Southern comfort

A bowl stuffed to the rim with bitter gourd (our very own karela ), tofu and bits of fried pork. I stare hard at the odd combination — a delicacy in Okinawa, a prefecture at Japan’s southern tip — that awaited my attention at the table of a crowded marketplace eatery. The bitter gourd took me back to the summertime lunches at my ancestral home in Kolkata. A firm believer of uniform civil code at the dining table, my mother ensured that every complaining child in the noisy joint family got a healthy dose of all bitter vegetables in the market. I showed uncharacteristic restraint each time I submitted to her diktat — only because I had my eyes set on the fish and meat that followed. With the same strategy, I returned to the generous helping of goya champuru . It was a sweltering afternoon in Naha, Okinawa’s largest city, and I didn’t want to waste more time on the strange delicacy. But just one bite and I was ready to drop my prejudice against the spiky vegetable. The crunchiness of the goya (bitter gourd) and the saltiness of the pork was a marriage made in culinary heaven, and I didn’t even mind the bland tofu, another big no-no on my food list.

Pork and any bitter vegetable is as unlikely a combination as garlic and granola. But few things in Okinawa are ordinary or anything like mainland Japan. Just like the screaming American fighter jets that fly across its islands (Okinawa is home to more than 20,000 US servicemen and their families, thanks to the military bases that have been around since World War II).

Independent from Japan until the late 19th century, Okinawa, then known as Ryukyu, was known for its historic trade ties and proximity to China. Ryukyu’s fairly independent past gave it many dialects — Amami and Yoron, for example — as well as its own cuisine, a far and distinct cry from the mainland fare of sushi and sashimi, yakitori and tempura.

Much has been said and written of the miracle effect of Okinawa’s nutritious diet, said to be the secret to long life (the southern islands are home to some of Japan’s oldest citizens). Strangely for an island, Okinawa is not obsessed with seafood. The pig rules the Okinawan kitchen and not a single body part of the animal goes waste. Pork in all forms is relished — even the ears and the feet (the latter served in a soup). Seaweed often replaces the whitefish, prawn or the okra in the local version of the tempura.

A walk — generously peppered with food-stops — through Makishi Kosetsu Ichiba, Naha’s busy market, was a crash course in what Okinawa likes to eat and drink.

Made from sugarcane, which grows in abundance in the region, it is the healthiest and tastiest alternative to sugar. You’ll find it as the ingredient in a variety of sweets and ice creams, used in cooking and to sweeten tea. The warm and smiling (most mainland Japanese, though very hospitable and polite, don’t smile too much) shopkeepers let you sample cubes of brown sugar piled up in containers. All you need to do is smile back.

When the Americans are around, can the doughnut be far behind? The Okinawan version is the size of your palm, sans the hole in the middle. Don’t expect the usual varieties such as choco mocha, Irish coffee or strawberry jelly. Try brown sugar, black sesame, purple sweet potato and coconut.

The Okinawan-native purple sweet potato is actually not purple. It is a bright magenta, and that too without any food colour. And it goes into a bouquet of snacks and desserts: ice-creams, pastry, doughnuts, soba and crisps.

Unlike the usual buckwheat variety, Okinawan soba is made of white wheat. These come in a clear broth, almost always pork-based, paired with slices of pork and spring onions. Add koregusu (go easy on the killer chilli peppers) and garnish with pickled ginger, seaweed and sweet potatoes.

This is distilled rice liquor made without sugar. If you can’t handle the potency of 80 per cent(!), take home a bottle of chilli peppers doused in it.