日報

When I'm not feeling well, my car doesn't pick up speed. I'm not talking about exceeding the speed limit, but for some reason, I drive slower than usual. Perhaps because I'm down in the dumps, my foot feels like it doesn't have the strength to press the accelerator pedal.

When I'm feeling good, my car also doesn't pick up speed. Perhaps because I'm calm, I don't feel the need to rush, and my foot feels light on the accelerator pedal.

When I'm not feeling well, I feel like the rhythm of my knife when mincing is off. Maybe it's because I'm thinking about various things, but for some reason, I feel like my mincing lacks uniformity.

When I'm feeling good, I feel like I can mince well. The rhythm is good, and it goes "tan-tan-tan," so I think I can make beautifully minced ingredients.

I used to think that driving felt the same whether I was in a good mood or a bad mood, but with cooking, both the taste and appearance change depending on my mood. So, mincing wins the award as the indicator for measuring my mood barometer.

After mincing, if I just stir-fry the ingredients, even a bad mood gradually calms down. So, cooking is important not only as a mood barometer but also as a mood-calming device. The fact that delicious food is completed as a result is also wonderful.

The end of the year is fast approaching, and it's time to start thinking about a big clean-up to wash away a year's worth of dirt. I even updated my YouTube channel about it; I actually enjoy cleaning and organizing, so I think I'm one of those people who find it quite fun. Even so, there's one thing I always wonder about.

Why do I have to clean when it's so cold?

Cleaning involves water, and a lot of cleaning tasks require opening windows, so I always think it's too cold to do it in winter. I've considered doing it in spring instead of winter, but after a moment's thought, I know I'd never actually do it.

Even though I like cleaning and organizing, the year-end big clean is about tackling those places you usually avoid. And I feel like it's ingrained in my DNA to only do it at the end of the year. I've tried to leave a few things undone and finish them after the New Year several times, but I've never managed to get them done once the new year arrives.

It seems my disposition is such that once the new year begins, my mood resets, and I no longer notice last year's dirt. So, I'll steel myself, shout a famous line from a certain commercial, and get to it.

This year's dirt, clean it this year! I'm definitely tackling the range hood!

For the first time in a while, I went to a famous tonkatsu restaurant.
There's always a line, and the menu only offers pork fillet cutlets and pork loin cutlets—a simple, old-fashioned place.

It's really delicious, but there was a reason I didn't go often.
It's because they don't have dressing or salt.

Many long-established tonkatsu restaurants only offer sauce as a condiment. For me, who sometimes wants to eat tonkatsu with salt or daikon radish with soy sauce, and wants to eat shredded cabbage with dressing, I often avoided restaurants that only offered sauce.

That's why I hadn't been there in a while, but after eating it again, it was super delicious!

Of course, it's delicious with sauce, and since the tonkatsu itself is so good, it's even delicious without anything. While I'd be happy if there were salt or dressing, they're not absolutely necessary. My preferences seemed to have softened to the point where I thought, "It's nice to try a different way of eating sometimes."

With a slight regret, wondering why I had avoided such a delicious restaurant for such an insignificant reason, I had seconds of rice, cabbage, and pork soup, then left the restaurant feeling completely full.

As I get older, I find myself shedding dislikes and rigid preferences, and my capacity for acceptance broadens, which I think is a good thing. On the other hand, I also feel like some strange new preferences are emerging.

I don't know if I've truly matured, but the tonkatsu eaten with just sauce was incredibly delicious.

I wrote here recently about how I lose my sense of taste when I'm sampling food.
It's a common experience, and I can guess why it happens, but I decided to ask generative AI about it anyway.
It told me, "It's a common phenomenon to lose your sense of taste while sampling food," and then explained the reasons.

* When you taste the same flavor repeatedly, you become accustomed to the stimulus, and your ability to taste temporarily dulls.

* Taste is greatly influenced not only by the tongue but also by smell. If you keep smelling something, your brain judges that it "already knows it," and your perception of the smell weakens.

* Repeatedly tasting hot or spicy foods can lightly numb your tongue.

* The closer a flavor is to being finalized, the stronger your doubts become, wondering, "Is this right?", and you lose your sense of taste.

I see. It then went on to suggest countermeasures: "reset your palate by drinking water," "take a short break," "ask someone else to taste it," and "set a standard for the taste."
And the final summary from the generative AI was truly impressive.

It said, "Losing your sense of taste is proof that you are earnestly adjusting the flavor."
And I couldn't help but think, "Oh, really? Hehe."

What I learned from asking generative AI about tasting countermeasures was, "First, listen carefully to what the other person says, accept it, then systematically explain the countermeasures, and finally, offer praise. If you do that, the other person will listen intently."

There is a work called Shikiban (display board) created by the artist Wataru Hatano. It's a board made of aluminum with washi paper pasted on it, intended to be used as a stand for dishes, sweets, and other items, but I use it as a serving dish for food.

There are various works in black, green, blue, and other colors, but all of them have beautiful hues unique to washi paper that are beyond words, and they are very cool.

In terms of shape, it's just a flat board, so it might not be suitable for serving food. However, when I placed carpaccio on it, it presented a very elegant and cool appearance.

By serving a three-dimensional dish on a flat plate, it created a good balance, and it suited the dish so well that I even thought it might have been made specifically for carpaccio.

Sometimes, we describe capable people as having a "big vessel" or a "different vessel," and this Shikiban perfectly fits the expression "different vessel." I felt it was a different kind of vessel that accepts food and makes it look even more delicious.

If there's anyone who feels they're not good at cooking, I also felt that using a good vessel can make the food look delicious, so starting with the vessel might be a good idea.

Wataru Hatano's Shikiban is not meant to be a serving dish, so using it as a dish is at your own discretion, but I highly recommend it.

I, too, want to become a person with a different vessel.

The other day, I attended an event, and the venue was a bit chilly. I had imagined that it would be warm inside due to heating and hadn't brought a jacket, so perhaps that was why, but during the event, it was cold enough to make me feel a little restless.

At that moment, I thought, "The staff running this event probably don't feel this cold." The staff weren't dressed particularly warmly, but they were moving around and were probably feeling some tension, so they might not have actually felt cold. It's probably quite difficult for them to imagine the temperature experienced by attendees sitting in chairs.

I was thinking about how people's perceptions can differ depending on their position, and then it suddenly reminded me of "tasting" miso soup.

When tasting miso soup, I always feel that my judgment of whether the flavor is just right becomes dull. I'm not sure why—whether it's because I made it myself, because I've tasted it too many times, because I'm not drinking it from a proper bowl, or because it's too hot. But even when I taste it and think, "This is good," sometimes when I drink it at the table, I find myself thinking, "Huh?"

On the other hand, if I taste miso soup made by someone else, I feel like I can honestly evaluate the flavor. So, I guess it really is because I made it myself.

As soon as subjectivity gets involved, it becomes impossible to be objective. Is there no way to be objective even when I make something myself?

I was thinking about all this, neglecting the event content, in the chilly event venue where my hands and feet were getting cold, unable to tell the staff to please turn up the heat.