Sweet Nothings

Unlike the Western custom of sweetening a beverage, a guest is served wagashi, (traditional Japanese sweet) in advance of the somewhat bitter tasting green matcha, (powdered green tea leaf).  As nothing incorporated in a chaji should escape the host's meticulous consideration of theme, mood and guest's enjoyment, the form and function of those otherwise mundane adzuki beans and rice are heavily invested with meaning. 

Western culture, through American pop influences, has given us seasonal sweets for such holidays as Valentines day, Halloween and Easter. But in Japan the vocabulary is exponentially larger.

Kyoto, chado central, is a major center for tea sweet makers.  Just as the main tea families have their formal court of utensil makers (Raku and Sotetsu, by appointment to the Urasenke oiemoto (grand tea master) ceramists and laquerware makers, respectfully), there are sweet makers whose confections have been served at Sen family, school and organization chaji  for generations.  Tomiko Sen, the late wife of Hounsai Daisosho, Urasenke's now retired Oiemoto,  compiled her essays (translated into English) about the Sen family's favorite sweets in a beautifully illustrated book, An Almanac of Urasenke Seasonal Tea Sweets (Kyoto, Tankosha. 1994). 

True to its name, the book takes the reader on a year's odyssey of omogashi (moist)  and higashi (dry) sweets which are served following the kaiseki meal and preceding koicha (thick tea) and usucha (thin) tea presentations, respectively.  Here we have insight into the subtle sensuality and symbolism of sweetness. 

It is said that a chaji stimulates all senses ... matsukaze (sound of wind in the pines) of a boiling tea kettle; the aroma of incense; as well as touch of the ceramic tea bowl and  refreshing visual harmonies of flowers and scroll.  As for the sense of taste, tea sweets are   not sickly sweet as to overpower the palate.   In addition to beans and rice, other basic "structural" ingredients can include kudzu (a starch), agar gelatin and miso.  While the predominant source of sweetness is sugar, the taste can vary with the addition of such traditional elements as chestnuts, ginko nuts and yuzu (a citron), even a cherry leaf. 

While higashi are typically created in meticulously carved wood molds, the omogashi shapes are limited by the ingredients to being cut from a "slab" (like the supermarket available yokan jelly), rolled or pressed by hand.  Some are made to be eaten with the fingers, others with a kuromoji (pick).  Sweets can be contained in fresh green bamboo shoots or wrapped in edible and non edible leaves.   Depending upon the circumstances, traditionally omogashi are served in a 5-tiered stack of black lacquered boxes or bowls (glass, ceramic, lacquer, etc.) ; the higashi are served on trays in one of several formal configurations of laying food items on a tray. 

The handmade sweets are often prepared to order, reflecting historic as well as innovative imagery, taste and shape favored by the host to fit the occasion.  Many of the designs are Japanese classics ... whirlpools to suggest water, rabbits for New Year, various seasonal flowers, red-yellow-orange maple leaves, ears of rice, mushrooms, pine needles and cones.  Standard chaji banter between host and main guest includes inquiring as to the source and poetic name of the sweets.  Names included in this book include:

January	Chiyomusubi	Eternity
February	Tsumuyuki	Snow Drift
March	Hanagoromo	Flowery Robe
April	Hanaikada	Raft with Cherry Blossoms
May	Kashiwa mochi	Oak Leaf Mochi
June	Minazuki	Rainless Month
July	Himuro	Icehouse
August	Hagi no Tsuyu	Bush Clover Dew
September	Hatsukari	First Geese
October	Yamaji no Kiku	Chrysanthemum by the Mountain Path
November	Fukiyose	Blown Together
December	Hashimori	Bridge Keeper

True to the spirit of the Japanese sense of color mixing, the sweets palette range from the terribly subtle to the awfully day-glo.  I remember an event I attended at Tenryuji temple in Kyoto's Arashiyama many Octobers ago.  Following a kencha (offertory tea) presentation by the Urasenke Iemoto, we onlookers were served tea in the magnificent old, dimly lighted tea rooms by the senior teachers using some meibutsu (old, important, registered) utensils.  It was wabi-sabi heaven ... until the sweets came out: Yamamichi (Mountain Path), from the Tachibanaya confectionary, a bean/rice configuration of an, (bean paste of single consistency like smooth, soft fudge.)   The dark red-brown an center is surrounded by a thin screaming hot-pink, green and yellow rice flour skin with impressions representing mountain peaks and valleys.  (The piece was a cross-section cut from what must have looked when first made like a fluted column with a flat side.)   Ms. Sen observes, "One somehow cannot imagine tramping through such beautiful woods.  When November approaches, the amount of chestnuts in this sweet is decreased, and the colors representing the maple covered peaks, are made brighter, contrasting with the cold air all around us."

Wandering around the narrow old streets of Kyoto, it's difficult to immediately spot a tea sweet proprietor, so beyond the tried and true yet awkward method of peeking in windows, I took advantage of Diane Durston's Old Kyoto (first edition) which listed several, including century-old Shioyoshi-ken (Nakadachiuri-agaru, Kuromon-dori, Kamigyo-ku).    The Taisho-period machiya-styled wood latticed windows revealed nothing of the activities inside; the doorway was hidden by a weathered kamban and a quietly breeze-fluttered calligraphed noren concealed the doorway.  Like most traditional confectioners, the shop was more artist's studios and gallery than retail store.  No English was spoken, so I resorted to an explanation in bumpy nihongo about my chanoyu  studies at Urasenke in Kyoto and the USA, and then after being presented a bowl of matcha.  (Seems I sounded like a serious customer!)  I looked around at the old wood-appointed sales room with its wall of closed wooden drawers and to see a few displays of what looked like a tiny basket of raked autumn leaves from a temple garden ... 3000 yen for about 25 pieces of candy no larger than a thumbnail!  But they were beautiful. 

Unfortunately, Tomiko Sen's book does not have addresses* of the confectioners mentioned (some may not be open to the public); however, two of Urasenke's mainstays are easy to find: Yoshinobu (with an expensive tea utensil store on the second floor and a cafe on the first), located on the same side of the street and south of the Chado Research Center (Horikawa at Teranouchi) and Miso Matsukazeya on Kitaoji on the same side and just east of Daitokuji (a fabulous roof tile and stepping stone facade!)   One need not speak perfect Japanese to be received graciously.  Going prices in Kyoto for moist sweets at the high end averaged 500 yen each in the fall of 1994. 

In many cases, the only place you can buy a particular sweet is directly from the confectioner and of course, they are only available in season.  (Some shops have outlets in department stores.)  Sweets must be fresh to be truly enjoyed, as the ingredients can also be re configured into paste and building materials. Resist the temptation to eat one on the run (a Japan faux-pas anyhow) and seek out a place to enjoy the sweet with a bowl of tea in a refined atmosphere of a temple or neighborhood tea room.  Otherwise, it's just beans and rice.

*NOTE: I have initiated a Google Earth project Kyoto Sweet Shops to map Kyoto's classic okashiya ... if you have information in English (or at least a website with photos in Japanese), please get in touch with me via my FaceBook page with the same name as this blog. 

P.S. Los Angeles Little Tokyo has two local omogashi makers, Mikawaya and Fugetsu-do.  At the former I once purchased a stiff gelatin-type sweet which mimicked a bright orange koi swimming in a temple pond.  My favorite proprietor is Chikaramochi in Gardena. The consistency of their mochi is so smooth, the colors are subtly wild and the taste is always fresh. In San Francisco there once was the masterful Yamada-Seika in Japan Town which in season dips strawberry in mochi.

Steve Jobs and the iNijiriguchi

Finishing my first (I believe) of many reads of Isaacson's official biography of Steve Jobs. Like Leonard Cohen, another notorious personality who finds a large enough universe in Zen in which to dwell and create, the founder of Apple was a long-time student of Buddhism in the Bay Area. Clearly his minimalist aesthetic was deeply impacted by that of Japan's. I am particularly struck by the notion of the interconnectedness of his hard and software, as well as his corporate structures (human and physical plant) resources. LIke exquisite Japanese joinery, his designs had no obvious connecting pins (i.e. screws), the lines are sleek and the lighting ambient. And like the chajin's replenishing the kama with fresh water from the mizusashi to enable more tea to be made, Apple products have no "off" buttons. There are more analogies to explore.

The greatest "ah-ha" I have had is how like the nijiriguchi, these devices -- growing down from desktop displays to the essential screens on iPads are also portals to a greater universe. We have only to enter through our imagination. Once inside, the fixtures (hardware and software features) are just what is needed for the moment. Nothing more ... for the moment.

(sorry for the fuzzy image ... it's a quicky ... you get the point.)

Pacific Rim Arts' Chado Book Club

I will be hosting a new book club in my home beginning in 2015. All individuals are welcome, regardless of tea school, level of experience or language. We will read new / old books / articles (Chanoyu Quarterly) available in English language and discuss. Included will be novels and nonfiction, perhaps some poetry. Following we will enjoy a bowl of tea and a seasonal sweet together in my tea room.

The Imprint of Lamed: Learning = Teaching

According to one of my teachers, Gilla Nissan, the Hebrew letter lamed ל

has kabbalistic meaning of both teaching and learning, education. The form of the lamed represents the aspiration of the truly devoted pupil to learn from the mouth of the teacher. In the “Letters of Rabbi Akiva,” the full spelling of the letter's name, i.e. lamed (lamed-mem-dalet) is read as short for the phrase: “a heart that understands knowledge” (lev meivin da’at). Thus, it is often heard that a student of Jewish knowledge will say that she "learns" with a particular teacher, rather than as we might say in English, we learn from that teacher, implying that the teacher and the knowledge are separate; one takes away knowledge. In these situations, teacher and student are engaged in the exchange, rather than a more dualistic, disconnected give and take. 

I was thinking about this letter when reflecting on my experiences in the classes known  as oku-no-okeiko, advanced lessons that focus on the temae of the daisu. These procedures are not (supposedly) recorded in a book; one must learn directly in the presence of a teacher. Not every teacher feels comfortable (or is granted license) to teach this "level" (above shikaden), so when available, they are usually held on the fourth week of the month. We must wear kimono and be prepared to spend a long time in seiza position. 

These daisudemae procedures for koicha are to the previous series of classes what a symphony is to a student etude, as they incorporate pieces of many of the other procedures linked together with a refined extended elegance that is hard to describe. These are said to be the original procedures that were abbreviated / disassembled into parts that were taught separately as temae in themselves. 

It takes many years before a student is introduced to the daisudemae, and these procedures are practiced with a teacher at most 12 times during the full year, with the modifications to the ro/furo as is normal per the appropriate season. Thus, it takes a long time to actually inculcate the procedures, even using well-practiced steps.

Out of respect for the effort that my sensei had invested in explaining to me about the procedures, I remember being quite nervous before my oku classes because I didn't remember the variations and connections between the various aspects of a daisudemae. So I relied on her guidance once again to take me through the steps.

LIkewise, I was charged with hosting a chashitsu biraki, opening of my tea room and celebrating my having been granted chamei, professional name. I had never hosted a chakai, much less a chaji, so I had many, many questions for my teacher about how to create such an even worthy of the senior students and other teachers who would be the guests in my home. 

In both these cases, I felt that I was never alone in my learning, and even when sensei said nothing during my temae I knew that we were doing it together then, and will forever, together. 

The Epic of Tea Tea Ceremony as the Mythological Journey of the Hero

"The Epic of Tea: Tea Ceremony as the Mythological Journey of the Hero" is one of the most important articles about chanoyu in English language. It was written by the late Daniel Kane, an Urasenke practitioner in Santa Fe and ran in the first issue of Kyoto Journal.
It review some of the Taoist inspired aspects of space, time and utensils, including yin-yang, 5 elements, furo mandala, etc.

No Short Cuts. Show Your Mind: The Simple and Small

Note: The cat ate my original text. I will try to recreate it. It was really good. There were links and everything. Even compared Hasidic tales with tea as inspired by two important recently published books:

Rodger Kamenentz's Burnt Books: Rabbi Nachman of Bratslav and Franz Kafka
Allen S. Weiss' Zen Landscapes: Perspectives on Japanese Gardens and Ceramics

I guess all I wanted to say was that Matsumoto Sosei, my sensei since 1985, said many important things, but two stand out in particular in light of these wonderful books:

1. "No short cuts" ... every gesture needs to be accomplished for the entire temae to be considered complete. Like walking in the garden toward the tea hut. A simple path, the destination is in sight, but one really needs to step on each stone to get there.

Weiss's book will be reviewed in this blog in later posts, as I anticipate there are many, many points that he makes about how tea and gardens are compressions of the larger mandala of existence, here and now, but only here ... just now. To go through the nijiri-guchi, we have to get "small" to see it all.

2. "Show your mind" ... I was putting down the tea scoop on the tea container during a class early in my practice "career" and just before the bamboo touched the lacquer lid, she said that. No other explanation. Never repeated it since then. She doesn't teach "Zen", but the point is well taken: every gesture on the outside reflects our inner nature.

Hasidism, Judaism's mystical route, as taught in the tales of Rabbi Nachman seems to be a "simple practice", one that has a path for both the chacham, the sophisticate, and the tam, simple person. Yet, for adults, fond of complexities, it is quite accommodating to that end. We must not over - think the temae; eventually one's can rely on the practice to accomplish itself while the mind just sits still and watches.

Kamenentz notes that Reb Nachman's proclivity for hisbodedeus, personal yearning and communicating directly with the Source of nature by going out in nature, is the "practice of the broken heart". I have found that a 'broken heart' can be healed at the same time one refreshes the kama by pouring in water from the mizusashi. Here the hishaku can truly become an extension of the soul. In the same way, one does not pour water into the kama, rather one pours it into the water.

Matsumoto Sosei, Sensei

Here are some sources of information online about this wonderful teacher and chajin.

National Heritage Fellowship (USA, National Endowment for the Arts) 

Local Hero KCET Public Television (Los Angeles)

Nikkei "Real People"

Los Angeles Times

Japanese American National Museum

Obituary: Sosei Matsumoto