Post bettara
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.
Bettarazuke (Sweet Koji Daikon): The Pickle I Didn’t See Coming
[PHOTO 1: Bettarazuke close-up / glossy translucent slices]
Kyoto has an all-star roster of pickles—senmaizuke, shibazuke, mibunazuke…
So I honestly didn’t expect my personal “favorite pickles ranking” to change at this age.
Then I met bettarazuke—a sweet, glossy daikon pickle that’s famous in Tokyo.
And the moment that flipped everything for me wasn’t even the pickle itself—it was how people eat it.
First: what is bettarazuke?
[PHOTO 2: Daikon being salted / pressed (process shot), or rice koji in bowl]
Bettarazuke starts with daikon. You peel it thick, salt it, and press water out.
Then you cure it in a bed of rice koji (and often rice syrup / sweeteners + rice).
So it’s not a clean, sour lactic-fermentation pickle.
It’s a sweet koji environment where enzymes break things down and umami appears—
which is why the finished daikon turns slightly translucent and shiny.
As a “pickles guy,” my first reaction was simple:
Is this… going to work with rice?
The Tokyo clue (and a former shogun)
[PHOTO 3: Bettarazuke topped with a heap of bonito flakes (okaka)]
I couldn’t fully understand why bettarazuke became such a Tokyo autumn icon
(until I found a note about Tokugawa Yoshinobu).
The story goes: he liked bettarazuke cut thick, topped with a huge pile of okaka
(dried bonito flakes), then finished with a little soy sauce.
That was the missing piece.
Koji + fish is a classic umami shortcut—think saikyozuke (fish cured in sweet miso).
Koji brings amino acids, fish brings glutamate and more, and suddenly everything locks in.
When you rebuild that structure with bettarazuke × bonito flakes, it just makes sense.
How I eat it now
- Cut bettarazuke thick (thicker than you think)
- Put a ridiculous amount of bonito flakes on top
- Add a small splash of soy sauce (optional—but try it once)
It’s so balanced you don’t even need rice.
It can be its own snack, its own “one plate,” its own reset.
A small confession
I used to say, “You can’t find bettarazuke in Kyoto.”
Then I actually looked—turns out it was sitting there the whole time.
That’s the funny part of writing a column: you realize how much you still don’t know.
Even if you call yourself a pickles guy.
And one more secret—only for readers:
At New Chitose Airport in Hokkaido, there’s a salmon shop with fresh-made onigiri.
But my real recommendation is the refrigerated item called “nanohana & herring koji pickles.”
Same logic: koji + fish. Quietly incredible.
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.