Crawling back to write about noodles in red light districts, the dangers of substituting with mass market doubanjiang, and breakfast in Takenotsuka
▣ The best Chinese restaurants in Japan exist within red light districts. I am talking about those that cater mainly to expatriate Chinese workers in Tokyo. This is true across Tokyo, as well as in smaller centers. Although I can’t confirm this, I suspect it is down to the number of Chinese women working in those quarters, whether in delivery health operations, snack bars, or massage shops. This is part of the reason Ikebukuro has so many great restaurants. ▭ At least in big cities, areas frequented by students are another reliable destination. ▭ Coming in third could be those places patronized by Chinese tourists. ▭ There is some overlapping of categories. That is true in Ueno, which borders the red light district in Yushima, has a number of language schools nearby, and receives loads of tourists coming in from Narita, or on their way to Asakusa. ▭ That is where I picked up this sack of liangpi’r, with separate baggies for wheaten noodles, mianjin, bean sprouts, julienned cucumber, and hot and sour sauce. Along the same walk, I could find a decent bowl of yangrou paomo. There are several hot pot restaurants, as well. A franchise selling roasted marinated duck parts was recently opened on the same street by a team of former language students. ▣
▣ I went for lunch a few months ago with an American-Chinese woman that was contemplating a move to Tokyo. She wanted to know if she could live in China in Japan. I think I understand what she wants. I would put it this way: she would like to conduct her life mostly in Chinese, but to take advantage of the frictionless environment and cheap real estate of Japan. That sounds crass, but I can sympathize. I would like to do the same. ▭ After I took her to a few Chinese bookstores, we went to the Tokyo outpost of a shop selling Lanzhou lamian. Since it’s in Jinbocho, it’s popular with students. The crowd was young. ▭ The noodles were good. I could sense she was disappointed, though. Perhaps this was because it was not particularly refined cuisine, or, more likely, because she was from ■■■■■■■■, where, especially for someone of her generation, wheaten noodles and lamb might be considered at best exotic, at worst barbaric. There was, I realized, no shop selling the cuisine from her native ■■■■■■■■. I never checked back with her, but it seems she decided to remain in the United States. ▣
▣ I went for dinner a few months ago with a young man from Changsha. He suggested a Hunan restaurant in Ueno. He lamented that, although the ingredients were fresh and the preparation competent, there was always something missing at Chinese restaurants in Japan. He said that the cooks were too often students looking for side jobs, or laborers without much history in the kitchen. The best chefs, he said, went to work at Chinese restaurants in hotels. It was too expensive, he thought, to source more obscure local products, so a local brand’s version of doubanjiang stood in for the real thing from Pixian. But beyond that, the goal of the restaurant was to turn out something that resembled such-and-such a dish but that would not turn off the majority of customers. That did not mean appealing to Japanese customers, but a wide range of Chinese expatriates, who might not be able to deal with an attempt at authenticity, or might not welcome experimentation. I think he is right. ▣
▣ I ate breakfast in Takenotsuka this weekend. ▭ The Chinese have moved there in large numbers. Apartments are cheap. There are jobs available. Excepting some places in the far west of the city, it’s among the greenest, least congested places you can find within the borders of Tokyo. I could not help but think of the American President’s characterization of Japan as xenophobic. There is some truth to that. I suppose he has never been to Takenotsuka, though. ▭ I ordered too much. I had a bowl of yangza tang. A■■■■ ate soy milk and youtiao, then a bowl of liangpi’r. I followed an order of jiaozi with one of baozi. ▭ I ate well. It made me nostalgic for places I love. But I must admit that it was not very good. It was too conservative. I mean that everything was as it should be, and that there were no surprises. The food was detached from its context—all with a North China slant, but otherwise placeless. Neither the liangpi’r, nor the baozi, nor anything else betrayed the native place of the owners. There was nothing to suggest a particular mood or taste. These were the most standard versions of each item. ▭ I am asking for too much. ▣
▣ This will not always be the case. ▭ We will have our Crystal Mall. ▭ Maybe it is already under construction in Ikebukuro. ▣