Nagasaki is a city that has become synonymous with the fate that befell it when America dropped their second atomic bomb in Japan in August 1945. Whilst visiting the city I, of course, engaged in the relevant historical sites and sought to understand the events leading up to and after the bomb was dropped. The gargantuan act of war was unsurprisingly horrifying and anger-inducing. However feelings and facts on the matter have been documented elsewhere. Moreover, I feel a long-winded treatise on my relationship with atomic warfare would be not only misguided but would also go against the generally irreverent and light-hearted nature of my writing. So instead I thought I’d talk about dinner.
On my first evening in Nagasaki I had vegetarian sushi and okonomiyaki. Whilst not necessarily a food emblematic of the region I was visiting, the savoury pancake was still very tasty with lashings of okonomiyaki sauce, mayonnaise and dried bonito flakes covering the surface. My sushi was a mixed platter of various vegetable maki rolls with some sesame rice-filled inari added for good measure. Noticing the blundering of a befuddled foreigner, a member of staff pointed out where the wasabi and pickled ginger was when I was unable to locate it on the table. After my meal I had some ‘warabi-mochi’. I was told that this was a type of psudo-mochi because, unlike ‘true’ mochi made from pounded glutinous rice flour, these sweets were small green spheres made from starch derived from a bracken fern and covered in sweet roasted soybean flour.
By the second night I was interested in trying some of the local seafood. I began with tuna tataki. The aged fish was lightly seared on all sides and served at room temperature over a bed of shaved daikon. Following my appetiser I prepared myself for more fish, this time crumbed and fried. A small horse mackerel was butterflied and doused in house-made breadcrumbs before being fried twice. It was served with rice and an assortment of pickled vegetables typical of the region.
By the third night I was interested in understanding the varied international influence that had affected Nagasaki for centuries. As a strong port city at Japan’s southwestern edge, Nagasaki was heavily influenced by Dutch, Chinese and Portuguese merchants. It was even said to have been an international brothel city, catering to the desires of floating merchants and sailors. On my last night in Nagasaki, however, that wasn’t the type of catering I was looking for. I originally wanted to have a chicken katsu curry but by the time I went to get it there was only one chicken cutlet left. There was another customer - a curvaceous brunette in blue jeans - who also wanted the curry. Being the gentleman that I am, I insisted that my request be downgraded. I could have the curry elsewhere. Instead I would have the chicken nanban - fried chicken pieces served over rice with Japanese tartar sauce, a Japanese dish of Portuguese influence.
To some, it may appear that my three nights in Nagasaki were spent blowing my budget on multi-course meals and gourmet food. My trademark frugalness and overall dislike of handing over money in exchange for things seemed to have dissipated. It’s as if I no longer cared about my budget. Even in Korea, which was generally cheaper than Japan, I was a bit more restrained in what I had. I didn’t need to engage in such gluttony and not three nights in a row. This would all be fair criticism, an understandable calling out of a cheap hypocrite, if not for one crucial detail - every night in Nagasaki I got my dinner from the supermarket.
Japanese convenience stores receive high praise, and rightly so. They are omnipresent, they provide ample amounts of good food at affordable prices and they don’t check my ID when I’m clean shaven. Conversely Japanese supermarkets, whilst obtaining some praise, do not receive the credit they rightly deserve. Soon after arriving in Nagasaki I visited a large supermarket across the road from my hostel. Wandering around after lunchtime, I worried that the supermarket would waste a lot of food each day with all the readymade meals sitting around. The selection was immense, and varied.
Later that evening I wanted to eat at an udon restaurant but, after discovering they closed early, I eventually headed back to the supermarket to get something there. It was just going to be a one-off. A one-night only loner meal. When I arrived, so much of the food that I had seen earlier had been purchased. What was left was covered in discount stickers. This was my chance. I grabbed whatever was left - some sushi and an okonomiyaki. And so my Nagasaki tradition of an early evening conquest through the discounted food section of the local supermarket began.
A failure to mention the origins of my evening meals might appear as the onset of a mental breakdown. This could be the start of a period of psychosis a la Edward Norton in ‘Fight Club.’ Staying in quiet hostels for the previous ten nights might have pushed me to a state of paranoia, forcing me to invent characters in my mind and pretend to attend restaurants that didn’t exist. But the staff member did point out where the wasabi and pickled ginger was to be served with my sushi. They also helped me scan the platter of sushi when the ‘20% off’ sticker wasn’t being read correctly at the self-checkout. I was educated about the mochi and its construction, but that happened mostly through Google Translate and Wikipedia. The tuna tataki was aged, but mainly in the twelve hours it had been sitting in the back fridge of the supermarket. The second time the mackerel was cooked was in a frypan in my hostel kitchen. And of course, the curvaceous brunette leaned on his walking stick and stroked his facial hair as he sorted through the day’s remaining discounted items.
