Regional Japanese cuisine hit me like a freight train last month when I was supposed to be adulting—paying bills, whatever—but instead I’m googling “how to make dashi without bonito flakes” at 1 a.m. because the Asian market closed early. Again. I’m in Seattle, it’s pouring, my cat’s judging me from the counter, and I’ve got a pot of miso soup that smells like the ocean decided to move in. This is my life now.
I blame that one trip to Tokyo in 2019. I was 27, broke, and thought “street food = cheap.” Wrong. I spent $40 on takoyaki and a melon soda and cried happy tears while a salaryman laughed at me struggling with chopsticks. Now I’m back in the U.S., unemployed imagination, trying to recreate that high with grocery store octopus. Spoiler: it’s not the same.
Tokyo Street Eats: My Love Language Is Grease
Tokyo street eats are the reason I own three different kinds of mayo. Kewpie, obviously, but also the knockoff stuff when I’m lazy. I tried making okonomiyaki last week and set off the smoke alarm so bad the neighbor texted “u good?” No, Karen, I’m not good—I’m flipping a cabbage pancake the size of my head and it’s winning.
Here’s what I’ve learned the hard way:
- Takoyaki: Buy the pan. Don’t try to “wing it” in a muffin tin. You will cry.
- Yakisoba: Add Worcestershire sauce. Trust me. Or don’t. I’m not your mom.
- Taiyaki: Red bean is superior. Fight me in the comments.
I found this hole-in-the-wall in the International District that does yakitori on weekends. The guy running it speaks zero English but nods like he gets my soul when I order extra skin. That’s regional Japanese cuisine, baby—grease and mutual understanding.
Kyoto Classics: I Pretend to Be Classy for 20 Minutes
Kyoto classics are the part where I light a candle and pretend I’m not eating over the sink. Kaiseki? More like “kai-suck” when I try it. I spent $60 on ingredients for a three-course meal and forgot to season the tofu. It tasted like wet cardboard with commitment issues.
But listen—yudofu (hot tofu in broth) is stupid easy and stupid good. I use grocery store silken tofu, a splash of soy, and whatever green thing is wilting in my fridge. Last time it was kale. Don’t @ me. The texture? Like biting into a cloud that ghosts you later.
Mistakes I’ve made:
- Thinking “seasonal” means whatever Trader Joe’s has.
- Serving sake in a coffee mug. (It’s fine. We’re all coping.)
- Crying over $12 mushrooms. They were enoki. I regret nothing.
Fusion Is Just Chaos with Chopsticks
Here’s where regional Japanese cuisine gets weird in my kitchen. I made “sushi tacos” with leftover carnitas and furikake. My roommate walked in, stared, and said, “Are you okay?” No, Derek, I am thriving.
Other crimes:
- Ramen carbonara (don’t judge till you try it).
- Matcha overnight oats that taste like lawn clippings.
- Onigiri stuffed with spam and sriracha because Hawaii called and said it’s cool.
I found this site (https://www.justonecookbook.com/) that saved my life more than once. Also this weird X thread where someone deep-fried mochi. I haven’t tried it yet. (Update: I did. 10/10 chaos.)
Anyway, I’m Still Hungry
Regional Japanese cuisine turned me into a snob who cries over rice texture but also eats cup noodles for breakfast. I’m a walking contradiction in sweaty pajamas. If you’re reading this—go make something. Burn it. Order takeout. Text your ex about bonito flakes. Whatever.
Drop your worst kitchen disaster below. I need to feel less alone. Or hit up Uwajimaya if you’re local. Tell them the weird American sent you.
