Starting from Loomis and Other Stories

Bento

KL 37 Bento The first bento I can remember is the one I used to take to kindergarten. My parents knew how I hated going to kindergarten, so they bribed me with a special “obento.” There was a meat sandwich, usually ham; some kind of fruit; and a piece of cake or candy. The only thing is, I didn’t get to eat much of it. Other kids got to it first; they were like animals. We were all Nisei; the only non-Nisei was the teacher. Everyone spoke English except me. So kindergarten was no picnic for me. KL This reminds me of the bento Mama used to make for the community picnic, sponsored by the Japanese Association of Loomis. Several families would gather together on a canvas spread in the shade of an oak tree and share the bento each had brought. I remember Mama’s fried chicken—small pieces of boned chicken dipped in batter and cooked in oil, the same oil in which she had cooked the age (fried bean cake). Very greasy by today’s standards, but how good it was cold with onigiri (rice balls). I’ve learned recently that this was chicken karaage. Once my father drank too much at the picnic and made a fool of himself, or so he thought. Although he was a proper man, he was popDOI : 10.5876/9781607322542:c05 bento 38 ular with the women. As a fish peddler, they looked for him every week. Actually, I never realized that my parents were attractive until years later, when I was told by people who remembered them. Anyway, on that day Father went around carrying somebody else’s child on his back and singing loudly, which was unheard of for him. Later, when he was teased unmercifully by his women customers, he vowed never to drink again, and he never did. KL In high school, I stopped bringing bento and instead brought lunch, sandwiches and things, in a paper bag. In those days our lunches were not refrigerated, so I would carry this bag around for half a day until lunchtime. When I started getting hives, I decided it was the mayonnaise in the sandwiches, and I stopped taking lunch and ate in the school cafeteria. I don’t know how I managed that because money was quite scarce, but I must have convinced my parents by showing them the large, angry welts all over my body. KL One of the pleasures of traveling in Japan is eating bento on the train. On the bullet train from Osaka to Hiroshima, I had hot bento. By pulling a string attached to the box, I set off a steaming device, and in a matter of minutes I had hot lunch on the train. Luckily, I was able to read the instructions in Japanese. Going to Wakayama on another trip, this time on the JR (Japan Railway), I bought a box of anago fish bento, a regional specialty. How wonderful that was—having Kishu (Wakayama) bento while listening to Kishu dialect on the train was like visiting with my parents again. bento 39 KL The bento for our San Francisco Buddhist temple fundraiser features chicken teriyaki, barazushi, and other good foods. Since I have helped with the teriyaki preparation, I know how labor-intensive it is. First, the quartered chicken is de-fatted and scrupulously cleaned, then washed carefully and dried, then salted lightly, dipped in egg, floured, and cooked in oil. Then it’s brushed with a special sauce (the recipe is a secret), sprinkled with sesame seeds, baked in the oven for fifteen minutes, and cooled. That’s our special chicken teriyaki bento, a San Francisco treat. KL So I’m a pushover for bento—anywhere, any kind, any time. (Note: A version of this piece was originally written for the San Francisco Buddhist church bulletin as an ad for its chicken bento sale.) ...