Which brings us to Sunday, when, in an attempt to adapt to a different world, I roasted half a head of cabbage, a couple of carrots and leeks. These are old friends in a Japanese market, much loved in sake-soaked stews and mirin-dressed salads. But they didn't quite live up to my dreams of a toothsome, caramelized vegetable. They proved too mushy and squeamish even topped with a lovely pouched egg. Gracefully, they folded into some fried rice laced with sesame oil and smoky mushrooms. It all ended well enough.
But my teeth still yearned for the nutty chew of a few sprouts, which I had yet to see in a year of living here.
And then, yesterday. There they sat at my corner market in Akasaka, wrapped in cellophane, lined perfectly four by five. A little abacus of greenery, a quilted square of winter. My foraging had happened after dinner time, so I had to wait another night.
Tonight I came home to a cold, dark house and began. A little olive oil, salt, pepper and a hot, hot oven were called upon. Twenty minutes of roasting, a few shakes of the pan, a pot of boiling water with fusilli. Shaved pecorino, a little chicken broth, a dab of butter. Drain the pasta, dump into a bowl of cheese, broth, butter and roasted sprouts. Pour a glass of white wine and light a candle. And remember -- simple roasted vegetables with butter and wine turn a cold house at the end of a long day into a steamy meal in a warm, warm home.
P.S. And they make a perfect after dinner snack with that second glass of wine.
