Mizunasu (Water Eggplant): The Pickle You Can Bite Like Fruit

Format: Shopify blog post (EN) + photo insertion guidance (placeholders).

[PHOTO 1 — HERO] Whole mizunasu (water eggplant), ideally with the stem on. If possible: a Kansai/Senshu market vibe or kitchen counter with natural light.

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.

Mizunasu (Water Eggplant): A Kansai Icon With a Fruit-Like Bite

In Kansai, mizunasu has a reputation that doesn’t need explaining. It’s a traditional vegetable from Senshu (near Osaka), with records that reach back centuries. People used to treat it almost like fruit—something you could bite into as-is, the way you’d bite a peach.

And honestly, I get it. Mizunasu is unusually juicy. One bite and you get a clean sweetness, so fresh it can feel closer to pear than to “eggplant.” It’s the kind of ingredient that makes you pause and think: Oh—this vegetable is playing a different game.

[PHOTO 2] A cross-section: mizunasu cut open to show the pale, watery interior. Optional: a bite mark to emphasize “fruit-like.”

That “different game” made me notice something I’d never questioned enough. With regular eggplant, we’re taught to soak it after cutting—“to remove aku.” But mizunasu doesn’t really need that step. So I asked myself: is eggplant’s aku really that intense? And more importantly—what is aku, exactly?

In Japanese kitchens, aku is treated like an enemy: remove it, rinse it, neutralize it. But the word itself is slippery. Written as 灰汁, it literally looks like “gray juice,” which is… confusing.

When you boil meat, the gray foam that rises is mostly proteins and amino acids—not something you *must* remove for flavor. Vegetable aku, on the other hand, is the sharp bitterness and astringency that can make you flinch—that “why did I do this” feeling when you taste something unprepared.

And then there’s the original meaning of 灰汁: alkaline water made from ash—the kind of liquid used to remove harshness and to build chew in noodles. Same name, different substances, different roles. It’s a small reminder that “common kitchen wisdom” is often a bundle of multiple truths tied together.

[PHOTO 3] Visual for the “aku” question: sliced eggplant in a bowl of water, or a simple still-life (knife, bowl, cut eggplant) that signals the classic prep step.

While I was going down that rabbit hole, my mizunasu was doing what it does best: quietly becoming pickles.

I made a quick salt pickle—Japanese-style, more “pressed and rested” than “vinegared.” Not the loud kind of pickles that shout sweet-and-sour at you, but the kind that keeps the vegetable intact—just tightened, clarified, and sharpened.

If you have it, add a little red shiso (perilla). The color alone makes the bowl feel like summer.

[PHOTO 4] Finished mizunasu pickles in a bowl or on a small plate—ideally with a hint of red shiso (purple tint) if you use it.

A pickling rule I trust (for mizunasu)

If you want an easy starting point:

• Salt: start around **2%** of the vegetable weight (adjust to taste)
• Time: **30–90 minutes** in the fridge for a fresh, crisp quick pickle
• Pressure: a gentle press helps water release and texture tighten
• Optional: a little **red shiso** for aroma and color

Cut mizunasu into bite-size pieces, salt it lightly, and press it down. Water comes out quickly. Flavor starts moving. By the time you’ve finished a small task—cleaning up the counter, making rice—it’s already different.

[PHOTO 5] Process shot: salted mizunasu resting under a light press (weight, lid, or plate). If you use Picklestone, show the stone press clearly.

The mistake we make

A lot of “pickles” in modern life are either vinegar pickles—or worse, something oddly sweet, oddly loud, and oddly artificial. If that’s the flavor you grew up with, you might think you don’t like pickles.

But salt pickling is different. It’s quieter. Cleaner. The vegetable stays itself—just focused.

How to eat it

• Hot white rice.
• A cold, crisp bite of mizunasu pickle.
• A tiny touch of soy sauce—if you want.

That’s enough. No complicated menu. Just a rhythm.

[PHOTO 6] Serving shot: rice + mizunasu pickles + a minimal soy sauce moment. Keep it quiet and simple (no busy background).

Taste, attention, and the natural world pushing back

The more I learn about bitterness and “aku,” the more I respect the basic logic of plants. Astringency is often defense—an attempt to keep new shoots from being eaten. Plants can’t run, so they build chemistry.

Humans respond with technique: soaking, salting, fermenting, pressing. It’s a long, quiet contest—nature and kitchen wisdom testing each other.

Mizunasu feels like one of the gentle ones. No harsh edge, no punishment. When I bite into it—especially as a quick pickle—it feels like the vegetable is meeting us halfway.

If you want to start small, start with one eggplant tonight. Give it salt and a little pressure. By tomorrow, you’ll taste a clean difference—and you’ll remember that time is an ingredient you can actually use.

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[PHOTO 7 — OPTIONAL] A quiet portrait or hands-in-action shot (cutting, salting, pressing). Good for closing CTA block.