Japanese Hot Springs

A new day is dawning and from here, deep in the snow covered forest, glimpses of light portion out visible things such as tree branches.  I’ve just returned from the baths down the tatami matted hallway.  This place, The Kayotei, is a mountain inn where I’ve been many times before, in which a lot of space is created in which to put and receive thoughts and memories.  Things die out, creation starts anew.  Entropy, my butt.

Last night it was kaiseki in the room, on the floor, and an array of small plates came, including: Mountain vegetables, white miso soup, salmon in broth, a few slices of beef, beans and rice and dried, sweet kelp.  Local sake and a Nikka afterwards in the lounge.

I’m interviewing the chef, the owner, and the GM here over the course of three days.  Hearing about the washoku or pre-Western diet, and as always when I am in Japan, taking in new information.  The spoils, the hopes dashed, and the compromises that in short order are a way of life rather than a receptive series of distractions.

Soon it will be time for breakfast: 和朝食.

Dried fish, grilled and aged tofu, small omelet.

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