Unsung heroes of Japanese culture - Eating out

Japan has amassed significant soft power, which I would argue is only increasing. Even those that have no real interest in the country can’t get around the increasing omnipresence of anime and will have heard of Samurai and Geisha. Those flocking to the country will likely know other famous cultural icons like ‘the great wave’ by Hokusai, the infamous Shibuya crossing, cosplay culture and zen gardens on tranquil temple grounds. All these icons serve as paragons of the Japanese image as projected abroad. Yet there’s also obscure wonders that are not as well known, unsung heroes of Japanese culture that only reveal themselves when one has spent time in the country. These are the heroes that cemented my gradual falling in love with Japan through small but meaningful experiences travel guides generally pass over, and it is time they have their moment in the spotlight.

Eating out

Food culture hardly is an ‘unsung hero’ when discussing Japan: most people know the stereotypes of perfectly presented sushi or the cult-like dedication of chefs to their craft. Case in point, the internationally acclaimed documentary film ‘Jiro Dreams of Sushi’. What in my opinion does qualify is the reach, the sheer omnipresence of this food mania. Indeed, the real unsung heroes of this particular story are not the providers but the seemingly unsatiable consumers, facilitating Japanese food culture as we know it. The dedication of Japanese chefs might be famous, the dedication of their customers is not. I was awed by the lengths that ordinary people are willing to go to, unheard of where I’m from, to reach the presumed pinnacles of flavor. If an unassuming stand is known to have the best Yakitori in the area, many people will do it the honor of a cumbersome detour without second thought. For acclaimed restaurants serving anything from multi-course kaiseki to simple rice bowls, people casually wait well over an hour in line if necessary. Unsurprisingly, even humble ramen restaurants seating no more than a handful of people at a time have been showered with Michelin stars in recognition of their culinary accomplishments.

I often felt that fine dining is considered a right rather than a privilege in Japan; indeed, it seems like a gourmand lurks in every Japanese and gets born in all non-Japanese that end up residing in the country. There is a tangible reverence for food and quality, and the importance of restaurants in daily life is unmistakable, extending to all layers of society. Nowhere was this stressed as loud and clear for me as in the University hospital of Osaka where I spent my research internship. I’ve been to major hospitals in multiple countries and while the sadness of staff- and patient restaurants may vary, all my prior experiences were instantly blown out of the water when I first stepped out of the monorail at Handai Byoin Mae. The hospital housed a cornucopia of restaurants that my very limited imagination regarding this particular domain had never even considered a possibility. There was a cafeteria specifically for staff with a staggering range of everchanging dishes that put Dutch hospitals to shame, as was the cafeteria specifically for patients and visitors. There was a Subway, a Konbini with an expanded selection of lunchboxes, a rather fancy restaurant on the top floor overlooking the nearby Expo park and a hilariously fancy restaurant whose target clientele must have been the imperial family should they accidentally visit. There even was an old-fashioned donbori stand and a specialty place selling expensive Unagi.

And this was all just the main building. On campus there were at least two cafeterias catering more to students and several free-standing eateries offering anything from a ‘quick bite’ to absolute world class: across the street of the main hospital entrance there was an unsightly grey building hiding, amongst other things, a small restaurant named ‘Ototo’ that forever changed my understanding of sushi in general and tuna in particular. Such a Walhalla of food in- and around the hospital is nice and all, but key here is that almost all the students and physicians I knew really did make eager use of it. Even the head of my department, having no time for lunch in the bowels of the hospital with us plebians, always brought a beautifully crafted bento from home. I can hardly think of a bigger contrast to the peanut butter sandwich I would savagely stuff in my face in front of a ward computer on the work floor in the Netherlands.

This blog was contributed by Tom de Hoop on May 20, 2021.

Unsung heroes of Japanese culture - Vending machines

Japan has amassed significant soft power, which I would argue is only increasing. Even those that have no real interest in the country can’t get around the increasing omnipresence of anime and will have heard of Samurai and Geisha. Those flocking to the country will likely know other famous cultural icons like ‘the great wave’ by Hokusai, the infamous Shibuya crossing, cosplay culture and zen gardens on tranquil temple grounds. All these icons serve as paragons of the Japanese image as projected abroad. Yet there’s also obscure wonders that are not as well known, unsung heroes of Japanese culture that only reveal themselves when one has spent time in the country. These are the heroes that cemented my gradual falling in love with Japan through small but meaningful experiences travel guides generally pass over, and it is time they have their moment in the spotlight.

Vending machines

A particular aspect of the Japanese street scene that has always fascinated and amused me is the vending machines. And I say this coming from the Netherlands where tourists flock to our special snack-walls where you can get local, cardiovascular disease inducing treats without the burden of human interaction. Yet even they are humbled by your average Japanese backwater. Sure, I knew that they were somewhat of a thing. But nothing could have prepared me for their overwhelming omnipresence, populating what appears to be every inch of uncontested city space. To say ‘many’ does reality no justice: according to official numbers there is 1 vending machine for about every 23 people. Your average class in school has to settle for less teacher than vending machine per child -- utter madness! When using the figure of speech ‘on every other street corner’ to describe the presence of konbinis, in a literal sense, this would often be an understatement for vending machines.

In busy city districts you may find 10 almost identical machines in a row (which I can only imagine serves some derailed sociological experiment) and even in the middle of nowhere you will inevitably cross their path. On many hikes, far from civilization and in the middle of nature, I would be greeted by the familiar rectangular shape and soft hum. It’s almost comforting: wherever you may be, you won’t be able to escape these automatons enticing you with refreshments. Because that’s what most of the machines sell: drinks. Which is unsurprising if you’ve ever been in Japan during summer: with 40 degrees centigrade and 100% humidity, rehydrating every 200 meters becomes a fact of life if you do not wish to perish on the spot.

Perhaps this is one of the drivers of this cultural phenomenon. What’s likely important as well is the general lack of vandalism and theft in Japan. As is the fact that it is still very much a cash-based society, which made me liable to have at least half a kilogram of coins on me that I’d more than happily part with. And so many more partial and potential explanations exist. What’s clear however, is that vending machines apparently cater to a need that the already abundant and convenient konbini’s do not sufficiently meet. The fun doesn’t stop just with relief in the heat of summer either: many of the bottles on offer can be gotten warm as well, especially when it’s cold outside. And that’s just the drinks! There appears to be a vending machine for everything in Japan, with beer and hot meals being particularly pleasant surprises.

My favorite specimen so far was a rusty old machine selling batteries in the middle of a quiet, old-fashioned street on the outskirts of central Kanazawa where its redundancy was particularly striking. I can only picture how its visionary owner must have dreamt to perhaps one day forever change the life of a lost and desperate tourist with a dying first-generation navigation system. Japan is a country where presentation matters greatly, making service one of the greatest goods. And service these armies of machines definitely offer.

This blog was contributed by Tom de Hoop on May 7, 2021.

Unsung heroes of Japanese culture - Konbinis

Japan has amassed significant soft power, which I would argue is only increasing. Even those that have no real interest in the country can’t get around the increasing omnipresence of anime and will have heard of Samurai and Geisha. Those flocking to the country will likely know other famous cultural icons like ‘the great wave’ by Hokusai, the infamous Shibuya crossing, cosplay culture and zen gardens on tranquil temple grounds. All these icons serve as paragons of the Japanese image as projected abroad. Yet there’s also obscure wonders that are not as well known, unsung heroes of Japanese culture that only reveal themselves when one has spent time in the country. These are the heroes that cemented my gradual falling in love with Japan through small but meaningful experiences travel guides generally pass over, and it is time they have their moment in the spotlight.

Konbinis

Sometimes you stumble upon something you never missed in your life until you’ve experienced it, leaving one forever baffled that it does not exist universally. After Japan, for me this was the konbini, the most sacred of small pleasures. Konbini is, of course, a Japanization of the word convenient, for convenience store; a resounding understatement. After returning home from Osaka after half a year of research, no void made itself felt as clear and immediate as the loss of Lawson, Family Mart and 7-Eleven, desperate to be filled again. These unassuming, small shops are found in every hamlet with more than a handful of people, and are present on almost every other street corner in larger cities. Open 24/7, barely more expensive than a regular supermarket and stocked with all essentials (which can apparently include seasonal underwear and libido boosters), these are a phenomenon in Japan I could scarcely do without after getting a taste of the joy they brought me.

The Netherlands has late night shops as well of course, but these are a sad joke by comparison, grimy and peddling a very limited range of goods at twice the normal price. In particular, the food on offer blew me away: the meals sold by konbinis are found only in the most trendy of restaurants in Europe, often with a price-tag that has you gulping, and even then it’s still a gamble whether you’re getting a remotely similar quality. These worthy konbini meals are even heated at the counter if so desired, enabling one to enjoy the tastiest of ready-to-go dinners on a bench in the heart of the most fancy districts of Tokyo or a spectacular lunch on the top of a mountain overlooking Kobe. All of this for a mere 5 euros or less. Or not as dramatic, at 02:00 in the morning on the couch of your pintsized apartment in your pajamas, just because you can.

Of course there’s also simpler snacks, soothing cool tea or heartwarming yet disgusting coffee. They allowed me to print, pay bills and send letters. They graciously saved me if I had a toilet emergency or if I was starved for cash, with ATMs being surprisingly hard to come by outside of konbinis. Even when I’d find myself without trifles such as soap or a toothbrush right as I went to bed, the konbini would have me covered. Nothing puts the mind at ease like the knowledge that wherever you may find yourself in Japan, there will almost always be a konbini little more than stone’s throw away. And since alcohol is rather expensive in Japanese bars, restaurants or clubs, the konbini also had my back when I wanted to partake of Japan’s less refined culture. No night on the town was complete without first hitting the Lawson across our dorm and brewing an appalling concoction of Jim Bean and dirt cheap apple juice, courtesy of my housemate, on our way to Umeda or Namba.

This blog was contributed by Tom de Hoop on April 30, 2021.