(I just found this in drafts and figured I should publish it. I was waiting to figure out the recipe to make clams with sake, but never did. I was in Japan in the Spring of 2024.) I was hungry. It seemed so unfair. I was in Japan and I love Japanese food! A challenge I frequently face when traveling, I had yet to figure out restaurant hours. Breakfast was ad hoc and late. Then I missed lunch time. To complicate matters, I was functionally illiterate. I know a few Japanese characters and know that a restaurant is open when it has noren (simple curtains) hanging outside. But I didn’t want another bowl of ramen which became my go-to meal because it was one of the few menu items I could read.

I was frustrated by my illiteracy and my lack of courage. “Just go in, Terri,” I would tell myself. And then I would walk past another restaurant.

The door to one restaurant was open, blue noren moving slightly in the breeze. The sound of the tv floated outside. It was empty except for the proprietors. The man was standing behind the counter watching the tv. The woman stood idly at the end of the counter, staring out the door.

“Irashaimase, dozo!” they welcomed me as I tentatively entered the shop. I was ushered to a seat at the counter. I took a deep breath and smiled at them. There was no English language menu (see the picture) and my Japanese is novice at best. I know some food words, used to be able to sound out hiragana and katakana, and remember some key phrases from my Lonely Planet phrase book. I still remembered how to order a beer, however, so that is where I started. With a little bit of English on her behalf and a little bit of Japanese on my end, and the help of Google, the woman managed to explain that the restaurant served washoku, or traditional Japanese food. I used the translation app on my phone to try to decipher the menu. I figured out to order clams steamed in sake but then had to translate back to Japanese to place the order.

She brought me a small appetizer of squid and broccolini with a sauce. The presentation was beautiful and the delicate flavor of the squid encouraged me to eat slowly and mindfully. While I waited for my main course, the woman and I attempted conversation. Where are you from? Nyu Yoku. How do you speak Japanese? (So flattering!) I was an eigo no sensei (English teacher) in Tokyo. I couldn’t remember numbers so I wrote out 1986 on my hand to communicate when I worked in Japan.

My main dish was clams steamed with sake. The clams came perfectly cooked in their broth with cubes of tofu and pieces of seaweed. The taste was slightly briny – the clams and broth had a hint of the sea infused in them. The tofu chunks soft and a delicate counterpart to the chewiness of the clams. The wakame had a toothsome bite — you could feel your teeth sink into it. The meal had the classic qualities of washoku: it was beautifully presented, featured local ingredients, and had balanced flavors and textures.

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