First cooking class

Yesterday we went to cooking class with two Australians, one Austrian and one Swiss and had a great time making the little dishes for bento boxes.  We learned how to make tomago, rolled egg (gotta get the pan!); gomaae, a Japanese spinach dish; maki sushi with the rolled egg, processed crab, kombo and maybe something else; teriyaki chicken and tempura.  They made the miso soup.  We made dashi and I will have to clarify what I said yesterday about dashi when we have our Welcome Us Back dinner.  We also learned some terrific tricks of the cooking trade to make everything turn out much better — like flouring your tempura ingredients and letting them sit before dipping in tempura batter and frying.  And we learned that “teri” in Japanese means shiny.  And other things.  It was all MUCHO DELICIOUS!  We felt very pleased and accomplished by the end of it.  I loved all their dishes and cooking chopsticks and they had the cutest little soy sauce containers that you pressed on the top for each bit of soy sauce — much easier to control than using regular container.  Oh, yeah, and you put a few drops of soy sauce on the spinach and then massage it before putting it into the sesame dressing.

I was hoping to get one of those myself, a massage, when we got back to the hotel, but they only come at night.  We walked to cooking class and overshot our location by a couple of blocks and then stood most of the class time, so I was ready for someone to help me out.  We waited until ofuro (bath) opened at whatever time, Laird worked on some data project he’s involved in and I read and napped.  He went first to reconnoiter and I went afterwards.  The baths at the hotel are sex-separated.  Because we were going early, Laird’s side was empty for him and there was only one other woman when I went.  It was lovely and relaxing, but I think I prefer Turkish bath.  I love that wonderful large heated stone circle to lie on — though to be loofa’d by a Turkish bath attendant is a skin peeling experience, believe you me!  Afterwards, I tried the massage chairs they had in the reception area but it was all in Japanese and I finally had to give up because when the back massager worked it was way too hard.  Apparently the down arrow didn’t mean NOT SO HARD.  But I loved having calves and shoulders squeezed.  It wasn’t until the end that I discovered the the hand holes, so I didn’t get them squeezed, or whatever would go on in there.

We walked around for awhile and found an Indian-Nepalese-Kashmiri restaurant.  All the independent restaurants appear to be very small.  Must be hard to make a living with so few tables.  The food was good and we happily did not overeat.  Our time there was accompanied by a silent TV showing flirty amorous dancing with lots of pops and locks and pelvic thrusts while looking soulfully at each other.  Oh, god, I’m old!

Today is soba cooking class.  Hmmmm.  Me.  Cutting soba noodles.  Well, maybe.  Hope they have a cheater grid or my soba will be very ugly.  I could not cut a straight line to save my soul.