A Kamakura-vegetable breakfastand a walk on Enoshima

One morning in Kamakura, the town where the Enoden runs. I waited at a crossing while a green-and-cream train rolled past. Beyond the utility poles lay the sea, with the silhouette of Enoshima in the distance.

Across the tracks, the road ran right along the shore. I walked past the yellow-and-black crossing gate while surfers rode the morning waves. The station sign read Kamakura-Kokomae: a small Enoden station right beside the sea.

I wanted to make breakfast with local Kamakura vegetables, so I visited a nearby farmers' market. Under the sign of the Kamakura Agricultural Cooperative Market, tables draped in blue sheets were piled with radishes with their leaves still on, red daikon, and green and yellow zucchini. The handwritten price tags simply said so much per bunch.

Deeper inside was a stall selling seasonings and dried goods. I like the atmosphere of a market in the morning. At the end of the passage, the bright street was waiting.

Dried fish is a must for breakfast in a seaside town. At a dried-fish shop in the same market building, I peered into the glass case: next to the fried fish cakes, butterflied horse mackerel, barracuda and striped mackerel lay on bamboo plates. Reading the handwritten tags, I picked out a packet.

The market building also houses a Chinese noodle shop with a red awning. I have a hunch that cafeterias attached to markets are usually good. That one is for another day.

With the sea at my back, I crossed the road and climbed the hill. An old wooden house half-buried in greenery is my borrowed home this time.

I'm home. In the garden stood a white table and chairs, dappled with sunlight through the leaves.

Time to make kenchin-jiru, Kamakura's local dish. On a sheet of newspaper I spread out what I had bought at the market: red daikon, carrots with their tops, a leek and a block of tofu. From an old latticed cupboard I took out bowls.

Its roots, they say, lie in kencho-jiru, a vegetarian soup made at Kenchoji Temple in Kamakura. Peeling the red daikon revealed white flesh inside. I sliced the burdock thin and soaked it in water, and cut the carrots to match.

The dried fish went onto the grill. In a frying pan with a little oil, I sautéed the burdock, carrot and daikon. Outside the kitchen window was nothing but green. Watching the fish start to smoke, I felt that familiar excitement.

Make local food with local ingredients, and eat it where it belongs. I ladled the finished soup into a lacquered bowl: crumbled tofu, shiitake, carrot, daikon and leek rose to the surface.

Freshly cooked rice, kenchin-jiru, and the fish hot off the grill. The Kamakura morning set meal was ready. I cupped the bowl in both hands and took a sip.

Long ago, the story goes, a monk at the temple dropped a block of tofu on the floor. The Zen master washed it and added it to the vegetable soup, and that was the beginning of kencho-jiru. Sitting on the veranda, looking at the green garden, I sipped the soup with its crumbled tofu.

I felt wisdom and kindness in that old Kamakura tale. Guidebooks to Kamakura and Japan lined the shelf, and light through the bamboo blinds fell on the tatami. Through the leaves, the old house's windows caught the sun.

If you are in Kamakura, you should also visit Enoshima. At the crossing a surfer with his board waited for the light, and scooters sped along the shore road. Beyond the beach, the island rose like a green mound.

Across the bridge and onto the island. Past a narrow alley, a bronze torii stands at the entrance to the approach. Up the stone steps, a vermilion torii and a gate like the Dragon Palace came into view.

Climbing the stone steps lined with banners, I came to a long-established sweets shop founded in 1902. Boxes of nori yokan and Benten salt yokan filled the shelves out front, and in the back an old machine was steaming manju.

Freshly made meoto manju: one brown, one white, served on a black tray. Breaking the brown one open revealed chunky sweet bean paste. This is the manju that Goro Inogashira ate in the manga The Solitary Gourmet.

I sat on the bench in front of the shop and ate. A taste that carries the history and culture of Enoshima.

Manju finished, I headed deeper into the island, past a stone monument, past a shop where a shaved-ice banner fluttered, and up stone steps through the trees.

Restaurants facing the sea came into view. Beyond the Uomitei sign and a banner for Enoshima-don, the trees opened onto the yacht harbor and the Shonan coast below.

From the deck on the cliff, the sea and the town on the far shore spread out below. It feels wonderfully like being on a little island of its own. A notice on the wall explained that the Tora-san film Torajiro Ajisai no Koi was shot here in 1982, and that the tatami room is just as it was then. I wonder what Tora-san was thinking here at that time.

From the window seat, Mt. Fuji rose beyond the water. The famous Enoshima-don is turban shell simmered in egg, topped with mitsuba and a soft-cooked yolk, eaten with a spoon.

Blue sky, the seaside town, and Mt. Fuji. A pleasant sea breeze and a landscape painted by nature are "the best seasoning." I am thoroughly enjoying my borrowed life in Kamakura.