My Dinner - Yum!

My Lunch

Japanese lunch boxes by regular folks.

I have just compiled an album of my lunch box production just because I needed to kill time until they air the world cup soccer.

Ken has improved tremendously with his packing skills over just a few months. I am jealous.

Baking With Alex

"Mommy, is dinner ready yet?"

For someone who rushes home to release the babysitter of her duties and cooks dinner at the same time so we can start eating at 6:30 and Alex can fall asleep by 7:30, I don't need a reminder that I am falling behind schedule.

"Mommy, I am stahr-ving"

"mommmmmmmmm! foooooooooood!"

It's annoying as hell. I am doing my best.

"ew, you gave me tomato sauce. I hate tomato sauce. I'm not eating this"
That does it.

No dinner for you. Ever. 

Okay, that is not realistic.

I am explaining over and over that making meals take time.

"So then let's go to McDonalds"

No you need to eat real food.

"Then lets get delivery"

There is only so much sushi we can eat and I am not ordering Dominos.

It's not like this is NYC where you can order in any food you can imagine.

You can make your own damn dinner if you are so demanding.

And I had an epiphany.

That is it, have Alex cook something so he knows how difficult it is.

Breakfast is out of the question.

School bus picks Alex up at 7:20am which is a 10 to 15 minutes walk away from where we live. 

We only wake up at 6 so we don't have the luxury of enjoying Alex's sunny side up.

If Alex ruins dinner, that will ruin MY day, since dinner is the only time I get to eat something that resembles real food.

So have him make snack. If he burns it, it will still go in his backpack as his bus snack. He should be responsible for his own creation.

So we go through cookie recipes and he settles for "irresistible chocolate chip cookies".

We go buy the ingredients.

"Do I have to? Why don't you just go buy and I will stay home playing Legos"

Shopping is part of the cooking experience. No shopping, no bus snack.

He obliges.

We have trouble finding 12oz of chocolate chips. 

The modest Japanese do not dump in 12oz of chocolate chip for just 40 cookies.

Each bag of Chocolate chips is 1.7oz, or 50grams.

I need to get 7bags of these things?

They only had 4, so I buy all. We decide to settle for m&ms for the rest.

Ken made pasta for lunch so we used the still hot pasta pot and put a bowl over it to soften butter.

We dump in dark brown sugar to it, then scrape out vanilla beans from it's pod and dump it in too.

"ew, this is vanilla? it looks like dirt. why isn't it white?"

Why should it be white? This is the real deal. We use real ingredients for our real food.

"But vanilla ice cream is white"

Good, I am teaching him something. Vanilla is NOT white, the cream is!

So Alex starts mixing the sugar-butter mixture. 

I stress that the slower he works on his food, the yummier it gets.

He is careful not to spill anything and mixes really slowly and carefully.

I start mixing the flour, salt and baking soda and then allow Alex to break an egg to put into the sugar mixture.

He cracks, opens and drops half the shell.

I think Salmonella but then realize that we will be baking it anyway. Lets just cross our fingers.

I scoop out the shell and let him continue.

"Still mix slowly. Slow is king"

Amazingly, he is concentrating on what he is doing. He enjoys how the yolk breaks up and disappears.

We mix in the flour mix to the sugar mix and he keeps on whisking.

The mixture gets thicker but he is not backing out.

It's time for the chocolate to go in.

Alex is all starry-eyed with the prospect of a creation, or so I thought.

"Am I doing good?"

Yes, you are very careful, and have not rushed things. The dough looks awesome.

"Good, what is my prize"

Prize? What prize? We are baking here. It's not a contest. You will get to eat the cookie, that is the prize.

"Oh, I thought I'd get Optimus Prime or something"

Hope dashed, he is less enthusiastic about the last step.

We spoon the dough onto the baking sheet and start baking.

It only takes 12 minutes, and we can see the dough softening, melting down flat and then slightly rising.

Alex is fixated on the oven window, I am worried about the lifespan of the light bulb in the oven.

The timer goes off, it's ready.

"Mommy, this doesn't look like the picture on the recipe"

No, it doesn't. Sometimes these things turn out differently with a slight difference in ingredients or how you bake it.

"but I wanted the one on the picture"

He walks away, going back to his Lego.

Once the cookies are cooled down, I call him for a taste test.

Alex takes a bite.

"mommy, this isn't good, it's irresistible!!"

He realizes that the whole process took an hour.

"Yep, making cookies take time. Just like making dinner takes time"

"Yeah mommy, I know now. Now, I really know."

mission accomplished!!!

Oatmeal - the search

So we thought nothing of missing out on food from NY.

I have heard that food in Japan was awesome and what was Amazon for anyway?

Alex's love for McCaan's Irish Oatmeal saw no end.

He realized he started missing the stuff a few days into our live in Tokyo.

"Alex, I will get your oatmeal tomorrow" went on for weeks.

Alex was starting to suspect I was a liar.

So off I went to the supermarket to get one.

We scouted the cereal isle and found nothing.

Tokyo seemed to be in the midst of a granola fad and there were many nutty granolas.

As Alex is allergic to nuts, we had to avoid those.

We went to another supermarket.

Same thing.

We finally saw the word "oatmeal" at the third supermarket we went to.

Alas it was the horrid instant type.

One look at just the picture must have brought back memories in the Bahamas. He was gone in a flash.

Does it look that different? I would never know.

So I turn to our trusted Amazon.

And I find our trusted Steel Cut Irish Oatmeal.

I buy, and I get stuck.

I failed to see the warning "This item can only be shipped to the 48 contiguous states"

Amazon dot com has a Japanese version that is Amazon dot co dot jp.

I go there and type in "oatmeal".

I see no steel cut.

I start to panic.

How are other people getting hold of steel cuts?

I e-mail some of Alex's classmate's moms.

The are mostly Japanese married to foreigners and have no idea what I am talking about.

The only American mom tells me I can find Quaker Oats at a supermarket in Hiroo.

I go ask on a message board for expat moms in Japan.

I get ignored.

The dire reality is setting in. We cannot eat steel cut oatmeal here?

I google frantically and find absolutely nothing. This cannot be happening. The internet has brought people and products closer than ever. You are supposed to be able to buy anything anywhere.

 I have to inform Alex of the unavoidable truth.

As long as we live here, he will not be able to eat steel cut Irish oatmeal.

Alex is crushed.

He goes to his room to cry quietly, recalling the texture, taste and aroma that has so eluded him.

Nearly a year into our life in Tokyo, I wander past a chi-chi supermarket in a chi-chi area. There I find the golden can. The real deal. I take as many as I could carry and then realize that all I have to do is come back here when I run out. So I buy 1 can and take it home.

Alex and Irish oatmeal are united. He eats it every day that the can is empty within a month.

I go out for another one, but of course, it's sold out. The store does not intent get anymore since procedures for grain import in Japan is a royal pain and the trade company just stopped doing it.

Alex does not understand why I cannot produce another can.

I am not trying hard enough, he claims. I should never give up. Persistence is the key. Keep trying.

Ugh, the things you tell your kids that come back to haunt you.

I am still trying.

Oatmeal - the introduction

We have brought up Alex on oatmeal.
Well, actually our babysitter, Joan, did. One day after Alex started solids, she recommended that oatmeal will be perfect for him.

I have had bad experience with oatmeal. I could not imagine dealing with that mushy stuff.
But still, life was all about making Alex happy so I went out and sought the best looking oatmeal possible. I didn't understand the taste, so I went for the looks.

I didn't like boxes. Imagine, the grain touching the inside of a box that you have no idea how it was made and where it was stored. Okay, maybe the grains are contained in a plastic bag that went in the box but still, I had phobia about food in boxes after I found something bad, really bad, in a box full of food when I was 18.

So in the isles of Citarella, there was this cool looking can that screamed "I'm traditional, I'm the real deal, I'm good". I liked the look of it, so it came home with me.

My mother abhorred cereal and anything related to that. I had to sneak in a box of chocolate Rice Krispies in the cart in the hopes that it will pass through the cashier (ah, those innocent times when boxed food was gold). I have had shouting matches at supermarkets and dramatic "you don't love me"s over sugary breakfast carbs. She considered instant oatmeal to be in the same category. "Bad food". To prove that, she made a tasteless one for me. Needless to say, I hated it. And now, I have turned into my mother.

So Joan, whom I am sure raised an eyebrow at the lack of normal household (boxed) food, must have been happy to see the shining can.
She made it the day she saw it and Alex was, as she had predicted, delighted. The can was big so it lasted quite a while, but I could tell Joan was feeding Alex this every day.

We taught Alex sign language for "more", when he couldn't talk. It's clicking all your fingertips together, and Joan would tell me he would do that obsessively when he sees just the can.

So we travel to the Bahamas and they serve all you can eat breakfasts at the hotel. I find Quaker Oats instant oatmeal with banana or something and think this will do for our trip. At least it is in a plastic container and not in a box.
I add warm milk and a few minutes later, it seemed to be done.
I put it in front of Alex.
He looks at it warily.
"what's this?" he asks.
"oatmeal" I answer.
He looks puzzled but takes a sip.
"no" he protests.
"yes" I reply.
"NO" he shouts.
"yes" I say irritated.
"NOOOO!!" he screams and bangs his fist on the table.
Quaker Oats spill.

"Alex, this is oatmeal. Remember that thing Joan feeds you every day? The one you sign 'more'?"
"no, no, no! This not oatmeal!!"

What in the world was Joan feeding him? Or did I do something wrong by choosing the banana taste? Or did I just make it the wrong way?

I taste what is left in the plastic bowl. It brings back horrible memories with artificial banana added on. Okay, so it was the banana.

I go back to find one without artificial taste. I make it again.
I force a distraught Alex to try it again since the banana is gone now.
He puts a spoonful in his mouth and proceeds to spit it out.
"NOT OATMEAL"

What am I doing wrong here?
Ken persuades me to give up on the oatmeal battle, and Alex goes on happily eating real banana.

On the way out of the restaurant, he is traumatized by the sight of Quaker Oats instant.
"ahhhhh! not oatmeal!"
He is close to tears.

We go back to New York and check out our oatmeal.
The can is almost empty and I am sure Joan is making it, not throwing it away. So I decide to make it and feed it to Alex, just to see if it has to be made by Joan.

It looks different than the Quaker Oats one.
Can't I just dump warm milk on it and wait 30 seconds?
I look at the instruction.
"Simmer uncovered for 30 minutes"
WHAT?
Isn't this oatmeal?
Isn't oatmeal suppose to be instant?
And this 30 minutes thing is AFTER I have to continuously stir until it's thick.
I spend nearly an hour tackling this.

I serve it to Alex, forgetting to sweeten it.

He gobbles it up like there is no tomorrow.
"mmmmmmmm. oatmeal."
He is a happy camper.

I look at the can again.
It says "steel cut" "Irish Oatmeal" "Uniformity of Granulation"
I look it up online.
Apparently they are completely different from the instant stuff.
I eat a spoonful.
It's nutty with a soft yet distinct solid feel.
Nothing like my mother served.
I am floored.
At the same time I am surprised at how Alex was able to tell the difference at 1.5 yo.
From then on, there was no looking back.
It was McCaan's Irish Oatmeal all the way.

Until we moved to Japan where grain import is a PITA.

Plastic Wraps that are Better than Sex

I have issues with plastic wraps.

They are an annoying piece of work yet essential to my life.

I have dealt with this thing for my entire life, yet have not come to peace with it.

Why can't I, for once, get a clear, sharp cut in the size I want?

Why is it so difficult for Reynolds to make a contraption that will allow the plastic wrap to slide out and slice off without effort, without the roll coming out of the box?

I cannot count the times my fish or chicken or pork or beef has been the victim of kitchen rage due to plastic wraps.

Working in a Tokyo kitchen a third of the size of that in New York (not that NYC ones are large!) forces me into combat mode.

I see the unopened box of plastic wrap that Ken has bought right next to Alex's leftovers that are going in his lunch box the next day. I can feel the rage coming even before I touch anything.

I pick up the plastic wrap box that is half the length of any American one I have seen.

I open the box, take the tape off and slice.

 

And it slices. like. butter.

Perfect shape, perfect size, perfect cut, perfectly fast.

I am amazed.

I cut more than I need to.

I am covered in plastic wrap.

I am feeling something I haven't felt for decades.
I am in heaven.
Sooooooooo satisfied.

I go out to the supermarket to buy more.

They come in short, medium and long sizes.

I GET TO CHOOSE THE SIZE!

I buy all.

This is way better than sex.

Japanese Packed lunch

Happy New Year everyone.

Alex started school last week and I was so glad because he was driving me bonkers by asking me when he could go back to school, 20 times a day (nearly every 30 minutes), for 3 weeks.

It has been 3 months since I have officially started packing lunch for Alex.
It was great at first.
Lots of frozen bite size lunch food in Tokyo in the freezer section; all you have to do is nuke 'em and pack 'em. They even have frozen blanched spinach nicely tucked in a 1 x 1 plastic nukable container.

All you have to do is take the package out of the freezer, cut one container off (about 8 containers connected loosely in 1 package), add some salt or soy sauce and throw it in the microwave.

They sell cute lunch boxes too (Alex has "Thomas" and "Cars", of course) and all I have to do is figure out how to configure these various containers with various prepared food in them in the box so they fit, and throw in a rice ball or two (easier to make than sandwiches, actually).
Alex was just so excited getting food in a box that he was content with it for 2 months.

Then he started comparing his lunch to his classmates'.
He noticed that others were far more elaborate than his:

• He noticed that sausages weren't merely boiled, they were somehow morphed into octopuses or flowers.
• Rice balls weren't just rice flavored with a sprinkle of salt carelessly squashed together in the box. They were Elmos, cookie monsters, soccer balls and bunnies.
• There were smiling eggs and Pokemon cheese.
• Koala meatballs and star sandwiches.

Packing lunch is a competitive sports here.

By the second year of packing, most moms (and I stress moms here, since in this society, these things HAVE to be made by moms, no one else) make it into an art form and the respective children open their lunch boxes proudly in the hopes of attaining the highly coveted "best lunch box owner" status.

You see the idea is, the better the lunch box content, the more that child is cherished and loved by his/her mom.
Under this guideline, Alex was literally an orphan.

And so, to keep within the spirit of his classmates and their ever so creative moms, Alex started to demand "spider webs", "froggies", "backyardigans" on his lunch and I started to oblige.

I don't want him to grow up and think 20 years later that he has some obscure issues because I didn't pack him good looking lunch.

I have spent well over $30 investing in silly lunch making gadgets like Nori punchers (punches a face into a nori), animal rice shapers (shapes the riceballs into elephants, fish and bears), swordfish toothpick (a tiny blue plastic swordfish in which it's "sword" part acts as a toothpick - I line up edamame on this; alex thinks it's hilarious), Ariel partitions (wax paper partitions with Ariel printed on it - he's in love with her right now), Winnie the Pooh Nori (Nori pre-cut into Pooh) etc and these stuff are taking up an entire cupboard.

Think I'm losing my mind?
This is what I am up against.

and this

and this

and these are just the tip of the iceberg.

I thought I didn't have to deal with this crap if I had Alex in an American school.
Apparently, blond kids at his school get a pass even if their lunch is just a jelly sandwich and a banana (low status) that comes directly out of a bag (even lower status).

However, there are different expectations for kids with Asian moms and an American style laissez-faire packed lunch may ostracize the child from classroom society.

"Mommy, I was the only one who didn't have a face for lunch (meaning a face somehow designed on a rice ball or sandwich or boiled egg or whatever). Everybody was talking about their faces and playing with them!! I didn't have a face....nobody played with me"

I am having such a hard time taking this seriously.

One of our neighbors, who has 3 school aged kids besides her preschooler told me she wakes up at 5am every weekday to pack lunch. She also packs snacks, makes breakfast, checks the kids' belongings and drives the kids to 2 different schools before having to comeback home.
However if she didn't have to pack lunch, she could get away with waking up at 6:30.
She's been doing this for 12 years. She has an MBA from an Ivy League. You'd think she'd have all the logistics figure out by now to maximize efficiency and shorten labor time. Nope, even she - who did operational management - cannot escape the mundane labor intensive work of packing a Japanese lunch.

I can't live like this!

Tokyo Style Bagels

One of the things I miss is bagel. In Manhattan, I used to live near Bagelworks, a store written up in the NY times a few years back for having one of the most authentic recipe. On top of that, we ate Eli’s bagel at Vinegar Factory at least once a week when Alex attended swim classes near there. It’s been 3 weeks since my last bagel. I was getting withdrawal symptoms.

So off we go in search of bagels and in no time we stumble across a place called “Bagel & Bagel”. It had a subtitle – “New York Style Bagels” Sounds promising. Bagels slightly smaller than ones at Eli’s or Bagelworks lined up on a small table near the entrance of the store. Each bagel was wrapped in a plastic bag, and all were sitting nicely in baskets, sorted according to flavors. Bagels in New York were always heaped up behind a glass case with the ones on the bottom squashed. I didn’t believe in giving bagels the royal treatment, but I digress. This is Japan after all, a country that over-packages everything – even green beans.

I picked a bagel. It was lighter than I imagined. Suspicion arose. I put it back and eye the pumpernickel bagel. I am impressed that they decided to do pumpernickel. The Japanese have an aversion to bread with dark colors. They always strive to make them as white as possible. I pick it up. I smell something. Could it be…… chocolate? I look at the label. It says “cocoa and chocolate bagel”. I feel as though I have been violated. “Come on, don’t be such a snob. Try it, you might like it” encourages Ken. I drop the black bagel back in the basket and go for the safest bet, Everything. I asked to have it toasted with butter. I was told it’s $1.50 extra and that it comes with honey. I repeat my request for butter only. The girl at the counter repeats what she already said. I suddenly remembered the day when there was a riot at Vinegar Factory.

My friends and I buy bagels at Vinegar Factory after our kids’ swim class every week. Rain or shine, we are always hungry (class starts at 9am) so we get coffee, bagels, juice for the kids and just lounge there or at the playground and wolf down our purchases. One day one of us asked the bagel to be toasted as usual and was charged $3 extra for it. Suddenly there was a shouting match between us and the cashier. How can it cost $3 just to have something toasted? We’ve been going there for the past few months and never been asked for such a ridiculous charge. Ken was demanding a menu stating that toasting was $3, Carole was shouting for the manager, Steve was accusing them of ripping people off. I so wanted to join in this fun but someone had to sit with the kids. The ruckus went on for 20 minutes. They store held their stance saying that the price was the same as the restaurant upstairs which still didn’t makes sense since downstairs was less than a coffee shop. We eventually got the toast service for free, only paying for the bagels, but were warned that next time they will charge us.

Getting a proper bagel has become a competitive sport. I gave up on butter with or without honey and just bit into the toast with maximum force because, of course, it’s supposed to be a New York Bagel. My teeth clanked real bad. I look at this thing that calls itself a bagel and right there where I have bitten I see the unimaginable. An air pocket. “Bagel’s air pocket” is an oxymoron. It won’t be a bagel if it had air pockets. But there it is. The bagel is so soft it only takes 3 seconds to chew and swallow. A bagel is supposed to be a zero calorie food. You burn so much energy just chewing the dang thing that the calorie of the bagel is completely used up.

Ken brings me a leaflet explaining this store’s offerings. They go in details the ingredients they use. Water from Mt. Hood National Forest, wheat from Montana. And they boast that the texture of their bagels is moist and soft. Moist and soft? Am I missing something here? How can a bagel be moist and soft when you use malt and boil the dough?

According to New York Times, the traditional bagel, born of Eastern European shtetls, was made of yeast, malt, flour, water and salt. It was rolled by hand, first boiled and then baked. I am pretty certain that this store doesn’t follow this formula. Defeated, I go home and google New York bagel. I get Wikipedia that leads me to H&H. They ship worldwide. I am saved.