I don't mind cleaning my own squid. Really, I don't. Like other squeamish tasks in the kitchen, preparing a whole squid requires a little nerve and an open sink. With quick hands and a constant stream of water, the unwanted washes away soon enough and you're left with squeaky clean dinner.
But if someone goes to the trouble to clean a squid for me, who am I to complain? That's what I found at my local grocer tonight, a simple package of sliced squid, at less than $3 to boot. I had stopped to up a few necessities -- milk, bananas, beer -- but eggplant and tofu and ginger sneaked into the basket as well. By the time I got to the squid, a concoction of spicy, sesamey, gingery eggplant was coming to light.
Let me just say here that I love shopping for food. Some people think of it as a chore, akin to sweeping the floor or mowing the lawn or cleaning squid. I can't imagine feeling that way. I love the order, the choices, the textures and smells. I love sneaking into food markets while on vacation, whether in Beijing or Biloxi, to see what people eat each day. The pieces of fruits look like stacked toys, waiting to play. Baked baguettes make a crisp thud as they hit the bottom of paper bags. Even the meat section looks pretty, a rainbow of creams and pinks and rose. It helps if you squint.
Shopping in Japan, for me, limits my senses a bit. I don't speak or read Japanese, so I have a slight bubble around me as I shop. I can still rely on sight and feel, but my ability to ask about the freshness or even the cost of certain foods is a lost cause. I can manage a simple, "Is this mirin?" or "Is this kaki furai?" That's where the conversation ends.
But tonight, at the checkout, I caught the eye of a woman who was standing by the cashier. I don't know what she was doing, perhaps waiting to see if something special was in stock. She seemed content to watch me pay for my vegetables and bread, and her eyes followed me as I moved to the front counter to bag my goods. I smiled and she came over. She picked up a flier that lay by the door and offered a little advice. If I had waited until tomorrow, the bread and milk would be cheaper. I should pay better attention, she suggested, and save a few yen. I managed to tell her I was American but that I lived around the corner. I also managed to ask if the mentaiko was on sale; she laughed and shook her head.
It was the most interaction I've had at the store after nearly a year, and it reminded me of the other thing I love about shopping for food -- hearing what other people are going to do with their tomatoes or eggs or free-range chicken when they get home. Perhaps that why I've become so addicted to food blogs.
My grocery bags and I headed home for sesame -studded eggplant, with hot peppers and tofu and already-cleaned squid. I roasted the eggplant and peppers, then fried them with soy sauce, sesame oil, fresh ginger and some jarred plum sauce. I added some bean sprouts, a little water, and then at the last minute, the tofu and squid. In another minute, it was done. The dish ended ok, not great, I'm afraid. I realized later why. I was so mesmerized by the squid, I forgot to add garlic.
But if someone goes to the trouble to clean a squid for me, who am I to complain? That's what I found at my local grocer tonight, a simple package of sliced squid, at less than $3 to boot. I had stopped to up a few necessities -- milk, bananas, beer -- but eggplant and tofu and ginger sneaked into the basket as well. By the time I got to the squid, a concoction of spicy, sesamey, gingery eggplant was coming to light.
Let me just say here that I love shopping for food. Some people think of it as a chore, akin to sweeping the floor or mowing the lawn or cleaning squid. I can't imagine feeling that way. I love the order, the choices, the textures and smells. I love sneaking into food markets while on vacation, whether in Beijing or Biloxi, to see what people eat each day. The pieces of fruits look like stacked toys, waiting to play. Baked baguettes make a crisp thud as they hit the bottom of paper bags. Even the meat section looks pretty, a rainbow of creams and pinks and rose. It helps if you squint.
Shopping in Japan, for me, limits my senses a bit. I don't speak or read Japanese, so I have a slight bubble around me as I shop. I can still rely on sight and feel, but my ability to ask about the freshness or even the cost of certain foods is a lost cause. I can manage a simple, "Is this mirin?" or "Is this kaki furai?" That's where the conversation ends.
But tonight, at the checkout, I caught the eye of a woman who was standing by the cashier. I don't know what she was doing, perhaps waiting to see if something special was in stock. She seemed content to watch me pay for my vegetables and bread, and her eyes followed me as I moved to the front counter to bag my goods. I smiled and she came over. She picked up a flier that lay by the door and offered a little advice. If I had waited until tomorrow, the bread and milk would be cheaper. I should pay better attention, she suggested, and save a few yen. I managed to tell her I was American but that I lived around the corner. I also managed to ask if the mentaiko was on sale; she laughed and shook her head.
It was the most interaction I've had at the store after nearly a year, and it reminded me of the other thing I love about shopping for food -- hearing what other people are going to do with their tomatoes or eggs or free-range chicken when they get home. Perhaps that why I've become so addicted to food blogs.
My grocery bags and I headed home for sesame -studded eggplant, with hot peppers and tofu and already-cleaned squid. I roasted the eggplant and peppers, then fried them with soy sauce, sesame oil, fresh ginger and some jarred plum sauce. I added some bean sprouts, a little water, and then at the last minute, the tofu and squid. In another minute, it was done. The dish ended ok, not great, I'm afraid. I realized later why. I was so mesmerized by the squid, I forgot to add garlic.
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