Winter in Kanazawa,from a townhouse kitchen

My trip began on a clear winter day in Kanazawa's Higashi Chaya District. I took a window seat upstairs, and three wagashi sweets arrived on a black plate. I cut them gently with a kuromoji pick and took a sip of tea.

Through the lattice I could look down on the stone-paved street lined with red-ochre teahouses. Snow still lay on the roofs, and green hills rose at the far end of the street. Then I went out and walked slowly along the stones. In Kanazawa, I wanted to travel like a local.

Next came Omicho Market, with a history of more than 300 years. It is a famous tourist spot, but it is also known as the kitchen of Kanazawa's locals. Inside the entrance, crabs were heaped at the stalls and oysters and scallops sizzled on grills. Fish stalls lined an aisle hung with red lamps.

"Raw oysters, ready to eat right here." I was drawn straight to that sign. The oyster was shucked in front of me and given a quick rinse. It was so plump it filled my palm, and I lifted it to my mouth with chopsticks.

Sea urchin, botan shrimp and crab legs carried the same sign. The temptation of the other seafood was powerful, but I had to be patient.

Kanazawa's own Kaga vegetables can be bought here too. At a greengrocer's, Gensuke daikon and lotus root stood with their labels, next to sweet potatoes marked Gorojima Kintoki. I picked out some Kaga vegetables and took them from the shopkeeper.

And then, Kanazawa's treasure from the sea: nodoguro. The cases at a dried-fish shop were lined with overnight-dried nodoguro from Ishikawa. I was planning to make a certain dish with this fish.

A shopping street, I think, lets you feel the air of a town on your skin. At a steaming oden stall, the menu also offered grilled oysters and scallops in butter.

For lunch I wanted to enjoy Kanazawa's specialties, so I went into Ichiba Meshi Amatsubo, a restaurant in a corner of the market, and ordered Kanazawa oden and a seafood bowl. The oden came with daikon steeped in broth, kurumafu wheat-gluten rings and akamaki fish cake with its red-and-white swirl. Using local Kanazawa ingredients, and being eaten all year round: those, I was told, are the definitions of Kanazawa oden.

The seafood bowl was made with local fish too: sweet shrimp, salmon roe, flaked crab and white fish on shiso leaves. I drizzled soy sauce over it and poured non-alcoholic beer into a blue cut-glass cup. I felt welcomed by all these dishes made from local ingredients. Thank you, god of fortune.

Rocking along on the retro single-track Hokuriku Railroad, I headed home to the house where I was staying. From a red bench seat I watched the view: snow-capped mountains and houses, and trains running beyond fields of pure white.

I got off at Tsurugi, the last stop on the Ishikawa Line. An old wooden station building stood in the snowy square out front. In the evening light, trains waited at the platform, and the depot lay at the end of the tracks. Leaving the station, I walked the road home past vegetables half buried in the snowy fields.

I'm home. When I opened the door of the old two-story townhouse, the lamp under the eaves glowed softly. I was told the house used to run a stationery shop.

A room lined with bookshelves held a low table and an old kettle. From the top of the stairs I looked down on rows of lattice doors. A black-and-white photo of an old building stood on a shelf, and a wooden plaque by a pillar was marked "Graduates of Showa 28." Built, I heard, between the Taisho era and the early Showa era, the house still holds a deep, old-fashioned warmth.

Tonight I would try a Kanazawa local dish. In the kitchen at the back of the house I cut leeks, carrots and shiitake, carving a star into each mushroom cap.

I coated the chicken in flour; this seals in the flavor and thickens the broth. At the gas stove beside the tiled sink, I added the chicken to the pot of simmering vegetables.

And don't forget Kaga's specialty, sudare-fu. I added the wheat gluten, striped like a bamboo blind, and once everything had simmered and bubbled, the jibuni was ready. I added some greens and carried it to the room with the sunken hearth.

I set the dishes out on a tray by the sunken hearth, with a can of non-alcoholic beer.

The daikon-zushi, a gift from the host, struck a perfect balance between the flavor of its ingredients and the sourness of fermentation. Beside it was sashimi of kagami-dai, caught in the nearby sea, with a shiso leaf.

A dab of wasabi is the signature of jibuni. Its fresh heat went surprisingly well with the thick broth and chicken, making it twice as delicious. A wonderful Kanazawa evening set.

I had made up my mind to end the night with Hokuriku's soul food. Down a snowy road at night glowed the red neon of Hachiban Ramen.

Born along National Route 8, it is ramen piled high with stir-fried vegetables. Cabbage, bean sprouts, bamboo shoots and pork are crowned with a slice of naruto fish cake printed with an 8. A rich miso broth and curly noodles, with pan-fried gyoza on the side.

It looks so simple, yet it goes straight to the heart. That hit the spot. "What is it about Hachiban?"

In the morning I went to Kenrokuen. There are teahouses in the garden where you can enjoy Kaga cuisine, and I had breakfast, a lacquer box and small dishes, at a window seat in Miyoshian beside Hisago Pond.

The local specialty sawara no kobujime is sashimi cured in kombu; here, I was told, they call marlin "sawara." Peeling back the kombu revealed slices so fine they glowed in the light. There was jibuni made by professionals, topped with wasabi, and kabura-zushi, the taste of a Kanazawa winter. A very satisfying morning of Kaga cuisine, as lovely to look at as to eat.

Afterward I relaxed with Japanese black tea grown in Uchikoshi, Kaga, poured from an iron kettle into a blue-and-white cup. Unfolding a sheet of paper revealed a cute green rakugan, one of Kaga's famous confections. I lingered for a while, looking out at the garden.

Leaving the teahouse, I walked through the garden. Over the mossy ground, still patched with snow, ran the ropes of yukitsuri, which hold up the branches. Morning light slanted between the trees, and a stone bridge crossed the pond.

I sat on a snow-covered bench and looked out past the rooftops of Kanazawa to the white mountains. Another day in Kanazawa was beginning.

Then on to the Chaya District, perhaps the finest of Kanazawa's scenes. With permission, I was shown inside a teahouse: a staircase seen from above through an open well, gold paper cranes, a triangular paper lantern and a golden lion mask.

Past sliding doors painted with calligraphy lay a tatami room with vermilion walls and a hanging scroll. A kimono with a bamboo pattern was on display, and temari balls sat on the tatami. It was like stepping into the Edo period, a chance to feel that elegant world for myself.

Through a narrow lane, then something sweet that could only come from Kanazawa, a place of tradition and culture. The dazzling gold-leaf soft serve made my heart flutter: the ice cream was wrapped entirely in a single sheet of gold.

For Kanazawa's champion of B-grade comfort food, hanton rice, I went to Grill Otsuka. Ketchup rice under fluffy egg, topped with fried seafood and smothered in ketchup and tartar sauce.

Its curious name, I learned, joins "Han" from Hungary with "thon," the French word for tuna. Spoon in hand, I savored a taste loved by the locals.

Ishikawa Prefecture is also famous for its delicious rice. Past a signpost pointing to the Higashi Chaya District, a rice shop founded in the Edo period hung noren curtains reading "brown rice" and "white rice." I bought some rice to take home, then opened my map to find the next shop.

This koji shop, too, has been around since the Edo period, its old wooden front standing under a clear winter sky. Beneath a carved sign reading "Koji, Takagi Shoten," you can buy koji made by hand with methods passed down through generations, and delicious miso made with it. A chalkboard out front announced a miso-making class.

Thinking of the long history of the Kaga domain, I made something a little fancy. I had brought home Ishikawa's own rice, Hyakumangoku, and the overnight-dried nodoguro from the market.

I grilled the nodoguro until it looked delicious, laid it on the rice in the pot, put on the lid and let it cook. Meanwhile, I used Kagai Miso from Takagi Koji Shoten for a soup that is one of Ishikawa's local dishes.

When the rice was done, I flaked the flesh of this king of fatty white fish and took out the bones. Mixed into the rice that had soaked up all its flavor, it made a truly luxurious rice dish.

The soup was mettajiru, a pork miso soup packed with ingredients: pork, konnyaku, leeks, carrots and shiitake. The essential ingredient is sweet potato.

I ladled it into a red bowl and poured non-alcoholic beer into a glass. Truly delicious on a cold night. The nodoguro, the rice, even Kanazawa's water: I could taste all their goodness. Very satisfied, and good night until tomorrow.

The next morning, winter sun fell on the townhouse's snowy roof. Kanazawa once had a curious shop. Famous for serving nothing but ochazuke late at night, it was loved as the place to finish an evening of drinking. Called Shinano and located in Katamachi, it closed in October 2020.

Since I can no longer go there, I tried making something like it myself. I chopped pickled greens and grilled salmon, and set them on a plate with shirasu, umeboshi, mentaiko, kombu, wakame and wasabi. I scattered tiny rice crackers over the rice, added whatever toppings I liked and poured tea from an earthenware pot. In that cheerful shop, every conversation was carried out with a single word, "Yahoo"; so this was my Yahoo chazuke.

"Refill, yahoo." As long as there are toppings left, you can have as much rice as you like. Such a humorous rule warmed my heart.

I packed up, shut my green trunk and stepped out the door, heading for Tsurugi Station. Beyond the ticket window a train was waiting, and the timetable for Nomachi hung on the wall.

As time passes, many things change. Even so, I believe people's feelings go on being woven together.

I went through the ticket gate and boarded the train, the snowy tracks running on toward the mountains. Glimpsing this warm life in snow country reminded me of my hometown. Thank you for the wonderful memories, Kanazawa. Or, as they say here, anyato.