Amazing soba

I was pinching myself a little.  One of the favourite segments in Bourdain's shows had been when he had introduced the world to the brilliant soba master Tatsuru Rai.  Watching him slowly and skillfully make soba, I was entranced and amazed.  To be able to experience something so close to perfection seemed to be unattainable and so I left it as nothing more than a dream.

Yet here I was.

I was walking done the snow covered path leading to Tatsuru Rai's small restaurant, the famous Rakuichi.  Even walking through the snow covered path felt dream like, everything shone and sparkled under the lights, a crisp and perfect white.  From the moment we got out of the cab, there seemed to be a sense that we were entering into a different a protected little world.  The gate was surrounded by high drifts of snow and it created a long snow cavern for us to walk through.

Once we reached the other side, the small and quaint little restaurant waited at the end of the path.  It seemed almost like out of a fairy tale.  The snow sat delicately on the roof and on the branches of the trees.  There was a thick covering on the ground.  The door waited for us to enter.

Once inside, we took off our shoes and jackets in the genkan.  We were lucky to have to been able to get a last minute cancellation booking and we were even seated at the counter table.  It was a prime spot that let us watch as the chef prepared the food.  I didn't know what to expect other than the soba, so I was very happily surprised to find that to soba only formed one course in an entire meal showcasing the chef's skills.

Each course was presented beautifully, each like a work of art.  I have often listened to people to people describing food as art.  It's hard not to roll your eyes at times with such flowery and over the top language.  Here, I didn't feel any such disdain and I looked at the care and thoughtfulness of each dish as being a true demonstration of a craftsman at the height of his skills. 

 

The second last course was a shabu shabu of pork.  After the delicately plated dishes, it seemed that we were moving away from that approach and towards more hearty food.  It was comforting and warming.  The small flame and the hot broth in front of me, as we leaned over and dipped the thinly sliced meat in to be cooked.  It felt like the ideal type of food to enjoy in these cold surroundings.

With these dishes now all served, Master Rai began working on the soba, the reason we were all at this restaurant.  He worked meticulously and efficiently.  The mounds of buckwheat flour, slowly being transformed into a rough dough, and then into an ever smoother dough.  He moved from the large tub to the work bench and started rolling in earnest.  Behind him was a selection of rolling pins.  He switched back and forth between these, diligently sculpting the dough into a perfectly consistent and ever expanding disk.

The kneading and rolling was almost rhythmic.  Master Rai didn't seem rushed, and he remained focused entirely on what was in front of him.  He lay down one rolling pin and picked up another as he began to thin out the dough into a sheet in preparation for making the long strands of soba.  As he dragged and folded the long sheet of dough, it sounded more like a thick sheet of fabric dragging on a bench.  There was a satisfying sweep with every turn and every layer he created.  Eventually, he was left with a large pad.  Dozens of layers, folded over one another.  The shape was uniform in length and width.  Thinking about the sounds, it seemed like he had taken a quilt and folded it up, ready to be packed away.  Instead, he brought out his long knife and a guide board and began to slice the individual strands of soba.  Everyone in the restaurant looked on with amazement and awe.  The thick dough was now being transformed into the soba we had all come to enjoy.  Each stroke of the knife came with a satisfying knock on the work bench.  He finished the work, lifted the soba in bunches, dusted them in flour and shook them as he placed them on a wide basket to be taken away to be cooked.

Earlier in the meal, I had been asked whether I wanted my soba hot or cold.  The traditional way is to eat the soba cold with a dipping sauce.  Given this was my first time eating Master Rai's soba, I felt the only appropriate way to eat this would be cold.  The plate was brought out in front of me with the sauce on the side.  It looked simple.  It was simple.  It was probably the plainest and simplest of all the dishes that had been served to me this evening.  Yet, when I ate it, I immediately understood why this was the reason I had come.  The soba was the perfect combination of soft and chewy.  The flavour of the buckwheat was earthy and satisfying.  I had never had better and I knew that I never would.

I was completely satisfied.  When you place such high hopes and expectations in a place, they normally let you down.  It's not surprising.  How often can something or somewhere be as great or amazing as the lofty heights we set in our minds?  Yet here was something special.  This was a place that was everything I had hoped it to be.  I knew I was fortunate for this opportunity and I was thankful to have been able to experience the work of a true master.

The hearth

So it turns out many of the best food spots in Sapporo are located in the red light district.... I guess it makes sense, they're just catering to people who have worked up an appetite!

Merissa and I were enjoying our holiday in Sapporo.  Everything was covered in white snow and the city glistened at night.  We were looking for dinner and google maps took us further and further into the red light district.  It wasn't exactly a difficult or shocking path we took.  It seems like the red light district of Sapporo is integrated into large parts of the city centre and almost unavoidable if you live in Sapporo.  We found several extremely expensive seafood restaurants that we decided against and considered going back to ramen alley.  As we walked past one of the prettiest Japanese girls I have ever seen (whom I can only assume was working, given she was standing around on a street corner looking at all the guys seductively), we saw an incredibly old looking building.  With the more modern buildings around, this was an old wooden building that seemed completely out of place amongst its surroundings.  We were hungry and looking for dinner.  I wandered up closely to the old building out of curiosity, and saw that it had a menu at the front.  

It turns out this was an old robatayaki restaurant.  Not just any robatayaki restaurant either, it was the oldest one in Sapporo.  It was an accidental discovery by us, but what an incredible find it was.

Inside, decades of smoke had left its mark. The walls and roof were covered in a thick and dark layer of black soot.  There was an unavoidable smell of smoke, and the whole place felt old in both a charmingly rustic way, as well as in a decrepit way.  At the hearth in the middle of the restaurant, there were old ladies who were carefully tending to the dishes being cooked.  We were sat down and began ordering.  We were novices, so we took recommendations as well as looking at what others were ordering.  Everything that arrived was incredible.  It was as expected, seafood heavy, but cooked with care and the rich smoky flavour you would expect in a place like this.  Most surprising was the smoked fish that we ordered.  It looked dried out, with each fish hanging from the rafters.  They took each fish down and grilled it on the fire, and somehow this smoked and grilled fish still retained a lovely moistness to it.  

We left the restaurant full and content.  The streets off to the side of the main roads and streets were treacherous and icy.  The main streets had underground heating which kept the ice melted, but here we got a better understanding of just how cold it was.  We slid around, trying our best to not fall as we moved back towards the safety of the heated roads.

Sapporo was lovely at night.  The lights shone bright in the city as buildings were illuminated and people rushed from eatery to eatery.

A great little city

We were in Sapporo for a few days.  We were on our way to Niseko to ski, but we thought we would give this northern city some time.  I didn't know much about the place, but it seemed like an ideal opportunity to explore before we started skiing.

It was a great decision and I wish we had stayed longer.

I started off the first morning by going for a run.  It didn't seem "that" cold, and so I put on a t shirt and shorts and jogged out of the hotel as Merissa continued to sleep.  The staff gave me a strange look as a wandered out but I thought nothing much of it.  After the first lap of the main park area, I started to realise my mistake.  It was far colder than I realised and no amount of running was going to change that.  I ran back around back towards the hotel and quickly inside.

The rest of the trip in Sapporo went much better.

It was a compact city.  Easily accessible, with all the attractions and sights all within close proximity. 

There was also a loveliness to the place.  Maybe it was the snow, but I felt it was more than that.  It seemed to have all the wonder and uniqueness that you would expect in Japan, but the whole vibe of the place was far more laidback and friendly.  It was still a "big" city, but it certainly didn't feel like Tokyo.

From the high up locations, we looked out across the snow covered city.  It only took us a few days, but we were able to get a good and happy impression of this place.

One additional bonus was that the food in the city was fantastic.  All of the usual Japanese favourites were on offer, but there was an additional Hokkaido twist that made the meals seem a bit more wholesome and rustic.  The ramens were richer and heartier, with knobs of butter thrown in.  The grilled meats at the robatayakis were smokier and far rougher than any of the polished yakiniku or yakitori places that most people were accustomed to.

The fact that all of the best eateries also seemed to be in the red light district only added to strange sense of hilarity of this great little city.

Ocean Baths

Any trip back to Newcastle should involve lots of time spent as close to the water as possible.

For all of the fame that the beaches of Sydney have, I think that the Newcastle beaches are better.

The coastline is long and barely touched, with only a fraction of the crowds that Sydney has.

However, the true jewels of this area would be the ocean baths.

There are plenty of ocean baths in Sydney, but again, the Newcastle ones are just better.  They are bigger, they are better maintained, and they seem to jut out into the ocean in a way that gives you a far more awe inspiring view of the huge expanse of the Pacific. 

At the entrance to the Newcastle City baths is an old colonial style building.  Inside you can get drinks and food.  It reminds me of the canteens and tuck shops at the public swimming pools I would go to when I was growing up in Melbourne.  Those days were always highlights growing up, as us kids ran amok inside whilst the parents sat around on the benches watching us play.  It was a different lifestyle in Melbourne, with none of these open air baths.

As I sat on the edge watching the water after my own swim.  A huge wave came surging over the edge of the baths and the water came sweeping over the side of the pool.  I dipped my feet in and walked around a bit, feeling the surge of the water pushing me around.

These baths are special places.  Always a highlight of any visit and easily my favourite part of Newcastle.