One of the most popular dishes across of all Japan whether you’re in a restaurant or at home, also happens to be one of the easiest to make and needs only a small handful of basic store cupboard ingredients. An incredibly soothing, rich and soulful meal that tastes like you’ve known it all of your life even on your first time eating it. Oyakodon- literally meaning ‘parent and child rice bowl’- is a satisfyingly large and filling bowl of rice, topped with succulent pieces of chicken thigh and onion, coated in a smooth and brothy mixture of dashi and barely set eggs. Each mouthful of this creamy chicken feast is slightly different as the egg continues to cook with the heat of the rice, so whilst the first bite might bring back memories of boiled eggs and soldiers for breakfast, the second could be a roast dinner and the third a warming bowl of hot rice pudding- is it any wonder that oyakodon is so comforting when every one of these dishes has the power to make you recall childhood memories?
Thought to have been invented in a Tokyo restaurant in the late 1800s, the poetic name which references the chicken and egg components of the dish led to the creation of the equally-delicious Tanindon or ‘unrelated person rice bowl’, which replaces the parental chicken with thinly sliced pieces of unrelated beef. Our recipe works just as well for this version of the dish too, just substitute in slices of either pork or beef and continue as normal.
By far the easiest Japanese dish to make at home, and a great introduction to Japanese flavours for the nervous first-time diner, teriyaki chicken- whether served on skewers, tucked inside a fluffy burger bun, or crowning a bowl of pearly white rice- has become one of the most recognisable faces of washoku the world over. The alchemical combination of the three classic sauce ingredients- soy sauce, mirin and sake, create the quintessential basic Japanese flavour that so many other dishes build upon, and the addition of warming, soft brown sugar thickens the sauce into an incredibly sticky, mahogany lacquer. It is the lustrous glaze that is referred to in the name of this cooking technique- teri literally meaning shine and yaki, to grill, although use of the term has now expanded to include the sauce too, leading to the bottled sauces on the supermarket shelves that we’re all familiar with, but bearing little resemblance to the simple, authentic dish at its roots.
Sweet, sticky, intensely savoury and endlessly versatile, this technique lends itself just as well to thin beef steaks, chunky pork chops, pieces of salmon or mackerel, blocks of tofu or even meatballs and burgers, but to my mind, chicken thighs are the ultimate subject for teriyaki. Biting through the crisp, slightly charred skin covered in the deep red-brown caramel glaze, giving way to the succulent, delicate white flesh of the thigh before finding your way to the soothing, polished rice is a delicious mouthful, needing just a hint of the nutty snap of toasted sesame seeds to push it into the realms of perfection.
(Any cold, leftover teriyaki chicken makes a wonderful sandwich filling when accompanied by crisp iceberg lettuce, a squirt of Kewpie mayonnaise, and served on the softest bread you can find.)
Grasslands and wooded areas surrounded the old capital of Kyoto for centuries, making the perfect hunting grounds for feeding the wealthy citizens; birds of all sorts from the large colourful pheasants and statuesque pigeons down to small songbirds were trapped by the locals before being taken to market or grilled as yakitori. These days the term yakitori is normally used in relation to chicken, but the word literally means ‘grilled bird’, so it’s no surprise that different regions have their specialities featuring other fowl. To the restaurants around the sacred town of Fushimi, yakitori is all about two birds, sparrows eaten whole including their bones and crunchy beaks, and the meatier and more westerner-friendly quails. After a visit to the most well-known Inari shrine complex in the country- the Fushimi Inari Taisha- it’s almost impossible to leave the area without smelling the charcoal smoke and appetizing aroma of scorched meat wafting from the restaurants selling yakitori quail.
Eating yakitori like this is a primal meal, huddled around a dimly lit restaurant, breathing in the smoke and tearing into the grilled meat. A slightly sweet soy glaze enhanced with the essence of all the birds cooked before yours clings lightly to your lips as you devour the perfectly cooked bird, feeling more like the fox totem of Inari happily munching on a little bird in a shaded grove, than the person you were when you sat down at the bench table. To drink with the delicate flesh of the quails? Beer obviously, but what else to eat? Chicken wouldn’t be appreciated next to the delicate birds, tsukune would feel almost too processed, only one other yakitori favourite would sit harmoniously with the quails and that’s Uzura no tamago, bacon wrapped quail eggs. The ultimate pairing of parent and child found in many Japanese dishes such as oyakodon, the creamy eggs and salty charred pancetta add delicious little bursts of richness between mouthfuls of meat, a squeeze of sharp kabosu juice and a peppery sprinkle of ground sanshō balances all the elements to perfection.
Summer fatigue or natsubate can be a big problem during the humid middle months of the year; people become lethargic, have trouble sleeping, lose their appetites and in the workplace, productivity hits an annual low. The Japanese way to combat this starts with the copious amounts of air conditioning installed within practically every home and building, but the most effective treatment against overheating comes through the application of food. You could follow in the habits of the kappa- a fart-loving mythical water dwelling creature, and enjoy a salty, marinated cucumber on a stick, perhaps sit down to a mound of shaved ice topped with mashed beans and fruity syrups or greedily devour a wedge of melon, but snacking can only get you so far through the day and eventually you’ll want to eat a real meal. A dish of simmered and chilled tōgan- a close relative of both the cucumber and watermelon, can provide the relief needed to get you through the most oppressive of summer days. Known across much of Asia as Winter Melon because it is one of the only fresh vegetables still available by that season, tōgan is recognised in both Ayurvedic and Yakuzen schools of medicine as being able to remove excess heat from the body and revive flagging energy. After being cooked briefly in dashi and dressed with minced prawns and chicken, also known in folk remedies for its restorative qualities, this chilled tōgan makes a light but sustaining meal with a crisp bite and a soothingly cool sauce that makes even the hottest, stuffiest weather that little bit more manageable.
In the past few years tonkotsu has become the coolest style of noodles to be seen eating or making here in the UK; a thick, unrefined, intensely meaty broth, served with the regular gang of ramen toppings, chashu pork, boiled eggs and bamboo shoots. Restaurants vie to see who has the longest simmered stock with the most opaque suspension of fat and collagen, while critics search for the ramenya with the softest pork and the most unctuous fat. Worthy of equal praise and attention though, is the lesser known, neglected relative of tonkotsu, and one of the unsung heroes of the noodle world- Tori Paitan Ramen. A richly satisfying, creamy broth of chicken bones, skin and cartilage, milky in appearance and sticky on the lips from the copious amounts of fat and gelatin present and the long periods of fierce boiling. To accentuate the deep chickeny flavour of the broth, we’ve added lots of garlic in the form of fried garlic chips and a spoon of powerful, garlic infused duck fat which lends an intense muskiness and a brilliantly rich mouth feel to the finished soup.
A bowl of ramen wouldn’t be complete without some slow-cooked meat to top your mound of noodles, but rather than use the traditional pork, we’ve kept our paitan a purely poultry dish and created a torchon of chicken by wrapping together thigh and breast meat in a layer of skin. When sliced thinly, this sausage of chicken makes the perfect topping for ramen and falls apart at the slightest pressure from your chopsticks.
Fried chicken. Two simple words that have the power to whet appetites across the globe and set imaginations spinning, whether you’re in Louisiana, Mali or Scotland, you know that when you order your local rendition of the dish you’ll be getting moist, juicy meat in a crisp coating packed full of flavour. Karaage is the fried chicken of Japan- nearly always meat from the thigh of the bird, seasoned with soy sauce and ginger before being dusted in a light coating of potato starch and fried to crunchy perfection. Unusually for Japanese cuisine, large amounts of garlic are included in the marinade for karaage, along with the addition of some sake this helps to offset the slightly gamey flavour that chickens had before post-war American birds were imported to become the mainstay of local farms. The soy sauce used in marinating the chicken imparts a slightly reddish brown colour to the coating, which is said to resemble the reflection of maple leaves in the water of the river Tatsuta in Nara, and is how the dish received its second, more romantic name, Tatsuta-age.
We like to accompany our karaage with a fresh dipping sauce made from spring onions and shiro shoyu, or white soy sauce; brewed with more wheat than other soy sauces, it has a much milder flavour which makes it perfect for seasoning lighter meats such as chicken or seafood.
Whether you know them as karaage, Tatsuta-age or even as JFC, these two-bite-sized pieces of juicy chicken are a perfect way to start a meal or make a fantastic addition to a bento or lunch box.
Just like ochazuke, upon which this soup is probably based, keihan is made up of a bowl of rice, topped with all manner of tasty things and then doused in a delicious, warming broth. A dish as simple as this relies on the quality of its ingredients to shine through, so a well flavoured, properly seasoned, rich chicken stock is imperative. The first time we tasted keihan was in a yakitoriya in the sake producing district of Fushimi, where they took a holistic approach to their chicken cooking, using every last scrap of chicken on the grill, and then the bones and any other remnants to make this wonderful soup. The stock had a hint of sake in it, which may not be completely authentic, but we’ve decided to keep it in our recreation of the dish.
This is a great recipe for using up leftover scraps of meat from your Christmas bird, and the roast carcass makes for a fantastic stock too.