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.

---

Nanohana (Rapeseed Greens): Spring’s Bitter Pickle

[INSERT PHOTO 1: Nanohana in a simple vase / a “Kyoto corner” (subway gate, temple hallway, or any quiet place where flowers are casually placed).]

In Kyoto, you’ll often find flowers placed in small gaps of daily life—near a subway gate, or in the corner of a temple corridor. No sign, no name. Just quietly there.

I’m honestly not good at flower names. Most of the time, I walk right past them. But in early spring, one always stops me.

Nanohana.

The reason is simple (and not very poetic): you can eat it. My tongue reacts before my eyes do.

When that happens, my brain starts running a small “spring ingredient game.” Tempura? Pasta? Soup? If you break the ingredient down by flavor, nanohana tends to want something from the sea—bonito stock, firefly squid, clam broth.

But the problem is: I don’t always have those things at home. So instead of forcing a full dish, I often do what I do best—pickle it.

A simple move: blanch, then pickle

[INSERT PHOTO 2: Blanching nanohana (a pot of boiling water / a bowl of cold water for shock cooling).]

First, I blanch the nanohana quickly to soften the bite and calm the bitterness. Then I chill it in cold water to lock the color.

Fun detail: when you boil greens, the green pigment (chlorophyll) breaks down, and the yellow pigments underneath (carotenoids) suddenly show themselves. Spring literally changes color in the pot.

[INSERT PHOTO 3: Squeezing the blanched nanohana; kombu and salt ready on the counter.]

After that, I squeeze it firmly, then toss it with kombu and salt. Nothing complicated—just enough to wake up the vegetable and give it a direction.

Waiting is part of the flavor

[INSERT PHOTO 4: Nanohana pickles resting in a jar; a little liquid starting to seep out after a couple of days.]

Let it sit for about three days in the fridge. Slowly, moisture seeps out. The texture settles. The flavor gets quieter—and sharper at the same time.

Sometimes I’m indecisive and leave it longer (four or five days). The nanohana waits on standby like, “Are we doing this or not?”

And then one day, I hit the limit: I just want to eat nanohana.

The meal that saved the day

I didn’t have clams or sea bream rice at home. No “perfect pairing.”

So I did the simplest thing: I made onigiri with aonori (green laver) and nanohana pickles.

[INSERT PHOTO 5: Onigiri with aonori + nanohana pickles (spring-green color).]

It worked—beautifully. The green is bright, the aroma is coastal, and the bitterness is adult in the best way. If you can find a fragrant spring aonori, even better.

Then I poured a cup of hojicha.

[INSERT PHOTO 6: Hojicha on the table (quiet ending shot).]

Somehow spring always tastes a little bitter. It’s a flavor you don’t understand as a kid—but later it feels strangely nostalgic.

That’s part of why I keep pickling: not because it’s “traditional,” but because it keeps my senses awake.

---

Want to keep tasting time?

• **Get new posts**: Subscribe to this blog for one small fermentation note at a time.
• **Use the tool I use**: See Picklestone (the press-pickling jar behind many of these scenes).
• **Work with me**: For menus, workshops, or editorial features—contact Hakko Shisho.