By The week after the launch. Issue #2: "Miso Soup at Three AM." The origin story, the three-AM kitchen, the newborn and the breast and the bowl, the beginning of everything. The essay has been written before — on the blog, in the book — but the newsletter version is rawer, closer, more like the actual three AM than the remembered three AM. The newsletter version includes the panic attack. The newsletter version includes the pill. The newsletter version includes the sentence: "I am alive because of medication and miso soup, and I will not apologize for either."
The subscriber count jumped — from eight hundred to twelve hundred after the first issue was shared on social media by readers. Twelve hundred people in one week. The growth is organic, the way the blog's growth was organic: not through marketing but through sharing, through the hand-to-hand distribution of something that people need, the way Fumiko's miso soup was distributed: one bowl at a time, each bowl given without charge, each bowl the love.
I made chirashizushi to celebrate the newsletter's first week — the celebration rice, the pink and pretty, the food that says: something good happened. The something good is: the Dashi exists. The Dashi is in the world. The Dashi is the raw version, the three-AM version, the version that sounds like me talking, and twelve hundred people are listening, and the listening is the community, and the community is the kitchen, and the kitchen is the Dashi.
Miya said, "Mama, you seem happier since the newsletter." She is right. I am happier. The newsletter is the version of writing that I was always trying to reach — the unedited, unpolished, direct conversation between my kitchen and the reader's heart. The reaching is the happiness. The happiness is the reaching. The Dashi is both.
Chirashizushi was what I made the day the newsletter crossed twelve hundred subscribers — the scattered rice, the colors, the food my mother always put on the table when something deserved to be noticed. But I also made this bark, because it has the same quality: the pink and the green, the brightness, the sense that whoever receives it will know immediately that it was made in a moment of happiness. When the reaching is the happiness, you need something you can share hand to hand — one piece at a time, the way the newsletter spreads, the way miso soup always spread in Fumiko’s kitchen.
Pistachio Cranberry Bark
Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 5 min | Total Time: 45 min (includes setting) | Servings: 20
Ingredients
- 12 oz white chocolate chips or white baking chocolate, chopped
- 1/2 cup shelled roasted pistachios, roughly chopped
- 1/2 cup dried cranberries
- 1/4 teaspoon flaky sea salt
- 1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract (optional)
Instructions
- Prep the pan. Line a large rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper and set aside.
- Melt the chocolate. Place white chocolate in a microwave-safe bowl. Microwave in 30-second intervals, stirring between each, until fully melted and smooth — about 2 minutes total. Stir in vanilla extract if using.
- Spread. Pour melted chocolate onto the prepared parchment and spread into a thin, even layer roughly 1/4 inch thick using a spatula.
- Top it. Scatter the pistachios and cranberries evenly over the surface while the chocolate is still warm. Press them gently so they adhere. Sprinkle with flaky sea salt.
- Set. Let the bark cool at room temperature for 30 minutes, or place in the refrigerator for 15 minutes until completely firm.
- Break and serve. Once set, break the bark into irregular pieces by hand. Store in an airtight container at room temperature for up to two weeks.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 118 | Protein: 2g | Fat: 6g | Carbs: 15g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 45mg