Umeboshi (Salted Plums): A Summer Ritual for Tasting Time

[PHOTO SUGGESTION / HERO] A close-up of ripe ume (Japanese plums) or finished umeboshi / plum syrup in a glass.

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 preserved foods—pickles, plums, miso—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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Umeboshi & Ume-shigoto: When Summer Smells Like Time

In Japan, we have a seasonal phrase: ume-shigoto—“plum work.” It’s the quiet ritual of dealing with ume (Japanese plums) when they arrive in early summer: washing, drying, salting, pressing, waiting. Nothing flashy happens in one moment. But over days and weeks, time becomes taste.

[PHOTO INSERT] A tabletop scene of “ume-shigoto”: a bowl of plums, salt/rock sugar, jar, towel, maybe a small scale.

Last year I skipped it. Too busy, too many projects, and I told myself I’d do it “next season.” But when summer came again, I realized something: ume-shigoto isn’t only about making umeboshi. It’s also a way to reset your sense of pace.

This year, I started with plum syrup

This time I did something I hadn’t made in a while: ume syrup (plum syrup). Ripe plums and rock sugar go into a jar, and you let them sit until the syrup pulls itself out—usually about two weeks. When it’s ready, I like to pour it over ice with cold water, about 1:4, and sometimes add a slice of lemon.

[PHOTO INSERT] Plums + rock sugar layered in a jar (ideally Picklestone or a clear jar).

[PHOTO INSERT] A finished glass of plum syrup over ice (option: with a lemon slice).

The question I get overseas: “Why rock sugar?”

In Japan, it’s normal to use rock sugar for syrup. But outside Japan, people often ask: why not regular sugar? Here’s my answer—short version: rock sugar dissolves slowly, and that slowness matters.

Because it melts gradually, the plums don’t collapse too quickly. The syrup builds in layers: aroma first, then sweetness, then a deeper fruitiness. It reminds me of making marron glacé—candied chestnuts—where you let sugar enter slowly, so the inside stays intact. Fast sweetness can be loud. Slow sweetness gives you clarity.

[PHOTO INSERT] Close-up of rock sugar crystals (bonus: next to fine sugar for contrast).

And then: umeboshi

After the syrup, I still wanted the real summer anchor: umeboshi—salted plums. Once the plums are salted and pressed, you start to see the brine rise. That liquid is ume vinegar (umezu). It’s not just a byproduct—it’s a tool.

With umezu, you can make shibazuke (a Kyoto-style summer pickle). Cucumber, eggplant, myoga, ginger—everything tastes like a sharper, brighter summer. One batch leads to the next: syrup to umeboshi, umeboshi to umezu, umezu to another pickle. That’s the loop I like—one action connecting to the next.

[PHOTO INSERT] Umeboshi in brine (or plums under weight); optional: a small bowl showing umezu.

[PHOTO INSERT] Shibazuke-style pickle: cucumbers/eggplant/myoga tinted pink/purple (if you have it).

A small cultural note: why plums matter here

Ume has been treated as food and medicine in Japan for a long time. Even the name of the Reiwa era was drawn from a passage in the Manyōshū—a poem collection that describes plum blossoms. I don’t bring that up to be academic. I bring it up because ume carries the idea that “what you preserve becomes what supports you.”

When the world feels too fast, I return to things that change at their own speed. Ume-shigoto is one of those. It’s not about being perfect. It’s about making a small promise to future-you—and keeping it.

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Want to keep tasting time?

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• 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.

[OPTIONAL PHOTO] A quiet closing image: jar on the counter / Kyoto kitchen corner / hands drying plums.