A quick hello

Pickles guy here—Tomonori Tanaka.

Some people call me **Hakko Shisho** (hakko = fermentation, shisho = master).

I live in Kyoto, and I make pickles almost every day.

This blog is a record of those small daily scenes—so you can taste “time” in ordinary food.

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Fukujinzuke: The Curry Companion That Turned Gray (and Why That’s the Point)

[Insert Photo 1: Japanese curry with a small mound of fukujinzuke on the side.]

If you grew up in Japan, this pairing feels automatic: curry and fukujinzuke. One is deep and spicy; the other is crisp, sweet-sour, and a little salty—like a reset button between bites.

I’ve been obsessed with curry long enough to learn dozens of recipes from locals overseas. But today isn’t about spices. Today is about that quiet partner on the plate: **fukujinzuke**.

Where fukujinzuke came from (a small travel story)

Fukujinzuke is often explained as a Japanese echo of **achar**—a preserved vegetable side dish in South Asia. Achar coats vegetables with salt and oil (often mustard oil) to help them keep and to make them travel-friendly.

There are a few origin stories for how fukujinzuke became curry’s default partner in Japan. One I like says it happened in the Taishō era, on first-class passenger ships traveling between Japan and Europe—where cooks tried to mirror the logic of curry + achar, using a Japanese-style mixed pickle alongside curry rice.

Real or not, it has that early-modern realism I can believe.

The mystery of the neon red

[Insert Photo 2: A store-bought bright red fukujinzuke (package or close-up in a small dish).]

But there’s one thing that always bothered me: the color. Modern fukujinzuke is often *too red*. Neon red. If you didn’t grow up with it, it can feel like an alarm.

So I decided: I want to make the fukujinzuke from a hundred years ago—before the neon era. If I can make it once with my own hands, I’ll understand what happened.

The “seven gods” on my cutting board

[Insert Photo 3: Seven ingredients lined up on a cutting board (small piles / “seven gods” look).]

Fukujinzuke is traditionally a mixed pickle—often described as seven ingredients, like the Seven Lucky Gods it’s named after. The classic lineup is:

• lotus root (renkon)
• cucumber
• eggplant
• daikon radish
• shiso berries
• ginger
• **nata-mame** (a large bean used for pickles)

Most of these are easy. Nata-mame is not.

The bean that took two years

[Insert Photo 4: Nata-mame close-up—long, large bean (or a market shot).]

I kept seeing thin slices of a sword-like ingredient inside store-bought fukujinzuke. That was nata-mame.

When I need something rare, I usually ask a friend who works at Osaka’s central wholesale market. Even he said: “Domestic nata-mame barely shows up.”

Still, I asked him to keep looking—no rush. Two years later I got the message: a farmer in Ōita had a small amount. When I finally met it, it was about 40cm long. I smiled. There are still vegetables I don’t know.

The moment everything turned into ditch water

[Insert Photo 5: A pot/jar where the vegetables have turned a muted gray-green (the “surprising color” moment).]

I sliced the seven “gods,” mixed a seasoning liquid, and gave everything a quick boil—not to soften it, but to pull water out and let flavor enter as it cools.

And then the color collapsed.

Eggplant skin leached a dark blue-black. Lotus root dulled into a concrete tone. Cucumber deepened the gloom. The whole thing went gray—honestly, not very appetizing.

That’s when I understood: the neon red wasn’t the original. It was a rescue. **It was delicious, but it didn’t look delicious.** So someone gave it a red jacket.

The moment I understood that, the history felt oddly lovable—people trying to make good food look like good food.

My current rule: if it’s seven vegetables in soy pickle, it counts

[Insert Photo 6: Your personal version—wasabi greens, spicy daikon, or whatever variation you like.]

After that, I stopped being strict. If it’s a soy-based pickle with a mix of vegetables, I’m happy to call it fukujinzuke.

Sometimes I replace nata-mame with **wasabi greens**. Sometimes I use a drier, spicy daikon. I keep sweetness modest and push the acidity a bit higher. Fresh crunch matters.

And here’s the funny part: next to curry, the muted green-brown is…kind of beautiful. Earth-colored curry. Soft, quiet pickles. It works.

Also: January 22 is Curry Day in Japan. This is a good day to go too deep on something small.

Fukujinzuke (recipe)

[Insert Photo 7: A finished jar in the fridge + a small dish serving shot.]

**Ingredients**

• lotus root: 15g
• cucumber: 25g
• eggplant: 25g
• daikon: 15g
• shiso berries: from 2 stems
• ginger: 5g
• nata-mame: 15g

**Seasoning** (same ratio)

• soy sauce
• rice vinegar
• sugar
• mirin

**Method**

1) Mix soy sauce, rice vinegar, sugar, and mirin in equal parts to make the seasoning liquid.

2) Slice the vegetables thinly. Bring the vegetables and seasoning liquid to a brief boil together.

3) Transfer to a container and chill in the fridge overnight.

Keep an eye on texture. This is a condiment—crunch is the job.

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