Japan’s wintertime staple makes for a satisfying and social meal
PHOTOS AND STORY BY TARA AUSTEN WEAVER
[twocolumns]
I moved to Japan shortly after graduating college—to work and study the culture. I arranged through friends to stay with a family in a small town in central Japan. One early October morning, I boarded a train that carved its way into the high Gifu mountains, along a rushing river, the hills blazing with the red and orange of autumn leaves. When I disembarked at the small train station, the mother of the family was waiting and took me home. She told me I would be her American daughter.
At dinner that night, as the unfamiliar language swirled around me, there was a huge clay pot in the middle of the table. When the lid was removed, steam filled the kitchen with a rich and savory scent. The pot was filled with chunks of carrots, potatoes, and an assortment of fish cakes simmering in broth. I didn’t know it then, but I had just encountered my first nabe, or hot pot, a cold-weather staple in Japan.
Throughout that first chilly winter—flaming leaves on mountain slopes were soon covered with snow—nabe became a seasonal favorite, a dish so easy and comforting, suitable for company or a quick solo dinner. When I left Japan, five years later, I carried several nabe pots in my luggage. Now, when the weather turns cold, I gather friends around a steaming pot and we all tuck in.
[/twocolumns]
The word nabe means “cooking pot” in Japanese. Donabe refers to the large, covered earthenware pots filled with a variety of vegetables, meat, fish, and seafood, all simmered in broth. The dish cooks at the table—often on a portable burner. As the meal progresses the soup takes on the flavors of the added ingredients, becoming richer as the evening goes on. Some people save the stock for a second dinner the following night with fresh ingredients. Others add noodles at the end of the meal, or rice and an egg to create a satisfying savory porridge. In the midst of a cold winter, it is an easy and healthful way to fill your belly.
[twocolumns]
The origins of nabe go far back into Japanese history, to country farmhouses where cooking was done over an open hearth called an irori. A pot of simmering broth was suspended over the fire, with vegetables and fish added to the mix. For many years the Japanese eschewed eating meat, but when the country was forced open to outside trade in 1854, by Commodore Matthew C. Perry, meat was slowly added to the diet. This resulted in the most famous of all nabe dishes: vegetables and beef simmered in sweetened soy sauce called sukiyaki. Unlike most nabes, sukiyaki is cooked in a low, cast iron pan preferred for its ability to conduct heat.
Sukiyaki is simply the tip of the iceberg when it comes to nabemono (things cooked in a nabe pot). Many variations have regional associations. The northern island of Hokkaido is known for a nabe made with salmon and potatoes simmered in a miso broth. Dote-nabe, from the port city of Hiroshima, is studded with oysters, while the mountains around Kyoto provide the wild boar meat that is served in botan-nabe, famous in that area. Some nabe dishes feature a mix of fish or meats. Chanko-nabe, a hearty stew that includes a selection of chicken, pork belly, beef, or fish cakes, along with vegetables, is standard fare for sumo wrestlers, eaten as part of their training regime. Retired sumo wrestlers have been known to open restaurants that specialize in chanko-nabe.
[/twocolumns]
Nabe can be complex—with multiple proteins, or vegetables carved in decorative shapes—but it can also be as simple as cabbage, leeks (called negi, in Japanese), tofu, and mushrooms. Yose-nabe, which means “putting together,” consists of just that combination, often with the addition of fish or chicken. It’s an easy way to use up whatever vegetables might be lingering in the refrigerator.
[twocolumns]
In the winter in Japan, nabe becomes an integral part of life. As the weather grows cold, oden—a nabe stew of fish cakes, vegetables, tofu, often with peeled hardboiled eggs or seafood on small skewers—can be bought at street stalls. Convenience stores, such as 7-11 and Circle K, have vats of oden simmering in the hot foods section. On a snowy day, a steaming bowl, served with a dollop of hot mustard, makes for a warming and nutritious lunch or snack.
It is in the home kitchen, however, that nabe comes into its own. An ultimately forgiving dish, nabe uses up a variety of winter vegetables—napa cabbage, leeks or onions, daikon radish, potato, carrots. It’s a simple and healthful way to fill bellies in the cold season, and the preparation is easy. Either assemble the nabe ahead of time, or serve platters of raw vegetables at the table, where family members or guests can add ingredients to the simmering broth according to preference.
[/twocolumns]
Nabe is so common that a 2001 survey by Japanese foods producer Kikkoman showed the average family in Japan eats nabe more than once a week in the cold season.
[twocolumns]The nabe pot plays a cultural role as well, bringing friends and family together around a table. In the winter, nabe parties are common. “Friendship and conviviality are the keynote of nabemono,” writes Shizuo Tsuji in the 1980 culinary classic Japanese Cooking: A Simple Art. “When one Japanese says to another: ‘Come and have some sukiyaki,’ this invitation expresses his desire to become friends. It means: ‘I like you well enough to dip chopsticks with you in the same pot.’”[/twocolumns]
Any formality in Japanese culture softens and melts around a nabe pot.
[twocolumns]
Perhaps it is this role as a home cooking staple that has kept nabemono from making the leap beyond Japan’s borders. Sukiyaki has developed an international reputation—and perhaps also shabu shabu, Japan’s version of Mongolian hot pot. But the vast majority of nabe stews are almost unheard of outside Japan. This seems a shame. Along with other communal cooking experiences, like Swiss fondue or Korean barbecue, nabe is an opportunity to gather around the modern version of a fire, to cook and eat together, to come back to our roots.
Every winter, as soon as the bustle and indulgence of the holidays are over, I turn to my nabe pots. This time of year I am drawn to healthier eating—if only to atone for the richness of December—and a soupy mixture chock full of vegetables is the perfect thing. When the days are short and darkness falls early, it’s nice to gather friends around a simmering pot. I think of the family in Japan who took me in and taught me to eat nabe, how it brought us together, how it kept us warm though the long snowy mountain winter.
[/twocolumns]
Tara Austen Weaver writes about travel, food, culture, and the environment. She is author of The Butcher & The Vegetarian and Tales from High Mountain, a short memoir of her time in Japan. Her new book, Orchard House, will be released in March.
RELATED RECIPES:
Kani (Crab) Nabe
Spicy Kimchi Nabi