日報

The knives from Yoshita Handicraft Design Office, which we started selling last week, are incredibly sharp.

What surprised me about their sharpness was when I cut the tape that bundles green onions or chives. I always cut that tape with a knife, but when I cut it with Yoshita-san's knife, it went through as if there was nothing there, and I almost lost my balance. There was no resistance that I usually feel when cutting tape, so it went too smoothly, and I even thought it was a bit dangerous.

It's like when you're climbing stairs and you think there's another step, but there isn't, and you stumble forward.

Another distinctive feature is the thick handle with a hollow space in the middle. I initially wondered about the thick handle, but it turned out to be better than I expected. When you think about it, it's obvious: a thicker handle is easier to grip and allows for better transfer of force. I thought the flesh of my palm might squish into the hollow and hurt, but because the tip of the handle is rounded, it doesn't cause any pain and is very comfortable to use.

And above all, the design is cool. That's all there is to it.

While the price is a bit high, a knife isn't something you replace often once you buy it, so I can recommend it as a long-lasting partner.

Whenever I have guests coming over, I often find myself wanting to try making a challenging dish, something I've never cooked before, for some reason.

Guests usually don't eat the food I make regularly, so I really should be serving them the dish I'm most confident in, meaning the dishes I always make.

However, I feel like that lacks creativity, so I try to cook something more elaborate, challenging myself with unfamiliar dishes, and then fail. I tend to do that a lot.

If I think about it, this isn't just limited to cooking. It feels like I've repeatedly tried to overreach when it's a special occasion, like giving a presentation at work or going on a date, and then haven't achieved the results I wanted.

I know that I can't do more than what I'm capable of, and that behaving as usual is the best course of action, but still, I just can't help myself.

Since I have guests coming over tomorrow, I'm writing this down to stop myself from doing it again. Hold yourself back, self!

Sushi is amazing.
Sushi is delicious.
Sushi is fun.
The person who invented sushi is a genius.

Who came up with the idea of putting a little wasabi on vinegared rice,
topping it with a slice of fish,
and then dipping it in a little soy sauce before eating it?
Thank you to whoever thought of it.
I also love vinegared rice even without the sushi, so
thank you to the person who invented vinegared rice, too.

From supermarket deli sushi to conveyor belt sushi to high-end sushi,
enjoyed by children and adults alike,
and now spread not only throughout Japan but
the entire world, I wonder if there's any other dish
that covers such a broad genre.
Sushi is just too amazing.

Despite sushi being so incredibly versatile,
I think there's one area it hasn't quite reached yet.

That is, it hasn't become popular as a home-cooked meal.
For some reason, I don't think there's a culture of making sushi at home.
I've never heard of anyone making sushi at home.
I've tried making it myself a few times, but
it's difficult, and despite the effort, it's not particularly impressive,
so I end up thinking hand-rolled sushi is good enough,
and I've stopped doing it.

Why is this, I wonder?
I think the sushi you buy at the supermarket deli is
quite delicious, but
the rice is probably made automatically or with a mold,
so I don't think there'd be much difference if I made it myself,
but I don't really feel like trying.

Could it be that because we don't make it at home, the genre of sushi
feels special?
I've thought about it in various ways, but what I want to say is one thing:

Thank you to the person who invented sushi.
The sushi you thought of has become something truly incredible!

　

Whether I'm watching or playing sports, I've always felt there's such a thing as "momentum." When you're playing, of course you want to grab hold of good momentum, but when bad momentum sets in, it feels unavoidable, and even if you try to turn it around, it's really hard to reverse.

If the cause were clear, you could take countermeasures, but things don't quite go as planned, and you go back and forth, so I sometimes think momentum is an irresistible force. Well, in sports, there's an opponent, so maybe it's something you can't control entirely on your own.

Even when filming cooking videos, there are times when things go smoothly and times when I'm just not in the zone. I think this can also be called "momentum." I work with Konagi, the videographer, discussing things back and forth, and of course, we both always want to create good momentum.

Still, there are times when the momentum is bad, and I feel like we both think the same thing then. The weather is bad and the light is dim, I'm worried about how the dish looks, or I'm actually not feeling well – there are probably various factors, but it feels more like the overall flow is bad rather than just one specific thing. In those cases, it usually feels like the bad momentum lasts until the very end.

Of course, there are also times when the momentum is good. The person cooking feels a good response and it's a good vibe, and the person filming feels like they're nailing it. Things move quickly, finish early, and sometimes we end up saying, "That was fun!" Then, you think you've figured out how to do it, try the same approach next time, and then think, "Huh, the momentum isn't so good."

Momentum is fickle.

I've always liked soba, and I think I eat it quite often. Sometimes I eat it when I'm out, and I also order delivery a lot, but when I think about which soba restaurant I think is the best, it's the one closest to my house, the one I often order delivery from.

I genuinely think it's the best, but there's no way there could be a miracle where the best soba restaurant just happens to be the closest one. I guess I just feel that what I eat often tastes the best. Even if I search for this soba restaurant on gourmet sites or map apps, it doesn't have a low rating, but it's not a super high score either, so my self-evaluation must be higher than the general public's.

It's understandable that, like the expression "homemade miso," the miso you make at home tastes the best to you because it's customized to your liking. But why is it the same with "homemade soba" even though I don't make it myself? I wonder if I just naturally have a bias towards it.

Suddenly, something occurred to me: perhaps it's a matter of "as expected." When you want to eat soba, you're probably imagining the taste of soba, so in my mind, soba = the soba from the closest soba restaurant. And because it tastes exactly as I imagine, I think it's the best, or something like that.

Rather than concluding that it's delicious because it's "as expected," I'd rather hope for the miracle that it just so happens to be the best soba in Japan.

I'm a bit embarrassed to say this, especially since I sell kitchenware and have a cooking YouTube channel, but I'm pretty undiscriminating when it comes to food because I tend to find almost everything delicious. Here are two embarrassing anecdotes:

When I was a student, a friend asked me, "Do you prefer the Tsukimi Burger or the Teritama Burger?" That's when I learned there was more than one hamburger with an egg in it. I used to eat both often but thought they were the same. My friend then said, "The Teritama has teriyaki sauce," but I still didn't understand what they meant.

As an adult, a colleague asked me, "Do you prefer smooth bean paste or chunky bean paste?" That's when I learned there were different types of anko. Anko is delicious no matter what.

Everything is delicious, so anything is fine!

While I'm at it, here's just a simple misunderstanding. I used to think Keio Gijuku was a cram school and Keio Gijuku University was a university.