Non Sequitur Asparagus and Sesame

Nothing to do with asparagus. 

 Remove the hard part at the base of the asparagus stem:

         My sister’s way: Line up the base of the stems on a cutting board, and wack off the bottom 2 inches in one firm and gratifying blow with a Really Big Knife.  Virtue: you’re done in a moment, asparagus is quickly en route to dinner.

         My mother’s way:  Take each uncooked asparagus, and gently bend it near its base until you get a feeling for where the pithy part ends and the tender shoot begins.  Snap it at just the critical junction. Virtue: you’ve maximized the asparagus, not wasting a molecule, and had an intimate bonding experience with your side dish.

Simmer a little water in a large frying pan. Add asparagus and cook until it is tender, but still retains its dignity, about 7 minutes. Drain off any remaining water and transfer to a beautiful dish.

Sprinkle with:

-       Rice vinegar

-       Sesame oil

-       Soy sauce*

-       Toasted sesame seeds

The taste of asparagus is the taste of patience: three years in growing from planting to harvest, but then it will feed its gardener over and over again years to come. Asparagus makes me think of woods, gentle forest, clear water, of something mysterious, something fine. These things in turn, for no obvious reason but that the paths of memory are convoluted sets of twists and tumbles, make me think of a long time Japanese friend.  He is a man who can hold in his head the nature of space plasmas and convulsions of the sun, who can write mathematical compositions to frame them. He also knows simpler things, like how to have a drink with a friend -- when visiting New Mexico, he brings along sake from home to share with local mountain peaks.

I’m not even sure if he likes asparagus, but how could he not? He is fond of the golden rocks that shape and are shaped by mountain streams, the smell of juniper, and bright bits of fern, green against rock and shadow. These are things that seem to me to naturally lead to asparagus. So in his honor, this recipe is a Japanese-style asparagus. 

*The soy sauce I used is an absurdly expensive bit of magic, that I bought at a Magic Shop called 10,000 Waves. The following recommendation is really something best ignored if you’re sane (Kikkomans will be just fine):  I use Kishibori shoyu, the Laphroaig of soy sauces. It is made in small batches, fermented slowly in a 100 year-old barrels, produced on a “small island in Japan’s inland sea”. (It would never be so crass as to be produced in large batches on a large island in a 53 year-old barrel.)  It is apparently made with the kind of patience it takes to grow asparagus. It should be stored in a cool place, dark and dry.  It deserves it.

The sound of asparagus.