againstThis is a gadget that has accompanied me for years: a silicone mini USB key about 8 cm long which has resumed the advantage by the feature of the elongated shape and the yellow-orange color of a ebi tempura The name the Japanese give to this dish, emblematic of Japanese cuisine: a simple fried shrimp tail covered in a light crunchy dressing. Inedible, thrown right and left from under my pocket, had no other use than storing a few gigabytes of photos and auxiliary documents. Found on an online selling site, the gadget–in addition to revealing to the world my fascination with accessories in bad taste–has the peculiarity of excitement, in each of its releases, its small effect: at times curiosity and stickiness, sometimes a form of incomprehension and rejection.
In my opinion, at the time, it on the contrary symbolized all my interest in Japanese culinary culture and the way it was conveyed, in a rather gentle way, in Hayao Miyazaki’s animated films and from Studio Ghibli. As an enlightened hobbyist, I have particularly associated fake shrimp with the method of frying vegetables, fish, and shellfish – called “tempura” – so common in Japanese cafes, that it is used to accompany noodles. soba (black wheat udon (with wheat flour) or Tendon, Over a simple bowl of rice.
But it was clear, to many interlocutors, that the look of this shiny crustacean was more like a greasy, indigestible dish. I was told the fault is the poor experiences encountered in the vast majority of Japanese catering restaurants located in France, where the traditional food presentation is sometimes a bit stereotyped, even misleading – and where the tempura is often drenched in oil and cooked. In a hurry, between a bowl of vinaigrette coleslaw, frozen yakitori skewers, and a pair of cheap sushi. Something said to me, deep down – and though I never set foot in Japan – this tempura is not yet recognized, here in France, at its fair value.
little golden treasures
This summer, tempuras are back to haunt me. in tempura, a movie by Akiko Ohku that was released in theaters at the end of July, the most famous Japanese fried food appears on screen with small and automatic touches. In Tokyo, we follow the daily life of Mitsuko, a young single woman waiting to be able to invite a boy to dinner for the first time, honing her different tempura recipes every day. At work in her tiny kitchen, we admire the vulnerability of her calculated gestures and all the applications she puts into producing her little golden treasures—which we imagine crunchy on the surface but always mushy on the inside. Implicitly, we think we can guess all the nobility the Japanese give to these little stewed dishes; and how it can serve as a medium for communicating attention or feeling.
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