Oden Elevated to Great Height

The night before, we were in an exclusive bar in Gion drinking chestnut socchu.  Our hostess, a young woman with a degree in fine arts, kept us company with witty conversations.  Before we left, we asked her what would be a good place for lunch.  Seeing that she had trouble answering us (for there were many good restaurants in Kyoto), we asked her “where would you eat if it is going to be your last meal?”  Without hesitation, she said she would eat at a certain oden restaurant, and she added, “our mama-san will make a reservation at 12:30 tomorrow for you”.  I was surprised and muttered silently to myself – of all things, the cheap street food of simmering fried tofu, fish cake and daikon that salary men ate when they gathered to drink in the evening after work?

We arrived at the restaurant at 12:30 sharp.  There was a queue outside the noodle place next door, but the only sign that the oden shop was in business was the noren (welcome curtain) above its door.  Ototo popped his head in and conversed with a large man in a white cook’s uniform and came back out.  “Mama-san made a reservation for two and there is no room for the three of us”, he said.  My jaw dropped.  Wow, the place was full!  “But they will have seats for us in half an hour”, he quickly added.

The tiny restaurant had only eight seats at its “inverted L-shaped” counter.  We sat at the shorter side, overlooking the chef, his large tanks of oden, and two couples at the other side of the counter.  The woman of the older couple was wearing a kimono.  She must be an affluent lady as very few Japanese women had money and taste for kimono these days.

We followed Ototo’s suggestion to drink sake instead of socchu.  The server brought each of us an appetizer of raw fish tataki.  Then the chef, a small man with almost silver hair and fierce eyes, gave us his attention.  We could select five oden items at lunch.  Our first was an inch-thick disc of daikon topped with a ladle of beef braised in miso.  Hot mustard was put on the edge of each plate before their delivery.  As I could not eat daikon, I had a Kyoto ebi-imo instead.  My ebi-imo was six inch long, large and round at one end and skinny at the other, curving like a deep fried shrimp.  It was tender and tasty.  Even better was the beef, falling apart as I picked it up with my chopsticks.  Usually beef cooked this long tended to be tough, but not in this case.  The sweetness of miso was tempered and was in harmony with everything on the plate.

The next item was a cabbage roll larger than my fist, stuffed with chicken.  That I did not like much.  I was getting full but the chef was waiting for my next selection.  He picked out a piece of fish cake, a four inch square with thin edges and a bulged center, which he cut into four squares for me.  The surprisingly firm and bouncy texture testified to its excellent quality.  The presence of a couple of fine fish bones chopped so short that they were no bother   Earlier, I saw the woman in kimono, risking a spill, picked up her plate to drink the broth and sighed with pleasure.  I did the same thing and the chef gave me an approved look.

After a skewer of kinko nuts and a knot of konbu, I signaled no more food; I was too full to eat any more.  I have not known that oden could be so satisfying but now I know.