Wasabi Butter — The Japanese Pantry Lives on the Counter

Miya's birthday. 10 years old. I made onigiri. I made the cake she requested. The Sellwood kitchen was full of children for the afternoon.

Miya, 10, can shape onigiri without falling apart. She uses wet hands. She knows the order without being told.

Shiso pesto with garden shiso. The leaves blitzed with pine nuts and miso and oil. The unexpected combination. The Pacific Northwest in the Japanese pantry.

The week held. The work continues.

I cleaned the kitchen Sunday afternoon. Wiped the counters. Reorganized the drawer where the chopsticks live. Sharpened the knife. The reset was the reset.

The newsletter went out Sunday morning. The opening line took an hour. The piece took five. The piece was what it needed to be.

Therapy Tuesday. We talked about the wedding. We talked about Barbara. We talked about Fumiko. The hour passed. The work continues.

The rain in long sheets Tuesday afternoon. I made tea. I watched it from the porch. The cottonwoods on the next block were silver in the wet.

Yoga Tuesday morning. The studio in Sellwood. Eight students. The class was the class.

I read for an hour Sunday night. A book of essays by a Korean-American writer about food and grief. I underlined a paragraph that said exactly what I had been trying to say in the newsletter for months.

I made onigiri for tomorrow's lunch. Three triangles. Salted plum in the center. Wrapped in nori. The cling wrap. The drawer where I keep them. The system.

Made dashi at five-thirty AM. Ten minutes in the kitchen alone with the kombu and the bonito flakes. The day's first prayer.

Sunday farmers market in the rain. The vendors knew me. The Hood River apple stand had honeycrisps. I bought four pounds.

The cat was the cat. Mochi at fifteen sleeps most of the day. She still eats with enthusiasm. She still sits at the kitchen window watching the back garden.

Coffee with a friend Saturday morning. We talked about books, about kids, about the way our forties became our fifties. The talking is the thing.

Tomi watered the garden Saturday morning. The shiso was head-high. The shishito peppers were producing. The kabocha was running on the fence.

I drove to Uwajimaya Wednesday. Kombu, bonito flakes, white miso, a small bag of mochiko for tomorrow's project. The store smells like home.

Miya's old room is now my office. The desk is by the window. The shiso outside. The newsletter in progress. The afternoons are quiet.

I texted Miya a photo of the shiso. She texted back a heart and a single word: home.

A panic flicker Tuesday evening, brief, manageable. I breathed. I drank water. I went outside and walked around the block. The flicker passed. The body did its work.

The neighbor's dog barked at nothing for twenty minutes Sunday afternoon. The neighbor apologized. I told him I had been writing through it and the white noise was helpful. He laughed.

Miya is in elementary school. The Saturday Japanese school continues. She still complains. She is still going.

I wrote at the kitchen table from six to eight. The newsletter was forming. The opening sentence was the hard sentence — they always are. I rewrote it five times. The fifth time was the right time.

A reader sent me a handwritten card this week. Her grandmother had cooked Japanese food in 1970s Boise. She had felt alone in it. The newsletter, she wrote, made her feel less alone. I taped the card to the wall above my desk.

The shiso pesto came together the same way this wasabi butter does — a handful of things from the Japanese pantry, blitzed or beaten into something that shouldn’t work and absolutely does. I keep a log of it wrapped in the freezer next to the miso, the way some people keep herb butter. Tomi was harvesting the shishito peppers that same Saturday I made this, and a thin swipe of wasabi butter on the grilled ones was the kind of combination that makes you stop and put down your fork. The Pacific Northwest in the Japanese pantry, exactly.

Wasabi Butter

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour (includes chilling) | Servings: 8

Ingredients

• 1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, at room temperature
• 1 1/2 tablespoons prepared wasabi paste (or 1 tablespoon wasabi powder whisked with 1 tablespoon cold water)
• 1 teaspoon soy sauce
• 1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice
• 1/4 teaspoon fine sea salt, or to taste

Instructions

1. Soften the butter. Let the butter sit at room temperature for at least 30 minutes until it yields easily to a fork. Do not melt it — it should be soft but still hold its shape.
2. Combine. In a small bowl, beat the softened butter with a fork or wooden spoon until smooth and slightly fluffy. Add the wasabi paste, soy sauce, and lemon juice. Beat again until fully incorporated and evenly pale green throughout.
3. Taste and adjust. Taste the butter and add salt if needed. The wasabi heat will mellow slightly once chilled, so err toward a little more than you think you need.
4. Shape and chill. Scrape the butter onto a sheet of plastic wrap or parchment. Roll into a log about 1 inch in diameter, twisting the ends to seal. Refrigerate for at least 45 minutes until firm.
5. Serve. Slice into rounds as needed. Use on grilled fish, roasted vegetables, steamed rice, grilled shishito peppers, or spread on dense seeded bread. Keeps refrigerated for up to 1 week or frozen for 2 months.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 103 | Protein: 0g | Fat: 12g | Carbs: 1g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 88mg