Water Eggplant and a Kitchen Knife (5)

 

     After Gen’ichi went into hospital and Haruko stayed away from home to care for him, Kotaro visited the Takaochi’s home whenever he had business in Sakai, and cooked for Nagisa for some reason.  He visited her home and workshop a few times a week without getting her permission.  Today again, Kotaro prepared a supper for her, and she took it for granted.

     Today’s menu had fried gaccho fish, cooled butterburs simmered slowly in soy broth, stir-fried green peppers and tomatoes with miso, and clear Japanese soup with Japanese honewort.

     They are yummy as usual.  Nagisa oohed and aahed, and kept eating.

     “Oh, well.  Kotaro, what knife do you recommend for a man who starts living alone?”

     “It’s a rare question you ask, Nagisa.”

     “Never mind, and tell me what you recommend, Kotaro.”

     “Well, I have to say it depends, but I will choose the one he can handle easily.”

     It was a noncommittal answer.

     “If you started selling Tsukitsugu’s recommendations’ knives online, that business would be excessively lucrative.”

     “That’s generally a good idea, but online shopping might be unsuitable for Tsukitsugu.”

     In Tsukitsugu, they put emphasis on speaking with clients personally and recommending a knife suitable for them.

     Not so many clients know what they really need, so they speak with their clients to know for what purpose they use a knife, what their hand is like, and what handle suits their hand.  After finding out those details carefully, they sell a knife suitable for their clients.

     Meanwhile, for professional cooks in Kyoto, they visit all their customers one by one, and ask them what troubles and problems they have with their knives.

     Based on those interviews, Tsukitsugu orders each knife carefully from artisans: how the knife should be forged and sharpened.

     Tsukitsugu isn’t just selling knives.  Paying attention and consideration to small details makes Tsukitsugu Tsukitsugu.

     Of course, some people just want a knife, whatever it is.  Some ex-Tsukitsugu clerks who have become independent sell knives online.

     “Nagisa, I’m happy you’ve become interested in recommending and selling knives.  Oh, I should serve something as a reward for you.”

     Kotaro stood up and brought pickles from the fridge.

     Purple blue eggplants are served in a grass bowel, submerged in clean salty soup stock.

     “They are pickles of water eggplants!”

     Water eggplants are special products grown in the southern part of Osaka, the Senshu area.  Usual eggplants have strong bitterness and aren’t suitable to eat raw or uncooked.  On the other hand, water eggplants are juicy and their skin and flesh are soft.  Those features make eggplants suitable to be eaten as lightly-pickled vegetables or as salad.

     By the way, water eggplants were said to taste metallic easily and should be split with your hands.  Japanese knives used to be made of steel, had no film to cover, and easily rusted.  A rusted knife transmitted metallic taste to water eggplants and caused their cross sections to discolor.  To avoid it, they used to say, “Water eggplants dislike metal.”  As a stainless knife has its film and hardly rusts, we don’t have to worry about water eggplants’ discoloring.

     “Here’re your water eggplants.  Have as many as you like.”

     The contrast between their purple blue skins and white pulp fascinated Nagisa.

     “Since they easily discolor, please have them quickly.”

     The sad fact is that water eggplants discolor brown gradually after they are split.  If you want to eat them while they are beautiful, you should have them all on the spot.

     Nagisa catched water eggplants swimming in the clean salty soup stock, and tossed them into her mouth one by one.