Ohayo. Ohayo. New Jersey.

When I first arrived here, my little house had a small garden in my backyard.  Unfortunately, I didn’t do a very good job of tending to it and it quickly devolved into disarray.  From what I remember, there were tons of peppers, cherry tomatoes, some parsley looking stuff, and Japanese eggplant.  In fact, one of the first things I noticed about my town was how practically every home had a decently sized garden.  Even my neighbor in the duplex had converted the yard completely into a garden and had a couple rows (!) of corn and various other vegetables.  I think this is a trait indicative of small town Hokkaido.  Everyone has their corn, edamame, tomatoes, and cabbages growing right in their yard.  Although just ten minutes away in Kitami, I had difficulty spotting any sort of garden amongst the tightly packed neighborhoods.  With the coming of spring and the busy gardening season, I’m thoroughly excited about the prospect of growing some of my own food.  Windowsill herb garden…what what!?

 This recent spike in my gardening interest owes its development to two things.  First, I’ve befriended a couple of folks who are vegan.  I look forward to meals with them as I know that they eat creatively and utilize many of the weird vegetables at our fingertips in the Japanese supermarkets.  You couldn’t pay me to eat vegetables when I was a child, but now, there isn’t much I won’t eat (although brussel sprouts and cauliflower are still on my shit list).  My favorite thing about my dabbles in vegan fare is that I’ve had to learn how to make things from scratch since many processed foods have milk products or eggs in them.  The second beacon in my food and gardening renaissance was the book Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver.  While she is known primarily for her fiction, such as The Poisonwood Bible and The Bean Trees, I have found her non-fiction to be equally enticing.  Barbara (yep, first name basis) was a biologist before she turned author and her writing is reflective of her scientific background.  She also has the added perk of a wit similar to Gail Collins’ motherly crass.  The book is a memoir of a year her family successfully spent growing as much of their own food as they could and eating locally in rural Appalachia.  More than anything, I loved how she talked about the culture of food.  For anyone that has known me for a year or two, they should know that I LOVE to talk about food.  Per Jon Stewart and Seth Rogan, the way I talk about food could make me Jewish.  Anyways, the book has its underpinnings around food culture and bringing back the importance of the kitchen.  She underscores using produce that are fresh, local, and in season, and helped me develop a newfound appreciation of local farmers’ market.

 These two factors have combined, in a Captain Planet sort of fashion, to give me a vegetable fascination that makes me giddy with excitement about the upcoming growing season.  Here in Hokkaido, we certainly aren’t short on farmland and farmers.  In fact, one of my Eikaiwa (English conversation group) members is a full-fledged farmer—you can buy her produce at the supermarkets!  Unfortunately, one of the things that I am uncertain about here is the concept of a farmers’ market.  Back in Seattle, we had the omnipresent Pike’s Place Market, but also had dozens of neighborhood markets (oh man how I miss Tiny’s peaches).  So far, I don’t know of any farmers’ markets as it seems that most farmers deal directly with supermarkets or the behemoth JA (Japan Agriculture) entity for distribution.  I’ll have to keep an eye out for any markets if they exist out here.  However, the abundance of home gardens might negate the necessity for a farmers’ market, at least out here in the boonies.

 My town has a large community garden where you can rent 35 square meters for about $40 a year.  This would probably be more than enough space to feed me throughout the year, however that might be a tad ambitious for someone with limited gardening experience.  I think I’ll stick to my windowsill herbs and small backyard plot.  I’ve made a great list of things I want to grow…they are a bit of a reach given that my little plot of land isn’t that big.  I’ve got lettuce and spinach aplenty. I’ve kale and zucchini to boot.  Want edamame?  I’ve got twenty.  But who cares…da da da dah…I want more…sorry…Little Mermaid moment.  But seriously, it’s going to be great.  There are some big plans for some cilantro and maybe sunflowers.  It’s pretty exciting.  Oh, and did I mention that asparagus grows wild here?  Giddy up.

 *update.  Yes, my town does have a farmers’ market, but I’ve been warned that it’s tiny and only on Saturdays and Sundays.  It starts toward the end of May, so we’ll see if I can find any gems.

A couple months ago, Japan won its second consecutive World Baseball Classic (WBC) after defeating team Korea in the championships.  We watched the games during lunch breaks at school and the office.  They always ask me which team I like, and I always just give a shrug of my shoulders.  I find baseball to be rather boring (although the Ichiro craze has rubbed off a bit).  At a Mariners’ game back in Seattle, I read a book while they proceeded to get slaughtered by the Red Sox.  My indifference to baseball is practically a crime here.  EVERYONE is in to baseball.  They’ve all got their favorite players and teams.  The baseball clubs here practice an ungodly amount of time, putting American little league to shame.  I’m curious as to why this specific sport has taken off with such huge popularity here.  It probably has something to do with the influx of American culture after the war, but still, the degree of fanaticism is remarkable. 

 Our local yakiniku joint (table-side barbecue restaurant) is absolutely bonkers for the Hanshin Tigers.  The area around the checkout counter is plastered with memorabilia, newspaper clippings, and photos of the players.  The owner always wears orange and blue, the team’s colors.  Oh and get this, his two sons, both of whom are my students, have their hair cut in a specific way to resemble the team’s mascot.  They don’t just do this for the baseball season…it’s all year long.  It would be cruel to force them to cut it like that, but dad does it too, so maybe it’s just cool.  And yes, they are always in their blue and orange tracksuits.

 I’m a little curious though about the baseball culture here in Japan, especially with the big steroids controversy back home.  Does anything like that happen here?  I know the sumo profession is riddled with corruption, but has baseball been able to steer clear of those traditional pitfalls?  Looks like I’m going to have to bone up and make my way to a game.  Watch out Ham Fighters (it’s the Sapporo team…don’t ask), I’ll be watchin’ you!

One of the hallmarks of the Japanese language is its varying degrees of politeness.  You can understand how politeness is held in such high esteem by looking at the language itself.  There are three general levels.  First is plain or simple form and is used amongst friends and immediate family to show familiarity and friendship.  Next you have long or polite form.  This is used a lot in the workplace, particularly when speaking to someone of a higher “status.”  It’s also used when you meet people for the first time.  It’s probably the safest style to use if you’re unsure.  And then there is the super formal “keigo.”  This is used by people that work in the hospitality industry…anything from store clerks to phone assistance.  The difference between plain and polite form is generally just how you conjugate the verb.  For keigo, there is a whole different set of vocabulary to use.  This makes it incredibly difficult to navigate some of the set phrases in retail stores.  In fact, I used to find it so intimidating that as soon as they spoke to me, I would get flustered and make a beeline for the door (I’m sure many a clerk have had the passing thought of, “Maybe he was dropped as a child.”).  Luckily, I can now stumble my way through these encounters…I just hope a future in Japanese hospitality is not in my cards.