Spring harvest of bamboo shoots

Curiosity and perspective as remedies for rainy days

I’ve always been someone who gravitates to sunny days. I like being bathed in sunshine and feeling warm from the inside out. I like the way sunshine seems to make people seem happier, a carefree bounce to their step. But Kamikatsu’s mountain ranges seem to find a way to trap clouds and the rain feels omnipresent.

Warmer and consecutive rainy days are more frequent—a slow crescendo to the upcoming rainy season in Japan. Sometimes I find myself being pulled in by the melancholy of rain, feeling tugged by emotions of sadness and apathy. But nearly four years into living in Kamikatsu, I’ve found a new appreciation for rain.

Curiosity and (a new) perspective can do a lot to change your relationship with a thing. In my case, the curiosity of how the rain creates a dense layer of fog that hugs the shape of mountains is a constant sight of awe and wonder. I watch the fog, ever so slowly, rise and billow from the mountaintops into the air. It’s more of a wide brush over a landscape than a shape that can be identified. I can’t point my finger at the fog like I can a fluffy cumulus, I can only see the fog by observing the landscape in the widest possible form. The fog makes me step back, even if I’m standing still.

Sun after rain in Kamikatsu

A new perspective has recently come from a friend who owns the only cafe in our village, and she prefers rainy days over sunny ones. When I asked her why, she told me she enjoys the sound of rain. In this season, in the heart of spring, the sound of rain harmonizes with croaking frogs. I can imagine the little green frogs dancing in the rain.

I’ve been observing how rain sounds when it hits different surfaces. When raindrops fall on my roof they make an echoing sound on the kawara, clay roof tiles, which are a part of traditional Japanese architecture.

She also told me that she likes the way rain allows her to retreat into herself. She doesn’t feel compelled to be social—the rain is an ‘I’m closed’ sign and allows her to do what she enjoys most like reading and sipping on coffee in the quiet company of herself. I can truly appreciate the permission rain gives us to be quiet.

Allowing for extra curiosity and seeking a different perspective has helped immensely with feeling equally, if not more, grateful for rainy days.

Harvesting takenoko

If sakura and other blossoming flowers on the treetops visually mark the season of spring, the abundance of sansai (山菜) mountain vegetables and takenoko (たけのこ) bamboo shoots mark the season by taste. I get so excited every spring at the prospect of foraging in the mountains. Free 👏 food 👏

An image that people think of when they think of Japan is probably dense, dark green, bamboo forests. But probably very few people know what bamboo looks like when it first sprouts from the ground. While most sansai prefer to be hidden in plain sight, their green tiny buds and shoots can look like weeds, takenoko is an easily identifiable young shoot of a bamboo plant. The Japanese word for takenoko translates directly to bamboo’s child. We’ve been colloquially calling it baby bamboo.

When the takenoko pops out of the ground, it’s coated with a tough and slightly fuzzy outer layer; the texture is more like a coarse doormat than the bark of a tree. It also grows in a cone-like shape with the top usually crowed with some sprouting young leaves.

Learning from a local grandpa about how to harvest

Before moving to Japan, growing up in Canada, I occasionally saw a sliver of a bamboo shoot as garnish for a miso soup or a vegetable dish. Even more rare was buying takenoko. I've seen them sold vacuum-sealed or canned, but never fresh (and never with their fuzzy coats). Of course, grocery stores in North America/elsewhere have changed a lot over the past 10+ years, so it’s possible they can be found in different places.

A tiny bamboo shoot that’s popped out of the ground

To harvest the takenoko we use a ‘L’ shaped tool (garden hoe) to remove the bamboo shoot from the ground. The takenoko, I learned while writing this is a rhizome, a root-like structure or a network of underground roots without a central system such as a tree. Edible plants like ginger and turmeric, as well as less edible plants like bamboo and weeds, are also rhizomes.

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Preparing and cooking the takenoko

Sil seemed to enjoy the harvesting part, while I’m fascinated by the way we prepare and cook foraged foods.

I imagined coming home with 2-3 bamboo shoots, but Sil zig-zagged up, down, and across the bamboo forest and in repetitive swift motions dug over 12. I realized my pot at home could hardly fit 1 bamboo shoot, let alone all of Sil’s harvest. I was grateful for the help of a local person, who owns the only bar in the village, and he offered to guide us in preparing the takenoko.

Harvested takenokos

After harvesting, the takenoko are boiled either with the skin or without. Some mentioned that takenoko can be quite large so to save space, peeling the skin helps. Others say that leaving the skin on holds the umami taste better.

Takenoko like other sansai mountain vegetables, have what’s known as egumi or astringency. It’s a taste that’s probably most similar to bitterness, but it also makes your mouth feel dry and, overall, very unpleasant. It’s important to know how to properly prepare the foraged food so we can enjoy them.

Bamboo shoots in rice bran and dried chilly peppers | a local has stopped by for a chat while we tend to the fire

To make the takenoko edible, in a pot of boiling water, we add a handful of rice bran and several dried chilly peppers. The rice bran creates a mildly alkaline solution that removes the astringency (the reason for adding chilly peppers is unknown). After boiling the takenoko for several hours, we break down the fire and let them simmer in the pot overnight for over 8 hours.

The takenoko is ready in the morning. The outer skin, once peeled, reveals a pale yellow bamboo shoot that is tender to the touch. Takenoko can be cooked in many ways including, simmered in soups and umami-rich broths, fried in a tempura style, or stir-fried like other vegetables. Bamboo rice, or takenoko gohan (たけのこご飯), is a staple dish that comes to mind for many Japanese. Takenoko gohan with a hearty presence of large pieces of bamboo shoots makes for a nice balance of textures and flavors.

Takenoko gohan, topped with sansho (山椒), the spicy leaves of an aromatic shrub

It’s likely fresh takenoko is not available to you, but if you can find a store-bought equivalent or replace it with a spring, earthy, vegetable like asparagus or baby corn, I imagine it could be just as delicious.

Thank you for reading this week’s post! It means a lot to me to have your support.

May your week be filled with a curious spirit—to ask questions, seek new and different perspectives that make us think, reflect, write, and engage in conversations in more thoughtful ways.

For those based in Japan, enjoy the rest of your Golden Week holidays, a set of four consecutive national holidays. May 5 celebrated Children’s Day (こどもの日 kodomo no hi) where there’s a custom, dating back to the Edo period in the 1600s, of hanging koinobori (carp streamers) for a sign of courage and strength because of the koi fishes ability to swim upstream. Pictured below is the carp streamers hung over the main river in Kamikatsu.

Have a beautiful week ahead!

With love,
Kana