Today’s escapades followed a regimented pattern of eat-rest-eat-rest-eat-rest, likely the best thing for us as our maladies turn the corner towards an improving trajectory. Tomorrow will be dedicated to seeing more of the sights that have made Kanazawa a sought-after destination for visitors. Our first meal was a simple starter at Café Tamon, a breakfast joint specializing in rice flour soufflé pancakes. According to my (limited) research, these instagram-flooding confections actually originated in Hawaii but became so popular with Japanese tourists there that they made their way to Japan and are now widely seen as a Japanese dish.
Kanazawa’s answer to Tokyo’s Tsukiji and Kyoto’s Nishiki Markets is Omicho, situated just a short three blocks from our hotel and featuring row after row of produce, freshly caught seafood, cooked dishes, and other odds and ends. While the markets in the bigger cities had at least some obvious overtures to tourists who lack the capacity to discern the authenticity and value of a given product or experience, Omicho has a distinctly homier vibe and more fittingly satisfies a comparison to an American farmers’ market. Our interests were piqued by the discovery of many stalls and restaurants offering nodoguro, also called rosy seabass or blackthroat seaperch, a fish prized in Kanazawa cuisine for being a white fish that eats like a richer, fattier red fish like tuna. Our taste tests confirmed this claim.
A longer-than-anticipated round of nap time followed our visit to Omicho, leaving us little time to accomplish much before dinner time was upon us. We’ve unintentionally started a tradition of seeking out a pizza spot in each city we’ve visited, and now seems a strange time to renege on that pattern, so we selected Vecchio Albero as the honorary representative for Kanazawa. This was one of those places—in the same vein as conveyor belt sushi—that make me glad I don’t live here. If I had a nearby dive bar serving high quality Neapolitan-style pizza for $10, bad things would happen. Our server was a congenial man who went out of his way to ask us questions about our visit to Japan and even asked me if I spoke Japanese after I thanked him following the meal. (There’s no possible way I conned a Japanese person into actually thinking that I speak Japanese, so I am fairly certain he was just being nice—but it was a gratifying inquiry nonetheless.)
On this topic, I’ve been doing a fair amount of pondering on this trip about language and how it connects us. I’ve had similar experiences on both trips to Norway and also in my interactions with native Spanish speakers I’ve encountered throughout my years of study. As this blog likely makes obvious, I place certain value on my ability to express myself precisely and thoughtfully, sometimes (okay, oftentimes) with the sacrifice of brevity. But being stripped of that access to precision is an interesting exercise that reveals things about who we are. Are we willing to push ourselves into discomfort to avoid misunderstanding and convey the sentiments that matter to us? I’ve tried to decenter my own convenience on this visit and reframe the common American narrative that it is incumbent upon others to acquiesce to my linguistic limits, but I have also felt that I can and should do more. It has been difficult to reconcile my deep regard for the people we’ve met here with my utter inability to express it to them.
Just as we’ve earned our stripes as Japanese pizza connoisseurs, so too will we soon be able to write the recommendation book on kakigori, the shaved ice dessert that I plan to hunt down at all costs upon my return to the U.S. We stopped at Kissa & Co. for a sweet finish to the day and also to allow Paresh to finally try kaga-boucha, the local roasted twig tea he has had his eye on since arrival in Kanazawa. These mounds of flavored ice can be intimidating on arrival because they are so massive, but you quickly realize you are primarily consuming water and it is actually a very light way to finish a meal, even in such a large size.
The crown jewel of Kanazawa, Kenroku-en, waits for us tomorrow. I am looking forward to taking some time to sit, breathe, and bask in some tranquility after what has been a whirlwind trip through Japan—certainly not a complaint, but simply a recognition of the pace we’ve kept since arriving here. Then, it is back to Tokyo for four more days, where we will be staying in a new neighborhood and finishing the trip in style. (Now taking over/under bets on how many times we try to squeeze desperation sushi into our final days.) For now, I’m off to dream about the curry bread I will have in the morning.
Where the Waterfalls Mean Home 