Hakko Blog (Shopify draft) — Aona-zuke

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.

Aona-zuke (Japanese Greens Pickles): Salt, Time, and the Winter Logic

[IMAGE 1: HERO — main greens-pickle photo]

I once did the dumbest thing a “pickles guy” can do: I let a napa cabbage go bad.

I usually keep winter vegetables in a cool spot and they last. But the season was warmer than expected—and I missed my timing.

I cut away the soft, discolored parts, looked at what was still usable, and thought: I should’ve salted it earlier.

That little regret is also the reason I trust fermentation.

My fridge is full of salted vegetables, and they don’t rot. Instead, they quietly shift—lactic acid bacteria trading places, acidity and umami building over time. Old pickles often taste better, not worse. Past kitchens knew something we keep forgetting.

Why greens love salt

[IMAGE 2: after this section — close-up greens / quick-pickle shot]

Leafy greens are especially good for this. They wilt fast after harvest—but once you salt and press them, the color turns brighter, the texture tightens, and they become quick pickles almost immediately.

A light pickle (asazuke) hasn’t fully fermented yet, so you’re supposed to eat it soon.

But if you raise the salt level a bit, something interesting happens: water inside the vegetable swaps places with salt through osmosis, spoilage bacteria drop, and only tougher lactic acid bacteria can keep working. That’s the fermentation logic—selection by salt.

In other words: once you salt it, you’re not helpless—even if the weather is weird.

The three big “leaf pickles” of Japan

[IMAGE 3: after this section — regional greens context photo(s)]

Japan has famous regional greens pickles. People often call these the “three great leaf pickles”: Nozawana (Nagano), Takana (Kumamoto), and Hiroshima-na (Hiroshima).

They’re all winter greens for a reason. To survive freezing, plants raise sugar. Winter air is also dry, which lowers water content and concentrates flavor. Pickle them at that peak, and the result is almost unfairly good.

The hard part behind “cheap pickles”

[IMAGE 4: after this section — farming / labor context photo]

There’s a quiet problem, though. These pickles can be heavy labor, yet the price stays low—so farmers shift to other crops. I’ve heard more than once that truly domestic takana pickles may become rare in the near future.

It’s not something you can fix by saying “Please don’t stop.” People have to live. The everyday pickles we eat come with real constraints at the source.

A local pickle I want to meet

[IMAGE 5: after this section — Seisai-zuke (Yamagata) photo(s)]

While reading about greens, I found a regional pickle from Yamagata: Seisai-zuke (often introduced as “Yamagata aona pickles”). The greens look similar to nozawana or takana, but they grow over 70 cm tall and can exceed 500 g per plant—huge.

Growing and thinning them is also hard, and the leaves snap easily, so handling takes care. Production isn’t massive because consumption stays mostly local.

And that made me think: maybe that’s the point.

Do we really need to ship everything across prefectures—along with exhaust fumes—just to keep the same pickles on every shelf? Sometimes “made here, eaten here” is the healthier economy.

Pickles are a food-loss technology

[IMAGE 6: after this section — “today I salted it” photo + closing photo]

People love to talk about sustainability, but pickling is already a practical way to reduce food loss.

Maybe what we really need isn’t to “buy more pickles,” but to bring back a normal rhythm: local vegetables, salted and fermented in local kitchens, consumed without unnecessary travel.

Today, I salted the edible part of that cabbage. I paid for it, so I’m free to pickle it—or throw it away. What would you do?

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.