Bringing green tea to the tables of the West

Born in 1828 into a Nagasaki family whose rapeseed oil business stretched back to the 17th century, Oura Kei entered a world where women rarely ventured from traditional roles. Yet, throughout her storied life, she moved among Japanese and foreign traders and dignitaries, experiencing both grand successes and heartbreaking losses. Today, she is remembered as one of Nagasaki’s Three Heroic Women for her pioneering role in the tea export trade.

Kei grew up in a lively household filled with the comings and goings of men involved in her father’s trade. While she was still a child, her father adopted the second son of a fellow merchant and betrothed him to Kei, intending for him to take over the family business. Sadly, the young man died when Kei was just nine years old. Not long after, Kei’s mother also died, and then the family’s fortunes declined. As if that wasn’t enough, in 1843, a fire swept through their neighborhood, destroying their home and plunging them deeper into hardship.

The following year, her father tried again to secure an heir through marriage to Kei. He adopted another promising lad, this one a student of rangaku, Dutch learning, who had come to Nagasaki to study Western sciences. He arranged a second engagement for Kei. But the day after their wedding, a disappointed Kei turned the young man out of the house. She remained single for the rest of her life.

By her early thirties, Oura Kei had taken over the family business. Years earlier, she collaborated with the interpreter Shinagawa Fujijuro to arrange her first tea export deal with Carl Julius Textor, a German merchant at Dejima. Together, they arranged for Ureshino tea to be shipped to Britain, America, and Arabia. This was a bold venture at a time when Japan’s trade with the outside world was limited and heavily regulated, and it laid the foundation for what would become a profitable chapter in her trading career.

In 1859, just as Japan began opening to foreign commerce, a 19-year-old British merchant named William John Alt arrived in Dejima. After inspecting samples of Ureshino tea, he placed a massive order with Kei and Fujijuro for 6,000 kilograms (13,227 pounds). Ureshino alone could not supply such a volume, so Kei traveled across Kyushu, visiting tea farms and buying as much as she could from each. Through her determination and perseverance, she succeeded in gathering the full six tons. The huge shipment was a success. With the profits, Kei rebuilt her family home in Nagasaki’s trading district and expanded her operations. 

The momentum of this prosperity came to an abrupt halt in 1861 with the outbreak of the American Civil War, which froze trans-Pacific trade. When peace returned in 1865, exports resumed, and by the following year, Nagasaki’s tea trade reached its peak, as did Kei’s career.

This boom, however, was short-lived. Yokohama was fast overtaking Nagasaki’s position in overseas trade, and with competition from the rich tea fields of Shizuoka, both the port’s importance and Kei’s tea trade dwindled.

Betrayal

In June 1871, a Kumamoto samurai named Toyama approached Oura Kei with a proposal to supply 90 tons of tobacco to Alt & Company, with her serving as guarantor. He presented documents that seemed official, complete with a seal and a co-signer, but were in fact clever forgeries. Kei’s former partner, interpreter Shinagawa Fujijuro, urged her to accept the deal. Kei signed the contract.

Alt & Company advanced Toyama 3,000 ryo (about USD 2.5 million today), but the tobacco never arrived. Toyama had absconded after using the funds to settle personal debts. Kei and Alt’s Nagasaki representative spent months searching for him. She was relentless, petitioning Kumamoto officials and even appealing to the head of Toyama’s clan, actions that drew criticism from one samurai for being “well outside appropriate boundaries.” Such boldness was hardly in line with the expectations for women of that era.

In January 1872, Alt & Company filed a lawsuit against Kei, Fujijuro, and Toyama. Kei brought her own case against Toyama. Ten months before the court issued its final verdict, the English Consul Marcus Flowers wrote, “I understand Miss Oura Kei has sufficient means, and as it was solely and entirely upon her guarantee that the money was advanced upon this contract, I must beg you will kindly press her for immediate payment.”

Although the court acknowledged Kei’s lack of direct wrongdoing, in keeping with Consul Flowers’s comment, it held her responsible for the 3,000 ryo advance, along with costs and damages. Toyama was sentenced to ten years in prison, while Fujijuro, shielded by his samurai status, repaid only a portion. Kei’s reputation was shattered. The Oura family business collapsed, and debt collectors seized her possessions.

Working till the end

Although her fortune was lost, Oura Kei retained her dignity. In June 1879, when former US President Ulysses S. Grant visited Nagasaki during his world tour, Kei boarded his ship as an official guest of state. Among the assembled dignitaries, which included prefectural governors, she was the only woman.

In January of the following year, Kei partnered with another Nagasaki merchant, Sano, to purchase the decommissioned navy warship Takao-maru. After being refitted for commercial use, it became their private trading ship, allowing Kei to expand her business. At that time, Nagasaki’s export market had become dominated by Frederick Ringer’s Holme, Ringer & Co., whose company exported not just tea, but coal, munitions, wax, and seafood. Kei faced formidable competition.

Nevertheless, the Takao-maru allowed her to maintain a presence in the export trade, and through unflagging perseverance and savvy negotiations, she succeeded in repaying all her debts. But this victory came at a price. By 1884, her health had begun to fail.

Meanwhile, Nagasaki Prefectural Governor Ishida Eikichi, a former member of the Kaientai, petitioned the Meiji government to honor Kei for her contributions. Ishida had belonged to the same reformist circle as Sakamoto Ryoma, who had founded the Kaientai in 1865 as a trading company and private naval militia. Kei had been personally acquainted with both of these influential men. On April 5, the governor received a telegram announcing that the award had been granted. A messenger brought the news to the Oura household the following day.

In recognition of her pioneering role in Japan’s tea export trade, the Meiji government awarded Oura Kei an official commendation for meritorious service and a monetary prize of 20 yen (USD 350). She passed away just days later at the age of 56.

We cannot help but admire Kei, who in her short life broke barriers, overcame terrible setbacks, and left her mark on history as a trailblazer for women in Japanese commerce.

The post Oura Kei—Unstoppable Pioneering Tea Merchant first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

Kagoshima’s Unique Cat Shrine

Decades before Europeans started using pocket watches, Shimadzu Yoshihiro relied on a different, more cuddly timepiece. This valorous samurai was the 17th head of the Shimadzu family, feudal lords of all of southern Kyushu since 1185.

By Yoshihiro’s time in the late 16th century, Toyotomi Hideyoshi had succeeded in unifying Japan, but his ambitions did not stop there. Flushed with success, he set his sights on China and, in 1592, sent Japanese armies across the sea to Korea to clear the way.

At the behest of Hideyoshi, Shimadzu Yoshihiro set off to battle in Korea, bringing along his treasured katana, tanegashima machlock gun, kemari ball—and seven cats to help him keep track of the time, and one would suppose, to keep him company.

Fighting on the Korean peninsula was fierce. Japanese forces faced off against the armies of the Joseon Kingdom, reinforced by the vast and seemingly inexhaustible troops of Ming China. The samurai fought valiantly, and none moreso than Yoshihiro, who distinguished himself to such a degree that Ming soldiers nicknamed him “The Demon Shimadzu.”

Nevertheless, Hideyoshi’s dream of becoming emperor of China ended in tremendous losses. After his death at his lavish Kyoto residence, the weary samurai finally retreated, bringing with them slaves, apothecaries, master potters—and, in Yoshihiro’s case, his two surviving cats, Yachi and Take.

On his return to Kagoshima, Yoshihiro had a shrine built on the grounds of Kagoshima Castle next to the toki no kane, the bell used to mark the hours for the town. There, his loyal cats were enshrined as Shinto deities and christened the Kami (Shinto god) of Time.

After the Meiji Restoration in 1868 ended the feudal system in Japan, the Shimadzu family left the castle grounds and moved to their seaside villa, Senganen, bringing the Cat Shrine with them. Today, it remains on a quiet hill behind the Shimadzu estate, one of the very few cat shrines in Japan—and the only one dedicated to the keeping of time.

Memorial Services

Each year on “Cat Day,” February 22, the shrine holds the Aibyō Chōju Kigan-sai, a ceremony to pray for the health and longevity of beloved cats.

Another ceremony is held on the little-known Toki no Hi, or “Time Day,” which commemorates the day in 671 AD when Emperor Tenji installed Japan’s first water clock in his capital at Otsu, in what is now Shiga Prefecture. Because Yoshihiro’s cats were instrumental in timekeeping—so much so that Yachi and Take came to be revered as Kami of Time—the shrine holds a Memorial Service for Cats, Aibyo Kuyo-sai, on that day. Clockmakers and cat-lovers alike flock to the shrine to honor Yoshihiro’s trusted “time cats” and the military precision he achieved during the Korean campaigns, thanks to their help.

The shrine’s ema depict Yoshihiro’s two cats. Visitors write their prayers and wishes on these wooden votive tablets and hang them at the shrine. Some ask for the return of a missing cat, others for healing, but most simply pray for long, healthy lives for their furry friends.

How to tell time with a cat

In the mid-17th century, the scholar Tanigawa Shisei penned this catchy poem to explain how to tell time by observing a cat’s eyes. As is typical of Japanese, the subject is understood.

Translated from the Edo-era time terminology, the poem reads:

At sunrise and sunset, they are round.

At 8 am and 4 pm, they are egg-shaped.

At 10 am and 2 pm, they are melon-seed shaped*

At noon, like a needle.

*Melon-seed was a common descriptive shape back in the day, probably more familiar to us as the shape of a persimmon seed.

Anyone who has spent time around cats will have noticed this. Their pupils widen into dark circles at night and narrow to thin slits in bright daylight. By learning these changes and keeping a cooperative cat handy, it’s possible to make a rough, but practical, estimate of the time.

If you ever find yourself in Kagoshima, consider visiting Senganen and seeking out the Cat Shrine dedicated to the Kami of Time—the only one of its kind in Japan.

I don’t think I’ll ever look at a cat the same way again.

The post Cats—From Battlefield Timekeepers to Unexpected Shinto Deities first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

After surviving centuries of persecution, the Hidden Christians are quietly disappearing

Traveling around Japan, I’ve come upon some unusual statues, testaments to the years Christianity was deemed a crime punishable by death. From the Maria Jizo of Narai in Nagano, to the Maria Kannon’s of Nagasaki, Christians made do with what they could contrive to keep their faith fresh.

A Little History of Christianity in Japan

Christianity reached Japan in 1549, when the Jesuit missionary Francis Xavier stepped ashore on southern Kyushu. Getting permission from the local daimyo, feudal lord, he began to preach. The new religion spread rapidly through Kyushu, accelerated by the conversion of several daimyo, most notably Omura Sumitada of the Omura domain (in present-day Nagasaki), Otomo Sōrin of Bungo (present-day Oita), and Arima Harunobu of the Shimabara domain (also in Nagasaki). Their embrace of Christianity gave the religion a measure of protection and prestige, but their zealousness and eagerness to please the missionaries resulted in the destruction of Buddhist temples and Shinto shrines in their domains, as well as the forced conversion of their subjects. 

Nevertheless, sincere Christian communities sprang up throughout Kyushu, centered in Nagasaki. Under Jesuit influence, the port developed into both a haven for believers and a thriving hub of Portuguese trade.

The Jesuits were followed by Spanish Franciscans, who also proved successful.. By the late 1500s, an estimated 300,000 Japanese had converted to Christianity, out of a nationwide population of roughly 15-22 million. In 2024, by contrast, about 1.2 million Japanese reported being Christian, less than 1% of a population of 123.8 million.

The climate of tolerance did not last. Toyotomi Hideyoshi’s 1587 Bateren Edict expelled missionaries, and a decade later, the crucifixion of 26 Christians in Nagasaki set a grim precedent. The Tokugawa shogunate outright banned Christianity in 1614. By the 1620s, missionaries had been expelled, and believers faced torture, execution, or forced apostasy.

The 1637–1638 Shimabara Rebellion of mostly Christian peasants, desperate from heavy taxation and famine, culminated in the expulsion of all the Portuguese and Spanish, as well as the 1641 confinement of the Dutch to Dejima, severing any possible Christian ties to the outside world. Christianity became punishable by death, with believers either killed or driven underground. Many became Kakure Kirishitan, Hidden Christians.

Life in Hiding (1640s–1850s)

The Hidden Christians developed ingenious ways to preserve their religion, adapting symbols and rituals to blend into Buddhist practice. Statues of the Virgin Mary were disguised as Kannon, the Buddhist bodhisattva of mercy, and crosses and rosaries were hidden inside Buddhist icons.

Central to the continuation of their faith were prayers called orasho, in a mix of Latin and 16th-century Portuguese and Japanese, chanted in rhythms resembling Buddhist liturgy. Passed down from generation to generation, reciting the orasho eventually became more of a ritual in itself rather than fully understood words.

Remote islands such as Goto and Ikitsuki became Christian refuges. There, believers organized into kumi, groups of ten to twenty families that doubled as fishing cooperatives and covert congregations. Under the guise of maritime customs, they disguised baptisms as blessings for new boats and orasho as chants for good fortune at sea. Crosses were hidden in nets and gear, while stones arranged into a cross on ancestors’ graves offered a secret moment of prayer before being scattered.

With few priests, lay leaders took on spiritual roles. The mizukata performed baptisms, and the chokata kept the calendar of holy days, ensuring the community continued its liturgical traditions. The most important was Otaiya, a Christmas mass held on December 23. The bread and wine of the Eucharist were replaced with rice, dried fish, and sake. The officiant placed a bit of the sanctified fish and rice on his upturned palms before eating, reflecting the Catholic sacrament.

Yet even with such careful adaptations and secrecy, persecution never ceased. Under the Tokugawa-mandated terauke seido system, every household was required to register with a Buddhist temple, and annual fumi-e tests forced suspected Christians to trample images of Christ or the Virgin Mary. Refusal meant torture and execution.

Still, hidden enclaves endured. By the 1790s, the rugged coastline of Sotome and the isolated Goto Islands are said to have sheltered as many as 3,000 Hidden Christians, who lived as farmers and fishermen while gathering in caves or homes to pray.

Rediscovery in the Meiji Era (1868-1912)

In 1863, French priest Bernard Petitjean of the Paris Foreign Missions Society arrived in Nagasaki and oversaw the construction of Oura Cathedral, which was completed the following year for foreign residents.

On March 17, 1865, Petitjean was astonished when 15 timid visitors from nearby Urakami quietly entered his church. They asked to see the statue of the Virgin Mary and to be assured of his ties to the Pope, explaining that they had preserved the sacraments and liturgy in secret for 250 years. Petitjean’s report to Rome stunned the Christian world, and Pope Pius IX hailed the moment as the “Miracle of the Orient.”

This “Discovery of the Hidden Christians” encouraged secret believers in Nagasaki, Sotome, and the Goto Islands to reveal themselves, though some paid a heavy price. On Hisaka Island, newly emboldened Christians openly declared their faith, only to face arrest in what became known as the Goto Kuzure, the Goto Collapse. About 200 Christians were imprisoned in a 20-square-meter cell (215 square feet), where 43 of the weakest, mostly children and the elderly, perished. When Father Petitjean learned of their confinement, he publicized their plight, which led to international calls for Japan to end the persecution.

Legacy of Resilience

True freedom for Christians came in 1873, when the Meiji government, under foreign pressure, lifted the ban on Christianity. Roughly 30,000 Hidden Christians emerged, many rejoining the Catholic Church. Others, particularly in the Goto Islands and on Ikitsuki, chose to continue the syncretic traditions of their ancestors. These communities hold the few Hidden Christians who survive today.

Through their generations, the prayers and rituals of the Hidden Christians evolved into customs unlike any other Christians in the world. No longer Japanese, Portuguese, or Latin, their prayers have been passed down written in the phonetic syllabary of katakana, their meaning all but lost. Even so, the faith carried on through the heartfelt sincerity of the believers.

The Hidden Christians’ survival across two and a half centuries of persecution, from Nagasaki’s hillsides to Goto’s remote caves, is nothing short of extraordinary. Yet in recent decades, as younger generations leave rural villages for the cities, few remain to carry on the traditions. The faith that once survived in secrecy under harsh persecution is now quietly disappearing.

Those Hidden Christians who rejoined the Catholics went on to build churches, such as Sakitsu Church in Amakusa in 1888, and Egami Church in Goto in 1918. In 2018, these and other related locations were recognized collectively as UNESCO World Heritage: Hidden Christian Sites in the Nagasaki Region.

The post Japan’s Hidden Christians first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

Low-calorie and high-fiber—konnyaku has been a health food in Japan for centuries

You’re seated before the first course of what is to be a masterpiece of kaiseki, Japanese multi-course cuisine. Along with your exquisite appetizers, you have a piece of something, well, rubbery. You poke it with your chopsticks, and it bounces back. What is this strange gray food? Someone tells you it is made from yams. But that’s not quite accurate.

Allow me to introduce you to konnyaku, perhaps the most misunderstood and mysterious of Japan’s popular foods. Konnyaku is made from the corm of the konjac plant (Amorphophallus konjac), sometimes called devil’s tongue. But what exactly does that mean?

What is a corm?

Corms are similar to bulbs and tubers, but with an important difference.

Bulbs grow in layers, like an onion. Roots grow from the bottom, and what will become the plant’s stems and leaves are inside the bulb. Tubers, like potatoes, form on the plant’s roots. Buds, the potatoes’ eyes, sprout from them. Pieces of potatoes with their eyes can be planted and will produce new potato plants.

These type of plants are called geophytes. They all store nutrients in their swollen underground stems. Another geophyte is rhizomes. Thick and root-like, they grow horizontally underground. Roots grow from the bottom and buds sprout from the top. Think ginger.

Finally, the corm. They kind of look like bulbs, but their interior is solid. Crocuses, taro, and, as you know, konjac, grow from corms.

In Japanese, the konjac plant is commonly called コンニャクイモ, konnyaku imo, literally “konnyaku potato.” Thus, the confusion with yams.

How Konnyaku Is Made

First of all, we need a konjac plant. After three years of growth, farmers harvest the corm. Traditionally, they clean, peel, and chop it, sometimes leaving bits of peel to add color to the finished konnyaku. The pieces are blended with water into a thick paste, which is then stirred in a pot over a low flame. When the texture becomes gluey, the cook adds a coagulant, like calcium hydroxide dissolved in water, and briskly stirs it in.

When it thickens, the gooey paste is poured into a tray, and the cook spreads a little more of the coagulant on top to give it a shiny surface. Just a little, as too much would make the finished product bitter. After 20 minutes, the konnyaku is firm enough to cut into blocks. These blocks are then simmered for 30-40 minutes to remove the bitterness and develop konnyaku’s soft, rubbery texture.

Konnyaku-making was revolutionized in the 18th century by a farmer named Nakajima Toemon. Instead of using the fresh corms, he sliced, dried, and ground them into flour. This flour had a long shelf life and could be mixed with water and coagulant to make konnyaku, greatly simplifying its production. For his contribution to society, he was made a Shinto deity and enshrined at the aptly named Konnyaku Shrine in Ibaraki Prefecture.

Today, konnyaku comes in many forms: blocks, chunks, thin round noodles called shirataki (white waterfall), and slices for konnyaku sashimi. Konnyaku made straight from the corm is grayish. Konnyaku made from konjac corm flour is white. Adding seaweed powder produces gray or speckled varieties, a discovery made in the early 20th century.

Konnyaku is essentially tasteless and retains its shape in hot liquids, so it’s a popular ingredient in oden, soups, and hot pots. Curiously, it softens when cooled. Its texture has long been compared to fugu sashimi (raw blowfish), which once made it a popular substitute for those living far from the coast. Aside from sashimi, cold konnyaku is also used to make a delicious sweet, konnyaku jelly.

Perhaps the most unusual use of konnyaku came towards the end of World War II. It was gathered from across the nation to be used as glue to hold together layers of washi paper in the production of balloon bombs. Fortunately, when the war ended, konnyaku returned to its peaceful role in the Japanese diet.

Or maybe that isn’t its most unusual use. Recently, a medical company in Saitama Prefecture started producing replica organs for medical students made from konnyaku. For a fraction of the price of other organs, students can practice delicate operations and suturing on lifelike organs made of konnyaku.

A Little History

Edible konjac is thought to have been brought to Japan from China around the 6th century, likely by Buddhist monks who consumed it as a medicine and a fasting food. Konnyaku eventually became an important part of shōjin-ryōri, the vegetarian cuisine of Buddhist temples.

From the temples, by and by, konnyaku moved into the kitchens of the elite. By the 16th century, it was familiar enough that Oda Nobunaga, Japan’s first great unifier, could reinvent it as he wished. Legend tells us that Nobunaga, known for his love of spectacle, had konnyaku dyed a vivid red to impress guests at his banquets. Whether this is true or not, red konnyaku remains a specialty of Omihachiman City in Shiga Prefecture, once home to Nobunaga’s magnificent Azuchi castle.

During the Edo period (1603–1867), konnyaku spread from the kitchens of the elites and monks to those of the common people. Producers standardized its production and built distribution networks, making konnyaku a staple of the masses. It appeared in street stalls and food shops, in simmered dishes like oden and on skewers as tama-konnyaku.

The Broom of the Stomach

Japanese food culture has unique aspects, such as its emphasis on eating a wide variety of foods each day and including foods rich in dietary fiber specifically for cleansing, of which konnyaku is prime.

Known for centuries as the “broom for the stomach,” konnyaku sweeps waste and toxins from the body and supports digestion. Its main component, glucomannan, a soluble fiber similar to what is found in oats and psyllium, binds to impurities, restores gut balance, and stimulates intestinal activity. Glucomannan absorbs water, expanding in the stomach to create a lasting feeling of fullness, making konnyaku a favorite of dieters.

Gut bacteria break down konnyaku’s dietary fiber, glucomannan, into oligosaccharides that act as prebiotics, supporting a healthy microbiome, stimulating mucus production, and strengthening the intestinal lining. Consumption of konnyaku has been shown to reduce blood lipids and improve immune function. Research is ongoing into the use of konnyaku as a treatment for obesity.

Nutrition

Beyond konnyaku’s digestive benefits, its fiber blocks cholesterol absorption in the small intestine and slows glucose uptake, helping regulate blood sugar levels. Regular consumption has also been shown to reduce LDL cholesterol.

Nutrition facts: One hundred grams of konnyaku contains 6 calories, 43 mg of calcium, 33 mg of potassium, 0.1 gram of protein, 0.1 gram of fat, and 2.6 grams of carbohydrates, most of which is pure fiber. It contains no sugar, cholesterol, or gluten. It’s 97% water.

From simmering hot pots in winter to chilled sashimi-style slices in summer, konnyaku’s versatility makes it suitable for countless dishes—a worthy staple of the Japanese diet. Next time you encounter konnyaku, I hope you will look past its oddity and appreciate it for the dietary marvel it is.

Illustration ©Diane Tincher

The post What is Konnyaku? Japanese Cuisine’s Best Kept Secret first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

Why it’s not just another bowl of carbs

Known as soba in Japan, buckwheat, despite its name, is not related to wheat at all. It is a pseudocereal—a non-grass plant whose seeds are used like grains. You are probably familiar with other pseudocereals, such as quinoa, amaranth, and chia. Unlike true cereal grains like wheat and rice, which come from grasses (monocots), pseudocereals are broadleaf flowering plants (dicots). They resemble grains in appearance and are used in similar ways—in noodles, porridge, baked goods, and more.

Soba, a term used for both the buckwheat grain and the noodle dish, is low in calories but rich in nutrients. It’s one of the highest-protein pseudocereals, containing between 8 and 14 grams of protein per 100 grams, depending on how it’s prepared. Noodles made from 100% buckwheat flour are higher in protein than those blended with wheat flour, which is often added to improve texture and elasticity. Buckwheat protein also contains all nine essential amino acids that the body cannot produce on its own, very rare among plant-based foods.

History

One of the oldest domesticated crops in Asia, buckwheat was introduced to Japan as an agricultural crop from the Korean peninsula during the mid to late Yayoi period (300 BC–250 AD). At first, it was raised for its edible leaves, but by the Nara period (710–794), its seeds had become a vital staple. Considered peasant food, soba was cultivated in mountainous regions where rice and wheat were difficult to grow, such as today’s Nagano and Yamanashi Prefectures.

Legend tells us that En no Gyōja, the founder of Shugendō, mountain asceticism, brought soba seeds from Nara to these remote areas. His followers are said to have helped spread buckwheat cultivation to the foothills of sacred mountains throughout Japan.

The cool climate, steep terrain, and poor, rocky soil of Nagano were not suitable for rice cultivation but were ideal for buckwheat. Hardy and fast-growing, buckwheat matures in 70 to 90 days and thrives where other crops fail. Farmers could plant it after the last spring frost and harvest before autumn’s cold set in, making it a natural fit for the region’s short growing season.

The earliest known reference to soba noodles comes from a small town in Nagano, Suhara-juku, a post town along the Kisoji section of the old Nakasendō Highway. A 1574 document describing repairs to the Buddha Hall of Jōshō-ji Temple notes that a man named Kanei served the workers soba-kiri, literally “cut buckwheat,” the early term for soba noodles—to celebrate the completion of the repair work.

Health benefits of soba

One serving of soba noodles, 170 grams (6 ounces), contains:

• 151 calories
• 7 grams of protein
• 0.7 grams of fat
• 1.76 grams of dietary fiber, about half soluble and half insoluble
• 27 grams of carbohydrates (slow-digesting, complex carbs)

It’s also particularly rich in vitamins A, B1, B2, niacin, vitamin B6, and folic acid, as well as a wide range of minerals including iron, magnesium, manganese, potassium, and zinc. With a glycemic index of 54, soba is considered a low GI food, meaning it leads to a slower and more gradual rise in blood glucose levels after eating.

Oh, and did I mention? When made without the addition of wheat flour, soba noodles are completely gluten-free.

Back to history

Soba noodles are made by mixing buckwheat flour with a small amount of wheat flour, then slowly and carefully adding water little by little. The dough is mixed by hand, kneaded, rolled with a long rolling pin, folded, then cut. Soba prepared this way is called te-uchi, hand hit, noodles. Although soba noodles can be made by machines, te-uchi noodles are by far the best, as they can withstand a lower ratio of wheat flour and, therefore, taste more like soba.

Originally, soba noodles were served separately and dipped in a small bowl of tsuyu broth. But as yatai, street food stalls, proliferated during the Edo era (1603-1867), it became more common and convenient to serve the noodles with the tsuyu poured directly over them in a single bowl. Yatai soba sellers would preboil the noodles, then, when an order was placed, quickly blanch them, drain them, and pour soup on top. This dish was called kakesoba, poured-on soba. Easy to prepare, easy to eat, and inexpensive, kakesoba soon became a popular fast food throughout Edo (modern-day Tokyo).

During this period, nearly every neighborhood in Edo had one or two yatai selling soba, many of which also served sake. The city’s residents—generally wealthier than those in rural areas—were prone to beriberi, a disease caused by a deficiency of thiamine (vitamin B1). Their refined diets, centered on polished white rice—costly but nutritionally poor—lacked sufficient thiamine. By and by, it was discovered that regularly eating thiamine-rich soba could help prevent the illness.

Edo food delivery, called demae, began in the 1700s as a service to wealthy daimyō, feudal lords. Until the late Showa period (1926-1989), it was common to see bicycle couriers balancing stacks of soba in boxes and bowls on their shoulders, weaving through the crowded streets of Tokyo. However, the practice was curtailed in March 1961, when officials of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department warned, “To ride on a bicycle with piles of soba bowls on your shoulder is dangerous.” Although getting rarer by the day, I still occasionally see people delivering bowls of noodles piled on motorcycles or scooters in my area.

Soba pillows

In keeping with the Japanese motainai philosophy of avoiding all waste, buckwheat hulls have been used for centuries as a filling for pillows. Because of the airflow created by the loose hulls, soba pillows naturally resist pests, mold, and dust mites. They conform to the shape of the head and are much cooler in the hot, humid Japanese summers compared to modern feather or synthetic alternatives.

For more about Japanese food, see Washoku—Wonderful and Beautiful Japanese Cuisine.

The post Soba—Japan’s Most Misunderstood & Most Healthy Noodle first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

A Brief History of (Nearly) Forgotten Island Nation

I wrote a detailed history of the Ryukyu Kingdom here; this article offers a shorter version.

For 450 years, Okinawa was the seat of the refined Ryukyu Kingdom, a Chinese tributary, and a pivotal hub of East Asian trade. Strategically positioned at the crossroads of Japan, China, and Southeast Asia, the Ryukyu Islands became a major entrepôt, attracting trading ships from Japan, Korea, and as far south as Java. Renowned for their diplomacy, hospitality, and peaceful nature, the Ryukyu people developed a rich, cosmopolitan culture, turning their island paradise into a repository of treasures and ideas from foreign lands.

Today, Okinawa Prefecture consists of 160 islands, 49 inhabited, stretching 400 kilometers (250 miles) from north to south and 1,000 km (620 miles) from east to west. The prefecture is divided into two main island chains: the central Okinawa Islands and the southern Sakishima Islands. The Sakishima Islands are further subdivided into smaller archipelagos: the Miyako Islands and the Yaeyama Islands. 

Agricultural Development and the Aji

The organization of the kingdom began in the 11th century, when the cultivation of rice and foxtail millet spread to the central Ryukyus, giving rise to an agricultural society. Local chieftains, or aji, emerged to rule farming communities from gusuku, fortified hilltop castles. Over time, the more powerful aji expanded their territories, accumulated wealth, and
led bands of armed retainers.

These regional leaders eventually formed loose confederations that divided Okinawa Island into three polities: Hokuzan in the north, Chuzan in the center, and Nanzan in the south. While Hokuzan had fertile farmland, Chuzan and Nanzan grew more prosperous through international trade, importing ceramics and exporting goods such as sulfur and green turban shells, valued for their use in mother-of-pearl inlay. This early trade cast only a faint shadow of the flourishing cosmopolitan kingdom Ryukyu would later become.

The Rise of Satto, King of Chuzan (reigned 1345-1395)—Official Trade with China Begins

In 1349, a young local governor named Satto seized control of the central region of Chuzan and proclaimed himself king. His rise coincided with major upheavals in East Asia: the Mongol Empire was collapsing, Japanese pirates roamed the seas attacking trading ships and coastal ports, and a former beggar, Zhu Yuanzhang, was on his way to conquering China. After capturing Nanjing in 1356, Zhu went on to declare himself the first emperor of the Ming dynasty in 1368.

To the Chinese, all foreign peoples were considered “barbarians” who must submit to the divinely mandated Chinese emperor. As such, in 1372, Chinese emissaries arrived in Okinawa to establish a tributary relationship. King Satto responded by sending envoys to China, who returned with a royal seal and documents recognizing him as the legitimate ruler of Chuzan. This began formal trade relations with China—a relationship that would last for 500 years and have a profound impact on Okinawan culture.

Trade with China brought prosperity and cultural exchange. Okinawa sent goods such as sulfur and textiles, while the Chinese sent ceramics, ironware, and books. Young Okinawan nobles traveled to Nanjing to study, as it was understood that “barbarian” nations had much to learn from China—and learn they did. The students mastered the Chinese language, Confucian philosophy, ethics, history, and poetry. 

Both the tribute envoys and these students’ mastery of Chinese court etiquette earned them such distinction that, in later years, one emperor honored the king with a tablet inscribed with “The Land of Propriety,” acknowledging the refinement and decorum of the Ryukyuan people.

The First King of Ryukyu, Sho Hashi (Reigned 1422-1439)

King Satto died in 1395, leaving the throne to his son, Bunei. However, in 1407, a young aji named Hashi led a rebellion, ousted Bunei, and took the throne. Taking the name Sho Hashi, he unified Okinawa’s three polities—Hokuzan, Nanzan, and Chuzan—founding the Ryukyu Kingdom. He remodeled Shuri Castle, originally built in the 13th century, after China’s Forbidden City. For the next 450 years, the castle stood as the kingdom’s political center and a symbol of its strength and connection with China.

Chinese-educated officials guided the kingdom’s administration, strengthening diplomatic and trade ties with China. The capital, Shuri, prospered as luxury goods from Southeast Asia were funneled through the port of Naha and traded with China, Korea, and Japan. The savvy Ryukyuans, avoiding conflict and lacking military power, relied on diplomacy and cultural refinement to secure their place in regional networks.

Naha grew into a bustling port. Ceramics, lacquerware, textiles, spices, medicinal herbs, Chinese brocade, coins, books, and even exotic animals, like parrots and peacocks, flowed through its docks. While the Shuri elites flourished, much of the population remained poor. Inspired by imported luxuries they could not afford, Okinawan peasants created bashofu, a fine gauze woven from the fibers of banana plants, well-suited to the island’s tropical climate. Kasuri, an intricate dyed textile technique from the Indies, was adopted and refined, as well as tie-dyeing methods. Musical instruments and dance forms from abroad also took root, shaping Ryukyuan culture. 

Despite the growing prosperity of the capital, life for the average islander was hard. To cope, communities developed a tradition of mutual aid and cooperation, helping one another in any way they could. Known as yuimaru, this deep community spirit remains a cornerstone of Okinawan culture.

Through the reigns of Sho Hashi and his successors, the Ryukyu Kingdom evolved from a fragmented island society into a powerful and culturally rich trading nation, with the magnificent Shuri Castle as its heart.

New Agricultural Products

In 1606, an Okinawan sailor brought sweet potatoes back from China and planted them in his yard, unwittingly altering the course of the islands’ economy. Within 15 years, this hardy, high-yield crop became a staple across the Ryukyu Islands.

A second major crop arrived in 1623 when an envoy to China returned with sugarcane slips. The introduction of sugar—a prized luxury in Japan—led to profitable trade with the Satsuma domain in southern Kyushu. Together, sweet potatoes and sugarcane transformed the kingdom’s agricultural economy, strengthening food security and driving trade.

The Rise of the “Lords of the Southern Islands”—Shimadzu Rule (1609-1872)

In the late 12th century, Japan’s first shogun, Minamoto no Yoritomo, appointed Shimadzu Tadahisa as ruler of southern Kyushu, granting him the title “Lord of Satsuma” and the honorary title “Lord of the Southern Islands.” Though the latter title faded into obscurity, it would resurface with weighty consequences centuries later.

When Tokugawa Ieyasu unified Japan and became shogun in 1603, he recognized Ryukyu’s strategic value—both as a buffer against European powers like Spain, which had seized the Philippines in 1571, and as a covert channel for trade with the Ming. In 1609, Ieyasu’s son ordered the Shimadzu clan of Satsuma to conquer the Ryukyu Kingdom. 

The peace-loving islanders were no match for the battle-hardened Shimadzu samurai, armed with Western matchlock muskets. Shuri Castle fell within two months, and the Ryukyuan king was taken in chains to Satsuma, present-day Kagoshima.

Though Ryukyu was now under Satsuma’s control, the Shimadzu preserved the appearance of independence to protect access to Chinese trade. The king was reinstated, tribute missions to the Ming court continued, and outwardly, little seemed changed. But Ryukyu’s autonomy was lost, and the bulk of its wealth now flowed into Satsuma’s coffers.

Subjugated Ryukyu

To keep Ryukyu’s puppet status hidden from China, the Shimadzu clan enforced strict secrecy. Japanese writing was concealed, and if a Satsuma man was addressed in Japanese by a Chinese official, he had to feign ignorance. Okinawans were banned from adopting Japanese names, dress, or customs—a policy that, ironically, helped preserve Ryukyuan culture from assimilation.

Under Shimadzu rule, Chinese cultural influence continued to shape Okinawa. New traditions emerged, such as ishigantō stones placed at T-junctions to ward off evil spirits, kamekō-baka turtleback family crypts, and shīsā lions guarding the sides of residential entrances. From the Meiji Era (1868-1912), shīsā also began appearing on rooftops.

While profiting from Ryukyu’s trade with China, the Shimadzu placed heavy burdens on the kingdom. In addition to demanding frequent diplomatic missions to Edo, they imposed steep taxes. The Ryukyu government, in turn, passed these costs onto the Sakishima Islands through a poll tax.

Instituted in 1638 and lasting until 1903, the tax required all adults between the ages of 15 and 50 to pay in rice and cloth, regardless of their ability to produce. Quotas were based on the population of each village, placing a disproportionate strain on farmers. To prevent organized resistance, the kingdom forbade the migration of islanders.

The Shimadzu also outlawed weapons—a policy some historians link to the development of Okinawan martial arts. Locals adapted Chinese ti into a system of self-defense that became karate, meaning “empty hand.” Originally practiced in secret, karate emphasized respect, self-discipline, self-control, and the principle of avoiding conflict, qualities easily understood within the context of Ryukyu’s history and culture.

The Assimilation of the Ryukyu Kingdom and the Meiji Era (1868-1912)

In 1864, the Ryukyuan king received investiture from China for the last time, marking the end of a 500-year tradition. Meanwhile, Japan stood on the cusp of radical change. In 1867, the Meiji Emperor ascended the throne, ending 750 years of feudalism and ushering in an era of rapid modernization and territorial consolidation. 

Japan quickly adopted Western models for industry, military organization, and education. Feudal domains were replaced by prefectures, and lords gave way to governors. In 1871, the Meiji government declared the Ryukyu Kingdom a Japanese domain. Eight years later, it was annexed and renamed Okinawa Prefecture. Japanese was made the official language, local dialects were banned, and schools adopted the standard national curriculum. Students caught speaking the Ryukyu language were publicly shamed.

Many Okinawans who moved to mainland Japan concealed their origins to avoid prejudice. They were often stereotyped as unsophisticated country folk, while Okinawans, in turn, looked upon the inhabitants of the Sakishima Islands as even more “backward.” The Sakishima Islanders were treated as lesser subjects; they still carried the burden of the poll tax, and their islands were now being used as penal colonies for Okinawan convicts.

The Militarization of Okinawa

From the perspective of the Meiji Imperial Army, the Ryukyu Islands were a critical link between Formosa (the Japanese colony of Taiwan) and mainland Japan. Yet, Okinawans were considered unfit for military service as most adult men fell below the minimum height and weight requirements. The older generation vehemently opposed militarization, fearing it would invite attacks. Unlike the samurai of the mainland, Okinawans had no history of combat; they were peace-loving traders and diplomats, not warriors.

However, after Japan’s victory in the Russo-Japanese War of 1905, Okinawans were drafted into the military, and fitness programs were introduced across the islands. The towns that produced the most recruits were honored. Military leaders sought to instill a fanatic spirit in the islanders to compensate for their small stature. 

WWII—The Battle of Okinawa

By February 1944, with Allied forces advancing toward Japan, Okinawa stood directly in their path, a final buffer to delay an attack on the main islands. In anticipation of invasion, civilians were conscripted to build defenses, soldiers seized homes, and centuries-old pines lining Okinawa’s highways were stripped away. 

On April 1, 1945, American forces landed near Kadena, about a third of the way up Okinawa Island. To their surprise, they encountered little resistance and quickly advanced to the eastern coast, splitting the island. Civilians fled north, unprotected and terrified by Imperial propaganda warning of American atrocities. By May 5, the northern half of the island fell under American control. 

Meanwhile, General Ushijima, the top Imperial commander, had made his headquarters beneath Shuri Castle. His strategy was to draw the American forces under Shuri’s craggy heights, unleash a powerful crossfire, and hold them off until reinforcements could arrive from the mainland.

As American troops advanced, the fighting intensified into one of the fiercest artillery battles of the war. Though they reached the castle, its 500-year-old walls held firm. Offshore, kamikaze pilots from Kyushu attacked the American fleet, causing damage but failing to disrupt operations. On May 24, the battleship USS Mississippi opened fire on Shuri. For three days, it shelled the fortress until the once-magnificent ancient castle was reduced to ruins, its formidable walls crumbled into rubble.

On May 31, General Ushijima abandoned his headquarters beneath Shuri and relocated to a cave on the southern coast. Although the retreating Japanese fought with unparalleled ferocity from cave to cave, organization and discipline had disintegrated. The Imperial forces chose death over surrender, but with utter disregard for the civilians trapped among them.

Terrified locals, including the wounded and sick, sought refuge in caves, but these sanctuaries offered little safety. Japanese troops often took over the caves, forcing civilians out or using them as sniper positions, drawing American fire.

Naha fell on June 13. In the early hours of June 21, General Ushijima and his chief of staff, facing the humiliation of defeat, went to the ledges overlooking the southern sea, saluted the emperor in distant Tokyo, and took their own lives.

War’s Tragic Toll

The Battle of Okinawa inflicted immense suffering on civilians, who accounted for the majority of the casualties, more than those of both American and Japanese troops combined. Indoctrinated by the Imperial Army, Okinawans were taught that it was more honorable to die than face the “shame” of capture. Civilians were often issued two grenades—one to kill the enemy and the other to take their own lives.

Strict military control and relentless propaganda fostered an atmosphere of fear. Anyone caught speaking English or their local dialect was executed for suspected espionage. Those urging surrender were killed. Civilians were warned of torture, rape, and death if captured. As American troops advanced, these warnings triggered mass suicides. Soldiers instructed families to avoid capture at all costs, with mothers urged to kill their children and then themselves rather than fall into enemy hands.

Survivor accounts reveal the horror. In one case, Mr. Komine recalled his family forming a circle as his father prepared to execute them. He watched in horror as his father bludgeoned his mother and siblings before he was struck. After the killings, his father hanged himself from a tree. Against all odds, Mr. Komine was rescued by American troops and survived. 

Despite the widespread fear, many civilians hiding in caves were eventually driven out by hunger or desperation. Bracing for poison or brutal treatment, they were astonished to be given water, food, and medical care by American soldiers. Okinawa remained under US occupation after the war until it was returned to Japan in 1972. 

Okinawa’s Ongoing Struggles

Government policies have long prioritized the welfare and economic growth of mainland Japan over Okinawa, leaving the prefecture with a legacy of occupation, repression, and militarization. Today, critics argue that Okinawa continues to bear a disproportionate burden for the mainland’s interests, particularly through the continued presence of US military bases.

Okinawa’s poverty rate stands at approximately 35%, double the national average, with per capita income about 20% lower. The prefecture also records Japan’s highest rates of unemployment, irregular employment, and single-parent households, along with the second-highest divorce rate.

Educational outcomes remain troubling. Okinawa consistently ranks lowest on national academic achievement tests for students in grades six through nine and has the country’s lowest rate of university enrollment.

The elderly face acute financial hardship. Roughly 6.2% of residents aged 65 and older receive no pension—about twice the national average. Among those who do, the average monthly benefit is just ¥51,864, the lowest in Japan.

A Beacon of Resilience

Despite, or perhaps because of, a history of economic hardship and adversity, Okinawans are renowned for their kindness, resilience, and longevity. Women, in particular, enjoy an average life expectancy of 87.44 years, evoking the ancient image of the Ryukyu Islands as a mythical “land of the immortals.”

Designated a Blue Zone—one of several regions in the world known for exceptional longevity—Okinawa exemplifies the benefits of a balanced, traditional lifestyle. Residents maintain low stress levels, strong family and community ties, and active lives well into their 80s and beyond. Their diet, rich in locally sourced and nutrient-dense foods like sweet potatoes and other plant-based staples, is said to help reduce the risks of cancer, heart disease, and dementia, diseases common in Western populations.

The Okinawan way of life is rooted in a deep sense of community, or yuimaru, and the concept of ikigai, a profound sense of purpose. These cultural pillars, combined with physical activity and a healthy diet, have been praised as key factors in their well-being.

Though Okinawa has faced myriad challenges, its people continue to inspire with their warmth, deep-rooted mutual care, and positive outlook. Their enduring vitality and joie de vivre stand as a testament to the strength of their culture.

The post The Ryukyu Kingdom’s Rise and Ruin first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

Japan’s healthiest spirit

When visitors come to Kagoshima and ask me to recommend a good local sake, I hesitate. While Kagoshima does produce some sake, its true specialty is shochu, which has been distilled here since even before the humble sweet potato arrived in the early 18th century—a crop that would later become a lifesaver and the star ingredient of its premier shochu.

Shochu’s Beginnings

To uncover the origins of shochu’s story, I visited Koriyama Hachiman Shrine in Okuchi Town, located in northern Kagoshima Prefecture. During renovations done in 1954, workers discovered sumi ink writing on the underside of a shingle bearing the date 永正4年, or 1507, leading scholars to conclude that the shrine must have been built before that year.

The shrine’s architecture blends techniques from the Muromachi and Momoyama periods with distinct Ryukyuan influences. In 1949, the main shrine building was designated a National Important Cultural Property. See the beautiful Ryukyu-style pillars below.

But I digress.

You might wonder why I would visit a shrine in my quest to learn more about shochu. The answer lies in the unexpected piece of history found in writing hidden inside the northeast decorative head beam—ancient graffiti scrawled in complaint: “Despite our daily hard work, the head priest here never once gave us shochu to drink. What a cheapskate!”

The carpenter’s 1559 gripe leaves us with the first written mention of “shochu” in Japanese history, marking Okuchi as the birthplace of shochu.

The shochu the disgruntled carpenter longed for would likely have been made from grains, perhaps rice, and is thought to have evolved from awamori, a distilled beverage of the Ryukyu Islands. The islanders are believed to have learned their distillation technique through trade with Siam (modern-day Thailand) in the 15th century. The process involves soaking rice, fermenting it with black koji mold and yeast, and then distilling it once.

The Ryukyu court prized awamori so highly that they reserved century-old vintages for honored guests. Today, Okinawans still produce awamori, which is classified as a type of shochu, although much stronger at 50–86 proof (25–43% alcohol).

It wasn’t until the 18th century that shochu started to be made from sweet potatoes, thanks to the sweet potato god, Maeda Riemon. (May he never be forgotten.) Sweet potatoes grow like weeds in Satsuma, today’s Kagoshima, and soon became a staple of the diet—and the distillery.

How Shochu is Made

Like sake production, shochu begins by steaming rice, cooling it, and inoculating it with white koji mold spores, Aspergillus oryzae. This rice is left in a 40-42˚C room for 40 hours for the mold to grow. As the koji works its magic, workers must turn and spread the rice every two hours around the clock. They crumble the clumps of rice that form due to the koji growth to keep the mold growing evenly.

The transformed koji rice is then mixed with water and yeast to make moromi mash. Over three to eight days, the koji enzymes convert starch to sugar, the yeast feeds on the sugar, and the mash gradually acidifies to a pH of 3.5—about as tart as a ripe strawberry.

Next, the base ingredient, let’s use sweet potatoes, is steamed and added to the moromi mash with additional water. This is left to ferment for about two weeks, allowing the earthy sweetness of the potatoes to meld with the bright acidity of the mash.

The fermented mash is then distilled. Gently heated below water’s boiling point, the alcohol and aromatic compounds vaporize, travel through a condenser, and emerge as a clear spirit with 37–40% alcohol. This method was used for centuries. Then, in the 1970s, an enterprising Fukuoka producer pioneered vacuum distillation—extracting alcohol at lower temperatures to create lighter, floral flavor. This innovation catapulted shochu to nationwide popularity.

Freshly distilled shochu is then filtered and aged in tanks, earthenware pots, or bottles at full strength, around 40% alcohol by volume. After aging from months to years, pure water is added to lower the alcohol to a smooth 20–25%, and the final product is bottled.

Categories of Shochu

Honkaku

To be classified as honkaku, authentic, shochu must be distilled only once in a traditional pot still, like those used for whiskey. This method preserves the aromas and flavors of its base ingredients, which can range from Satsuma sweet potatoes to Amami Oshima black sugar, sake lees, rice—or any of 49 other officially approved raw materials.

Kōrui 

Kōrui shochu undergoes continuous distillation in a column still, similar to vodka production. Made from inexpensive cereals or molasses, its repeated distillations strip away distinctive flavors, resulting in a clean, neutral spirit. Its affordability and versatility make it a staple for mixed drinks and for making ume-shu, so-called “plum wine” that is actually apricot-infused shochu.

Awamori

Made exclusively with black koji mold and long-grain indica rice—a legacy of the trade of the former Ryukyu Kingdom—awamori carries deeper umami and tropical fruit notes. Many premium awamori varieties are aged for decades in clay pots, developing a complexity akin to fine rum.

How to drink shochu

Shochu lends itself to a wide variety of drinking methods. It’s a great base for cocktails, or simply mixing with juice or tea. It can be drunk straight, on the rocks, mixed with soda water, cold water, or hot water.

In Kagoshima, the most common way to drink shochu is oyu-wari—mixed 6:4 or 7:3 shochu to hot water (70°C/158°F). This brings the alcohol content down to a smooth 15-17%. To fully appreciate the aroma of fine shochu, locals tell me that hot water should always be poured first before adding the shochu.

Why drink shochu?

The post Shochu—Ancient Brewing Methods Yield Unexpected Health Benefits first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

The Maeda Clan’s Legacy, Kenrokuen Garden, and Translucent Gold Leaf

Kanazawa is the capital of Ishikawa Prefecture, about midway up the western coast of Honshu. The name Kanazawa, meaning “marsh of gold,” is said to have come from a story of a man who washed gold dust from freshly dug potatoes into a well. Today, the Kinjo Reitaku well, where those gold-dusted potatoes were rinsed, is located on the grounds of Kenrokuen Garden and stands as a reminder of the city’s golden legacy.

Kanazawa’s history dates back approximately 500 years to the Kaga Ikkō-ikki, a 15th-century conflict between the ruling samurai class and the Ikkō, militant followers of Jōdo Shinshū (True Pure Land Buddhism). This diverse group, which included monks, priests, townspeople, and farmers, emerged victorious and established Kanazawa as “The Peasants’ Kingdom.” Free from samurai rule, the government of Japan’s sole Buddhist fiefdom was based at Kanazawa Mido, a temple complex built in the mid-16th century on what is now the grounds of Kanazawa Castle.

“The Peasants’ Kingdom” came to a sudden end in 1580 when Oda Nobunaga’s forces, led by Shibata Katsuie and Sakuma Morimasa, stormed into the city. Following the conquest, Nobunaga gave Morimasa control of Kaga Province.

However, after Nobunaga’s death in 1582, Toyotomi Hideyoshi reassigned the province to Maeda Toshiie, a wise and accomplished samurai general. Toshiie’s ceremonial entry into Kanazawa on June 14, 1583, marked the start of the modern development of Kanazawa. The Maeda clan built Kanazawa Castle on the former site of the Mido temple, and they transformed the surrounding temple town into a new castle town.

For 285 years, the Maeda clan governed Kaga Province, present-day Ishikawa and Toyama Prefectures. One of the largest domains of the Edo period, Kaga had a rice yield of approximately 1.2 million koku—enough to support an army of 1.2 million men, as one koku (150 kilograms/331 pounds) was considered the amount needed to feed one man for a year. This vast yield made the Maedas the wealthiest feudal lords of the Edo period after the Tokugawa shoguns. Under the Maeda clan’s benevolent rule, Kanazawa flourished as their political, economic, and cultural center, and became one of Japan’s leading castle towns.

The third lord of Kaga, Maeda Toshie’s son Toshitsune, was the first to transport his rice taxes, 100 koku, by ship southwest around Honshu and up to Osaka, laying the foundation for what was to become the Kitamaebune trade route. He also led the largest contingent to support Tokugawa Ieyasu during the siege of Osaka in 1615. Following their victory over the Hideyoshi clan, Ieyasu offered Toshitsune the island of Shikoku in exchange for his Kaga domain. Toshitsune declined, and we can be glad he did.

The city developed around Kanazawa Castle, which shaped the layout of its streets, neighborhoods, gardens, and sophisticated water systems. Many Buddhist temples were relocated to the city’s outskirts to act as defensive perimeters, while Ikkō temples—historically linked to rebellious activities—were moved within the town for closer supervision. To mitigate the risk of uprisings, non-Ikkō temples were strategically placed to oversee the Ikkō sect temples.

The Maeda lords prioritized culture and education over military strength. They invited scholars and master artisans from across Japan, fostering the development of Kutani ware ceramics, lacquerware, metal casting, tea ceremony, Noh theater, and the geisha arts. This cultural patronage extended beyond the samurai elite, touching the lives of townspeople and granting them access to a level of sophistication rarely available in other regions.

By the late 19th century, Kanazawa had become Japan’s fourth-largest city, following Tokyo, Osaka, and Kyoto. However, the Meiji Restoration of 1868 shifted the political landscape, stripping the Maeda clan of power and centralizing authority in Tokyo. As Japan modernized, attention and resources were increasingly focused on the growing metropolises of Tokyo, Osaka, and Nagoya. As Kanazawa was left behind, its economy declined, threatening the continuation of its once-flourishing traditional crafts and cultural practices. Yet, its craftsmen and artisans carried on.

During the 20th century, Kanazawa was spared the devastation of World War II largely due to its limited industrial and military importance and its somewhat isolated position on Japan’s west coast. This fortunate outcome, combined with the city’s peaceful history under the Maeda clan during the Edo Period and its relative lack of natural disasters, has allowed entire districts of Edo-era architecture to survive intact.

In the post-war era, as Japan underwent rapid economic growth and globalization, Kanazawa drew on its rich cultural and intellectual heritage to merge its traditional crafts with contemporary art, nurturing a new creative cultural industry. This dedication to preserving and evolving its artistic legacy earned Kanazawa recognition as a UNESCO City of Crafts and Folk Art in 2009. The relocation of the National Crafts Museum from Tokyo to Kanazawa in 2020 further underscored this status. 

The legacy of the Maedas’ investment in the arts remains evident today. Kanazawa is well-known for its traditional crafts, including gold and silver leaf work, lacquerware, ceramics, and silk production, as well as its performing arts, such as Noh theater and geisha.

Kenrokuen, One of Japan’s Three Great Gardens

Japan has a well-known affection for “Three Greats,” a cultural quirk I’ve written about before. Tracing back to at least 1899, a beautiful example is the Three Great Gardens—Kairakuen in Mito, Kōrakuen in Okayama, and Kenrokuen in Kanazawa.

Each of these Three Greats is a strolling garden created by feudal lords near their castles in the early Edo era. One theory as to why those gardens were chosen is linked to the classic imagery of “snow, moon, and flowers” (雪月花). Kairakuen (偕楽園), famed for its 3,000 plum trees, evokes flowers (花). The stillness of the pond in Kōrakuen (後楽園) mirrors the moon (月). And Kenrokuen (兼六園) dazzles with the snow-draped beauty of its trees supported by yukitsuri (雪).

Kenrokuen, the jewel of Kanazawa, covers 114,436 square meters and has been open to the public since 1874. Its story began in 1676 when Maeda Tsunanori, the 5th lord of the Kaga Domain, laid the foundations with a landscape garden called Renchitei. A fire destroyed it in 1759, but the family restored it by 1774. In 1822, its name was changed to Kenrokuen, meaning “Garden of Six Elements,” a nod to a classical Chinese poem that elucidates the six contrasting qualities of an ideal garden: vast space, quiet seclusion, human artistry, timeless elegance, flowing water, and sweeping vistas. The poem suggests that uniting all six is nearly impossible—yet a walk through Kenrokuen proves otherwise.

As you wander its paths, these elements unfold naturally. The garden’s oldest fountain, Japan’s first powered by natural water pressure, marries human ingenuity with the rush of flowing water, its height rising and falling with the level of the nearby pond from which its stream flows. The terrain shifts subtly from secluded resting spots to sudden, expansive views, like the Kasumigaike pond that reflects the surrounding greenery and sky.

When the haiku poet Matsuo Basho visited Kanazawa in 1689 he left the following, now inscribed in stone:

あかあかと、日はつれなくも、秋の風

bright red burning
bitter sun…
but autumn in the wind

A small war memorial in the park, the Meiji Memorial, was erected in 1880 to honor 400 soldiers from Ishikawa Prefecture who lost their lives quelling a rebellion in southern Kyushu. The statue is cast in the form of the mythical hero Yamato Takeru, who, according to ancient legend, also suppressed a rebellion in Kyushu.

Gold Leaf

Gold leaf production in Kanazawa began in the late 16th century under the rule of the Maeda clan. While the Maeda actively promoted this art, their ambitions were curtailed by the Shogunate, which confined gold leaf production to designated regions like Edo and Kyoto. It wasn’t until these restrictions were lifted following the Meiji Restoration in the late 19th century that Kanazawa’s gold leaf industry blossomed into a public art form.

The process of creating gold leaf is both intricate and labor-intensive. It begins with a gold alloy—blended with traces of silver and copper—rolled into thin sheets by a mill. These sheets are then placed between layers of hakuuchi-gami, a handmade washi paper essential to the process. To make this paper, white washi is soaked in a brew of straw-ash lye, hot water, egg white, and persimmon tannin, then dried and pounded for three months until it becomes a smooth, durable, brownish sheet. The paper’s quality determines how thinly and uniformly the gold can be stretched.

The gold alloy is sandwiched between sheets of bound hakuuchi-gami, and machine-pounded for three days until it reaches an astonishing thinness of 0.0001 millimeters—so thin the gold leaf becomes translucent. Kanazawa produces 99% of Japan’s gold leaf and all of its silver and platinum leaf. Known collectively as Kanazawa haku, these delicate sheets are a shining example of the city’s traditional handicrafts.

I could go on about the wonders of Kanazawa—three geisha districts where working geiko bring history to life; the breathtaking garden behind Oyama Shrine and another in the Nomura Samurai House; the world-class museums; the Noh theater; and the bustling Omicho Market running over with fresh seafood and energetic merchants. It’s no wonder that Kanazawa is one of my favorite cities. The lingering influence of the Maeda clan radiates through its prosperity, timeless traditions, and continually evolving arts. I hope you will one day have the chance to experience this beautiful city.

The post Kanazawa’s Impressive Golden Culture first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

The ultimate in sacrifice for others

For centuries, some individuals in Japan willingly underwent the grueling process of sokushinbutsu, 即身仏, self-mummification. This extreme ritual was believed to lead to enlightenment and would transform the practitioner into a Living Buddha. The characters of sokushinbutsu—即 “at once,” 身 “this body,” and 仏 “Buddha”—reveal its meaning. These transcendent beings are revered for their ultimate sacrifice, having dedicated themselves to alleviating the suffering of others caused by illness, epidemics, and famines. 

Self-mummification dates back to ancient China and was later brought to Japan, where it evolved under the influence of Kūkai (774–835), the founder of Shingon Buddhism. Kūkai’s esoteric teaching emphasized that through rigorous spiritual practice, one could attain Buddhahood in their present existence — a concept known as sokushin jōbutsu. 

According to tradition, Kūkai himself achieved this state over 1,200 years ago. Today, he remains in eternal meditation within his mausoleum at Okunoin—an expansive, ancient cemetery within the Kōyasan temple complex in Wakayama Prefecture. To this day, monks continue to offer him meals each morning and night.

Dewa Sanzan

I was given the rare opportunity of visiting one of these living Buddhas in the mountains of the Dewa Sanzan, which consists of the sacred peaks of Mount Haguro, Mount Gassan, and Mount Yudono in northern Yamagata Prefecture. The Dewa Sanzan is home to the most known sokushinbutsu, with six of Japan’s 18 known mummies, although both these numbers are disputed.

I use the term “known” because, at the start of the Meiji era (1868–1912), self-mummification was outlawed, and the locations of those who had recently undergone the process were lost. Many more sokushinbutsu may remain hidden in remote mountain regions, still waiting to be exhumed. In fact, several previously unknown mummies were discovered by chance in 1959.

But sokushinbutsu are not the only mummies in Japan. Four generations of the Northern Fujiwara family were embalmed, mummified, and interred beneath the altars of the golden Konjikidō at Chūsonji temple in Iwate Prefecture. Well, only the head of the youngest.

How to become a living Buddha

Achieving self-mummification required adhering to a strict diet, sometimes for as long as ten years, to prevent decomposition after eventual death by starvation. The practitioner undertook mokujiki shugyō, “tree eating,” to reduce body tissue as much as possible. Practitioners abstained from eating gokoku-dachi, the five staple grains—rice, barley, soybeans, foxtail millet, and proso millet. Instead, they consumed the products of the forest, such as nuts, berries, pine needles, bark, resin, and the cores of bamboo leaves. As the months passed, the amount eaten was reduced.

The idea was to eliminate all fat and any substances that could contribute to bodily decay after death. The long, slow process of deliberate desiccation began with the body burning fat, which reduced subcutaneous fat and moisture levels—primary causes of decay. The practitioner would remain still, allowing the body to consume muscle as an alternate source of glucose.

To help the body become less prone to decomposition, some practitioners are thought to have consumed pine-needle tea or urushi, the sap of the lacquer tree. Pine-needle tea is believed to destroy gut bacteria, preventing them from consuming the body post-mortem. Similarly, drinking urushi may have served as a form of internal preservation, helping to deter decay.

This torturous lifestyle continued for 3,000 days—days filled with the chanting of sutras. When his body had withered to little more than skin and bones, the practitioner moved to an underground chamber, about three meters deep, where he was essentially buried alive. A bamboo tube inserted through the ceiling provided oxygen. 

In the complete darkness of this nyūjō-zuka, chamber of enlightenment, he sat meditating, fasting, and chanting sutras while ringing a bell. When the bell ceased to ring, it signaled he had entered metsushinjō — the extinction of the mind and attainment of stillness. His chamber was then sealed for three years.

This ritual was beyond harsh, and it was hardly foolproof. Many who attempted the process failed, dying before they achieved their goal. Or perhaps their bodies decayed even after enduring the severe 3,000-day regimen.

Shonin Honmyōkai

The sokushinbutsu that I encountered was at the Honmyōji temple in Tsuruoka, Yamagata. His name is Shonin Honmyōkai, and he entered nyūjō in 1683.

In his youth, he was a samurai named Togashi Yoshibei, who served the Shonai clan. When he was 39, his lord became deathly ill. Yoshibei and other vassals went to sacred Mount Yudono to pray for his healing. His lord was, indeed, healed.

But, instead of returning to the service of his lord, as was expected, Yoshibei stayed on Mount Yudono to continue his Buddhist prayers. Enraged by what he saw as desertion, his lord punished him by canceling his marriage and withholding his salary. Undeterred, Yoshibei entered Chūrenji Temple as a disciple and took the name Honmyōkai to mark the beginning of his new life of asceticism. The “kai” in his name is the kanji kai 海, taken in honor of Kūkai.

Moved by the hardships and recurring famines endured by the villagers living near the temple, he resolved to become a Buddha who could intercede on their behalf. He yearned to help ease their suffering and save them from their difficult lives. With this goal in mind, he began his nine-year process of self-mummification.

Honmyōkai endured a life of extreme asceticism. He slept outside, experienced countless insect bites, and ate and slept little. From a spot overlooking settlements and fields, he ceaselessly prayed for the local people’s prosperity and chanted sutras. As the years passed, his body gradually shrank and lost strength.

When sufficiently weak, he did what he could to help prepare the chamber where he would be entombed. In the darkness of this underground crypt, he continued to pray and chant. Finally, his bell ceased to ring, and those keeping vigil knew that he had entered nyūjyō—the state of eternal meditation transcending ordinary consciousness, as Kūkai had done before him.

His tomb was sealed. 

A Living Buddha

Three years later, Honmyōkai’s tomb was opened to see if he had succeeded with mummification and had thus attained a high spiritual state. His body was completely preserved. He had become a Living Buddha and could intercede for those in need. Since then, he has been enshrined at Honmyōji temple as a Buddha. He is still worshipped today.

Every twelve years, his garments are changed in a solemn and private ritual. His old robes are cut, and small pieces are enclosed in cloth packets sold as omamori, charms believed to bring blessings and protection to those who carry them. 

As the priest of Honmyōji reminded me, the blessings and conveniences we enjoy today are thanks to the sacrifices and efforts of those who came before us — Honmyōkai and countless others. This humbling realization behooves us to follow in their footsteps, ensuring future generations inherit a world enriched by our efforts, kindness, and commitment to the greater good of humanity.

The post Sokushinbutsu—The Fascinating Practice of Self-Mummification to Attain Buddhahood first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

Once served to emperors, this traditional fermented fish is quietly making a comeback

From the late 7th century, Wakasa was one of three Miketsukuni, areas designated by law to provide seafood to the emperor and imperial court. The port of Obama, nestled between mountains and the sheltered waters of Wakasa Bay on the Sea of Japan, was Wakasa’s center of supply. 

From this closest seaport to the capital, porters would carry salt, seaweed, and salted fish in baskets tied to their backs directly across the rugged mountains to Nara and Kyoto. This route, known as the Saba Kaidō, or Mackerel Highway, owes its name to the abundance of mackerel in Wakasa Bay. This bounty was due to the bay’s ideal environment, created by the convergence of the warm Tsushima Current from the south and the cool Liman Current from the north.

The 72-kilometer journey from Obama to Kyoto along the Mackerel Highway took just enough time for the preserved fish to reach its optimal flavor. Seafood from Obama was highly valued in Kyoto as “Wakasa food,” and one popular dish, saba-zushi—sushi rice pressed with a fillet of salted and pickled mackerel—is still a popular washoku today and a feature of Kyoto’s annual Gion festival.

Among the foods sent to Kyoto in bygone days, one stand-out is a unique type of preserved mackerel known as Heshiko.

Heshiko

Inland along the northern section of Obama lies the hamlet of Tagarasu, meaning “crows in the rice paddies.” In one of its quiet valleys, surrounded by green mountains and picturesque rice terraces, stands a disused elementary school. Once alive with the laughter and chatter of energetic children, its classrooms fell silent more than a decade ago. Today, its schoolyard is occasionally used by elderly locals who gather for a leisurely game of gateball.

But in recent years, the school building has gained a new purpose. Its once lively classrooms are now home to hundreds, yea, thousands, of silent inhabitants—mackerel.

Tagarasu is where I was fortunate to learn about Heshiko, an ancient technique that uses salt and fermentation to preserve fish. Born out of necessity, this method helped Obama fulfill its role as a Miketsukuni, furnishing high-quality seafood from Wakasa Bay to the imperial cities of Nara and Kyoto along the “Mackerel Highway.” It also provided a vital source of protein for people living in the mountains, ensuring they had healthy food to carry them through the harsh winter months when deep snow made fresh supplies scarce.

Today, heshiko remains a local delicacy, rich in umami. Its preservation process involves salting and fermenting fish — usually mackerel, sometimes herring — for over a year.

The process begins in autumn with a fresh catch of mackerel. The fish are gutted and cleaned, their cavities filled with salt, and then they are packed into large cedar barrels.

Once a barrel is full, the fish are covered, and a two-kilogram weight is placed on top. A day or two later, the fish are removed, packed in fresh barrels, and pressed with a heavier weight. This process continues, with the weight gradually increasing, until excess liquids are removed from the fish.

When the fish are sufficiently moisture-free, they are repacked into barrels—this time filled and layered with rice bran instead of salt. Togarashi peppers are added to deter insects, and sturdy straw ropes are tied tightly around the barrel rims to seal the containers. 

Left undisturbed for about a year, the mackerel undergoes slow fermentation. The following winter, the fish have transformed into heshiko and are ready to be eaten.

Heshiko is packed with nutrition and is a rich source of protein, calcium, iron, dietary fiber, EPA, DHA, beneficial enzymes, and vitamins B and D. The family of heshiko producers I met hope that one day, heshiko will be recognized as the superfood it is and that Tagarasu’s heshiko will become a household name.

Heshiko goes well with a cup of dry sake or beer. It can be served in all kinds of ways—thinly sliced atop a wedge of daikon radish, grilled, as sushi, or in chazuke — topping on a bowl of rice with green tea poured over it.

Narezushi

Some heshiko are fermented further and made into narezushi—the earliest form of sushi. To make this, the fish are first rinsed to remove the rice bran, then skinned and soaked in water to draw out excess salt. Next, they are filled with rice and koji mold — Aspergillus oryzae, the same spores used to make sake, soy sauce, and miso paste — and packed back into barrels with more rice and koji.

A weight is placed on top, and the mixture is left to ferment for a couple of weeks. After this, the narezushi is ready to eat.

Like many fermented foods, narezushi is an acquired taste and is best served in small portions. It is not nearly as salty as heshiko, and I can see how it would be a popular snack to nibble on with sake or beer.

If you’re in Japan but can’t make it up to Obama, you can order heshiko online from https://www.kadono-heshiko.com/. Unfortunately, Kadono-san cannot ship internationally.

The post Heshiko—Japan’s (Almost) Forgotten Superfood first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.