The Invasion of Japanese Cuisine

I’ve decided I’m going on strike. You see, I’ve been CEO of dinner planning for my family for over 40 years. That’s a long time to think about how to intentionally feed a family of six amidst revolving schedules, revolving doors, and revolving tastebuds. As my family expanded, so did my chopping, sauteing and soup-making. In hindsight, this is a rather remarkable feat. Forty years of being the chief cook is a long time.

In recent years, as empty nesting has become the norm, my waning culinary creativity has led to some very uninspiring dinners. Now, mind you, I could eat apples with peanut butter for dinner every night. No fuss, no dishes. But my husband, on the other hand, loves a good meal. He has always looked at dinner time as the pinnacle of his day and has often welcomed the task of crafting delicious meals. He’s a good cook. You could say his love language is food centered. You could also say, I’ve learned a different language that isn’t even spoken in the kitchen.

So, when my husband gently suggested I try something different than the tiresome, lackluster all-in-one cookie sheet dinner where olive oil-drizzled chicken and vegetables meet in a 350-degree oven for 30 minutes, I just as gently suggested he take over.

I feel very fortunate that my husband loves to cook. Here’s the problem (not that I think it’s really a problem because I’m on strike). When my husband zones into something, he is completely zoned. At present, his zone is Japanese cuisine.

In my world, stir fry means I throw some meat and veggies into a skillet and stir them a bit with a splash of soy sauce. Voila, dinner is complete. My husband, on the other hand, has taken wok cooking to a whole new level. These days, dinner prep means a plethora of small bowls are lined up with perfectly chopped vegetables, Japanese chili sauces, and fresh ginger ready to add in perfect sequence as the wok heats to an almost smoking temperature. For most of us, condiments are defined by catsup or mustard. Here at the Romer house, condiments have expanded. All you have to do is open one of our kitchen cabinets and see the collection of Asian condiments that now see almost daily uses. How many people do you know ferment rice to make the versatile Japanese condiment, shio koji which can be used as a marinade? These days at the Romer house, shio koji has a prized presence. If you open our refrigerator, you might find a jar of homemade Japanese pickled carrots, miso soup, or bok choy ready to pair with shio koji.

I am so grateful for my husband’s culinary creativity and enthusiasm in preparing meals. Honestly, I don’t know many people who get as excited about good food as he does. So, when he goes rogue on Japanese cooking, we are all in. I’m happy to report I’ve become quite proficient at eating with chop sticks as well. Also, I gladly welcome the role as dishwasher-in-chief.

I’m not sure how long my walk-out on cooking will continue. Perhaps when the winds warm and spring hints, some new energy will be infused into my distant relationship with pots and pans. In the meantime, I have no complaints with the invasion of Japanese cuisine that overtaken dinnertime at my house. Now, if my husband’s cooking interests suddenly take a turn towards liver and sardines, then we have a problem. For now, however, shio koji it is.

Photo by Richard Iwaki on Unsplash