the day as surely as a bowl of porridge, though I have been known to take both. In Kanagawa or Kyoto, Okinawa or Sapporo, that soup may be made with dashi-- a delicate broth of smoked dried fish and seaweed-- and miso, a light (shiro) or red (aka) paste of fermented soybeans. Shiro miso has the color of thick heather honey or fudge, is lightly salty and makes for easy drinking. Aka miso is red-brown, more savory and umami-rich than the white, and makes, to my mind at least, a more soulful, almost melancholy broth. Sometimes there are shreds of seaweed or a few tiny clams waiting at the bottom of your bowl, like treasure. Soup-- clear, aromatic and lightly salty-- is a gentle way to begin the day. I am lulled, sip by slow sip, back into the rhythm of life. I start my day in good heart.”

“Today's main dish is cooked sardines," Kinoshita explained, "and the side dish is okara, soybean pulp, cooked using the broth from cooking these sardines. This combination appeared several times in her books. It was probably something she herself enjoyed. Plus there's a side dish of kenchinjiru, root vegetable soup. This also appears a few times in her essays and novels. The rice is yukari rice, rice mixed with dried pickled plums and red shiso flakes." "I've been meaning to ask you, Mr. Kinoshita, but were you a fan of Seiko Tanabe's works before you came here? She's the only author where you serve so many different dishes." "No, truthfully I'd never heard of her before. The owner gave me the book The Many Flavors of Seiko Tanabe, which came out while the author was still alive, and I planned to make a few of the dishes listed there. In that book they gave the sources for the recipes, and I went ahead and read those too. She wrote a lot about cooking and I really got into it.”

“In a donburi bowl, on top of the rice, were four or five little fish, and a scattering of sliced scallions. Accompanying this was soup in lacquered bowls. "And this would be...?" "Try it first." Otoha picked up the donburi bowl and put one of the small fish and rice into her mouth. "It's delicious, Mr. Kinoshita. It looks so very simple, but it's amazing." "I just warmed up canned oil sardines in a frying pan, added some soy sauce, and put it and the sardine oil over rice. That's it. The scallions I bought at a convenience store on the way her 'cause it was the only place open. But it works, doesn't it?" "It does. I could eat a ton of this rice." "It's a recipe in an essay by the novelist Yoko Mori. The soup is an egg soup with dried wakame seaweed and eggs.”

“He appeared a moment later bearing a bowl of rice topped with eel. "Thought I'd grill some soy-marinated hamo eel, rather than the usual unagi. Steamed it too, Tokyo-style, so the bones should be nice and soft. This soup is made from the liver--- add a dash of ginger juice if you feel like it. As for the eel, some of this ground sansho pepper should pair with it nicely.”

“The Soup and the Clouds My dear little mad beloved was serving my dinner, and I was looking out of the open dining room window contemplating those moving architectural marvels that God constructs out of mist, edifices of the impalpable. And as I looked I was saying to myself: “All those phantasmagoria are almost as beautiful as my beloved’s beautiful eyes, as the green eyes of my mad monstrous little beloved.” All of a sudden I felt a terrible blow of a fist on my back and heard a husky and charming voice, an hysterical voice, a hoarse brandy voice, the voice of my dear little beloved, saying: “Aren’t you ever going to eat your soup, you damned bastard of a cloud-monger?”