Delights of Kansai (7): Shojin-ryori at Daitokuji Ikkyu (大徳寺一久), Kyoto

Back in Kyoto, and dinner this evening was at Daitokuji Ikkyu, conveniently located on a side street opposite the main entrance to the famous temple complex of the same name. Their shojin-ryori 精進料理 (Japanese Buddhist vegetarian cuisine) is my favourite in Kyoto, and I always make it a point to come here whenever I'm back in the city. Tonight's visit was actually my third; the last one had been way back in the summer of 2011 (before I left for London and started this blog), and I had really missed the food here.

This ancient cuisine's roots lie in the Buddhist temples of China and was brought into Japan by returning Zen monks who had been studying there. Within Japan, shojin-ryori is especially popular in Kyoto, with its multitude of ancient temples and their associated restaurants both on- and off-site. Nowadays however, the food is not actually cooked by monks, but by members of the local community (though it still has to adhere to strict Buddhist precepts).

Daitokuji Ikkyu has been feeding the monks at the Daitokuji temple complex for at least 500 years, and is the oldest existing shojin-ryori restaurant in Kyoto. It is also one of the few which does an early dinner service (most shojin places are lunch-only); do note though that last orders here are at 6 pm. Yoshiaki Tsuda is the current head chef, assisted by his son-in-law (and successor) in the kitchen, while his warm and friendly daughter sees to her guests' every need with typically meticulous Japanese hospitality. Despite its formal and solemn setting, Ikkyu really does provide one of the homeliest services within this city's fine restaurants, regardless of one's Japanese proficiency (I hadn't picked up the language the first two times I visited). The daughter is also the person who picks up the phone when customers call to make reservations, and her high-pitched, enthusiastic voice coupled with a melodious Kyoto accent will put you at ease right away (she does speak very basic English, in case you were wondering). I always look forward to returning here, and now that I was actually able to communicate with our hostess meaningfully in her native tongue, I had one more reason to love the place!

I could hardly wait!

Our lovely hostess had been expecting us for our 5.30 pm reservation, and the moment I slid open the main door and called out gently to announce our arrival, she promptly appeared and led us through some corridors to our private room at the back of the restaurant. The initial reception was every bit as warm as I had remembered it from my last visit, perhaps made even better now by the fact that I was able to speak her language.

The tables were arranged facing a bare wall instead of the rock garden outside, in line with Zen Buddhism's emphasis on mindfulness and reflection. The unusually high seats were also put side-by-side and not facing each other, presumably to help us focus squarely on the cuisine, and also to replicate (somewhat more comfortably) the traditional custom of eating this food whilst kneeling.

This simple little alcove facing us, with New Year calligraphy and ikebana, was all that adorned our tatami room. The deliberate austerity in the whole set-up was hardly restrictive or intimidating; quite the contrary, we felt an inexplicable restfulness almost immediately upon entering the room, and very quickly settled into a calm, almost meditative state of mind, apt for savouring the vegetarian feast that awaited us.

All the private rooms offer a view out to the beautiful central rock garden; in warmer seasons one may leave the sliding doors open while eating, though in this weather it was probably more appropriate to keep them fully closed, and the heater switched on. We could still peek through small glass panels inserted into the doors.

Actually I am by no means a vegetarian - I love my fish and seafood too much - but the extremely high quality of Kyoto produce (there's even an umbrella term for it, 'kyo-yasai' 京野菜) means that even the simplest vegetables, fruits and tofu may be transformed into dishes fit for the gods (quite literally!). Back home in Singapore, vegetarian cuisine is often extremely greasy (because anything drowned in oil is bound to be tasty) and relies heavily on artificially flavoured gluten to replicate the texture, flavour and form of various meats and fishes (which, obviously, defeats the whole purpose of going vegetarian in the first place); you understand now why I am generally not a fan. However, in authentic shojin-ryori, there is none of that nonsense - the emphasis in this cuisine is on simple preparations that highlight every ingredient's quality, wholesomeness and natural taste. This purist adherence to the spirit of vegetarian cuisine appeals to me much more, and for actual vegetarians and vegans, Kyoto must be sheer heaven!

At Daitokuji Ikkyu, three multi-course banquets are available, from 8,320 to 14,260 yen per person (inclusive of tax and service). A cheaper bento-style lunch is also available for 4,160 yen (all inclusive) up to 3 pm. Yes, shojin-ryori does not come cheap - it's not just about the best produce, but also about the skills required to prepare the deceptively simple dishes that will maximise their flavour and texture. Full banquets are usually reserved for high-ranking priests at important ceremonial occasions, in which case the restaurant closes to the public for the day. This evening, I'd decided to go all out for the one-off vegetarian meal, and what follows is a review of the 14,260 yen feast.

We started with a nice cup of sencha and a warm towel to recover from the external chill.

煎茶

There was a lovely umami and smoothness in every mouthful of this sencha, a testimony to its high quality. In fact, the first time I came here I had mistaken this velvety pale green tea for gyokuro 玉露 (the highest quality Japanese green tea made from shaded young shoots); it was that good, and still hasn't changed after all these years. Sencha might be the most commonly seen and consumed type of green tea both in Japan and overseas, but as might be expected from a top shojin-ryori restaurant, this was certainly no generic drink.

The vegetarian banquet then began proper, served in plain red lacquerware, in accordance with shojin-ryori tradition. In Japanese culture, the colour red is also believed to be a talisman against evil spirits. The prohibition of meat, dairy, eggs and pungent plants that are considered unnecessarily stimulating to the senses (leek, garlic, onion, shallot etc.) had in no way detracted from the sheer diversity of colours, flavours and textures that was offered to us. As it is currently the New Year period, certain dishes also contained important symbolisms. (They will be described and reviewed individually below.)

大徳寺犠牲豆腐、大徳寺麩、カブラ紅白巻（わさび入）、金柑甘煮、クワイ

'Sacrificial tofu' with a sprinkling of crushed white sesame, fresh gluten simmered in soy sauce, pickled turnip rolls with wasabi, sweet simmered kumquat, and boiled arrowhead shoot: the kumquat was particularly memorable for its juiciness and perfect balance between the sweet and tangy; we both agreed that that was the best component of the dish. Kumquat is called 'kinkan' 金柑 in Japanese, which also happens to be the pronunciation for the characters 'golden crown' 金冠 - thereby symbolising wealth and prosperity in the new year.

The rest were also very good; the tofu had a rich and silky smooth mouthfeel, and its delicate flavour was aptly enhanced by the nutty and aromatic white sesame. The fresh gluten was soft, chewy and moist, and simmering in soy sauce gave this otherwise bland ingredient a lovely deep umami. Ikkyu presents it as round slices peppered with small distinctive holes, resembling the form of sliced lotus root, which symbolises clarity in one's future, due to its numerous 'lookout' holes. Two more morsels closely associated with Japanese New Year cuisine: the arrowhead bulb produces a large sprout, and this is a symbol of growth and development. The starchy bulb was cut into the shape of a pine cone, which is significant as the evergreen pine tree is the symbol of majesty and resilience in Japanese culture. Finally, pickled turnip rolls were presented in auspicious pink and white, a common New Year colour scheme. The bits of authentic grated wasabi in each roll also provided an elegant spiciness that effectively stimulated the tastebuds and cleansed the palate in anticipation of the following dishes.

菜の花の辛子和え

This Japanese version of salad consisted of rape blossoms (similar to broccoli) blanched and tossed with a soy-based mustard dressing. The rape blossoms ('nanohana' in Japanese) had a pleasant tender and juicy bite. Its delicate sweet taste was well enhanced by combining with the creamy dressing, which not only enriched the overall texture but also delivered a warm spicy kick. Underlying each mouthful was a lingering aftertaste of soymilk, which both tempered the spiciness of the mustard and complemented the mild taste of the vegetable. The balance of flavours and textures in this seemingly nondescript mash was actually quite remarkable.

零余子ご飯

Rice steamed with mukago: Mukago are mountain yam bulbils that are readily available in the wild during autumn, and keep well throughout the winter. They might be considered baby mountain yams, and possess a similar texture. This was an interesting first experience with this ingredient, which many Japanese have in fact not tried or simply taken for granted. The soft, sticky and chewy rice was the perfect foil for the little crunchy, starchy and slightly gooey balls that had been generously scattered around. Each mouthful contained a delightful multitude of textures. In terms of flavour, the delicate fragrance of the rice complemented the equally mild earthy sweetness of the mukago very well.

Fortunately, this small initial dollop wasn't all that we were allowed to have; together with our first trays came a full container of this rice, for us to continue helping ourselves throughout the evening. We did finish almost all the rice eventually - not bad considering that the whole dinner comprised 14 courses!

お雑煮：西京白味噌汁、焼き豆腐、辛子ソース、大根、里芋

Thick saikyou white miso soup with grilled tofu, mustard sauce, daikon and taro: this was the vegetarian version of the traditional Japanese New Year soup known as 'ozouni', with grilled tofu substituting for the grilled mochi that usually appears in the centre. This warm soup had a really smooth and luxurious texture (look at that creamy glistening surface!) with a deep and sweet umami characteristic of saikyou miso, and it was also filled with lots of comforting ingredients - perfect for chilly winters. The tofu's flavour had been intensified by grilling, and it had a pleasant charred edge reinforced by the spicy mustard. The daikon was extremely sweet, soft and juicy, while the taro was rich and starchy. We couldn't have finished our first trays of food on a more satisfying note.

堀川牛蒡、大徳寺筏牛蒡、生湯葉、梅麸

From this point on, the dishes arrived one by one, and the next consisted of simmered Horikawa burdock, normal burdock root battered and deep-fried, and fresh layered yuba rolls, with a piece of fresh gluten in the form of a plum blossom.

The yuba (tofu skin) was remarkable for its tender and slightly chewy texture, pure milky white colour and rich taste - a testimony to its freshness and high quality. Usually, a batch of soy milk will yield about seven or eight layers of yuba. The first four or five are the best quality and are sold fresh in wrinkled sheets like the ones served to us here. They don't keep very well nor travel long distances due to the absence of preservatives, so you're likely to have genuine fresh yuba only in Kyoto. The small piece of fresh gluten, in a different form from the earlier piece and with no flavouring, was soft, smooth and chewy; it was probably put there more for aesthetic reasons and possibly as an anticipation of the upcoming plum blossom season.

Unusually, two varieties of burdock were also featured in this dish. The large dark brown piece was from Horikawa burdock, a special Kyoto cultivar that is much longer and thicker than a normal burdock. One Horikawa burdock weighs about 1 kg and it usually takes a whole year to grow this big. Therefore, it is relatively rare and considered a high-grade root vegetable. The combination of its natural earthy herbal sweetness, and a deep umami from simmering in a soy-based broth, resulted in a wonderfully full-bodied flavour. Its texture was also quite soft, but substantial and rather starchy. Two other strips of normal burdock root, lightly battered, stuck together in a parallel arrangement in the form of a bamboo raft, and deep-fried (a unique preparation of this restaurant) had a milder taste and a pleasant crunchy bite.

けんちん巻、筍、鶯菜、人参、柚子

Following this was another soup dish featuring a representative item of shojin-ryori cuisine, the dumpling-like kenchin-maki, which is mashed and seasoned tofu with bits of carrot, kelp etc., wrapped in a wrinkly layer of fried yuba (very similar to spongy 'tau pok' in the Singaporean context). This large yuba wrap was surprisingly substantial and jam-packed with soft and moist contents, and the outer layer of fried yuba, though rather soggy from soaking in the soup, did intensify the overall flavour of the dumpling quite effectively. It was accompanied by sweet and crunchy slices of young bamboo shoots, baby turnip shoots, carrot, and aromatic yuzu rind in a clear vegetarian dashi broth. The New Year colours of red, green and yellow were apparent. I was particularly impressed by how deep the umami of this soup was, despite not using dried bonito flakes, an integral component in the process of making normal dashi stock. How did something which looked as clear as water, and was made from only seaweed, develop such a complex flavour? Light, wholesome and satisfying - simply delightful.

蕪蒸し、椎茸、百合根、銀杏、生麩、荒毛木耳、柚子

Next, vegetarian chawanmushi: steamed grated turnip with shiitake mushrooms, lily bulbs, gingko nuts, fresh gluten, black fungus and a touch of yuzu.

We could not have expected the sheer variety of luxurious produce beneath that unassuming cloud-like layer of steamed turnip. That top layer had a texture so soft, airy and cottony that it felt almost unreal. The aroma of yuzu only served to heighten our expectations of what lay below. This small teacup was chock-full with a surprising amount of healthy ingredients, bound together with a thick and starchy turnip-based sauce. It was all very fresh, sweet and earthy, with a great bite in every mouthful. I would take this over the usual egg chawanmushi any day!

胡麻豆腐

Another staple of shojin-ryori followed; this was chilled sesame 'tofu', made in fact from a mixture of arrowroot (kuzu) starch powder, ground sesame seeds and water, boiled to a thick custard-like consistency (kuzu starch is a natural gluten-free thickening agent), allowed to set, then chilled and cut into blocks like this. Despite its convincing appearance, it contains no traces of soybeans. Making it from scratch is actually very laborious; kuzu powder is difficult to process from the roots (though nowadays, pre-packed powder is readily available), and the sesame has to be ground for a very long time in order for it to become a totally smooth paste, and for its aroma to be fully unleashed into the mixture. Traditionally, the job of grinding the sesame would have been assigned to low-level novice monks - the hard work was considered good for their character. The 'tofu' here had a very firm, rich, smooth and somewhat gelatinous texture, and the nutty flavour of sesame was perfect with a touch of soy sauce and wasabi (which is how the Japanese usually enjoy this cold dish). This course served as a simple and effective refresher for the tastebuds, coming aptly after all the sumptuous preceding dishes.

酢物：菊花、三つ葉、キノコ、とんぶり、黒胡麻

Now it was time for the real palate cleanser; this was a vinegared mixture of chrysanthemum flowers, wild chervil, mushrooms and kochia seeds, with a sprinkling of black sesame. Kochia seeds (known as 'tonburi' in Japanese) are a popular garnish in Japan due to its medicinal properties, and they have an appearance and gelatinous texture similar to caviar. For me, it was an interesting first experience with this ingredient that provided a nice crunchy plop in each mouthful. On the whole, this dish was very crisp and acidic - somewhat of an acquired taste I must admit - with the mushroom slices providing a more substantial chewy bite and a deeper earthier aftertaste. The black sesame also contributed a delicate nutty aroma that helped to temper the sharp smell of vinegar.

刻み生姜、リンゴ、梅干の出汁

Back to a warm course - a small bowl containing a clear soup of shredded ginger, apple and preserved plum was served. This combination was highly unusual but effective, with a sophisticated balance between the sweet, salty, tangy and spicy. The soup's austere appearance belied a remarkable complexity that couldn't be adequately expressed in words, and I had certainly never tasted anything like it. I was also very impressed by the knifework involved in shredding the ginger to this hair-like fineness. Every detail matters. This soup certainly made an impression, and it was a lovely transition from the two chilled refreshers into the final part of this evening's banquet.

揚げ昆布、香茸、空豆

The final part of the meal started with a somewhat sombre-looking dish of deep-fried kelp, koutake (a kind of aromatic mushroom native to Japan) and fava beans. I didn't expect that these ingredients would/could be prepared in this manner, but their intensified flavours resulting from deep-frying and diverse textures were an absolute joy to behold in the palate. The kelp was particularly memorable for its feather-light crispness, just like a rice cracker, despite its thickness - how does one do that, knowing how firm and leathery dried kelp is?!

漬物：白瓜の奈良漬け、大根、白菜

To accompany our last few mouthfuls of rice, we had pickled melon cucumber (Nara-style with sake lees), daikon and Chinese cabbage. No Japanese meal (vegetarian or not) is complete without pickled vegetables. We had some excellent pieces right here, very juicy, crunchy, and only mildly astringent, allowing the natural flavour of each vegetable to still come through. The dark brown Nara-style cucumber stood out for its refreshing bittersweetness and elegant aroma, no doubt the result of its pickling method.

静岡産マスクメロン

Dessert was a generous slice of Shizuoka musk melon. These melons are famous the world over for their aroma, sweetness and juiciness, and regularly retail for upwards of 10,000 yen per melon at posh supermarkets in major Japanese cities. This slice truly lived up to the melon's reputation. Our hostess shared with us that her family doesn't actually get to enjoy any of these melons as they are very expensive and meant for customers only. Also, these melons are painstakingly chosen each morning from their supplier, such that they are at the optimum degree of ripeness at the point of serving, and only just enough will be bought for the day's reservations. They don't buy advance stocks, because the excess fruit either starts to dry up and lose flavour (if insufficiently ripe), or its flesh starts to rot and become mushy (if over-ripe), when kept overnight - then it would become a waste as no one would be able to enjoy them fully. I found this exactitude and desire to provide only the best all the way very admirable indeed.

As one might expect dining within a Japanese temple context, we would end this meal with whisked matcha and traditional Japanese sweets, but before that, we had a transitional cup of burnt rice tea with a touch of salt, to facilitate digestion, cleanse our palates and set up the tastebuds appropriately. This tea was served in beautiful porcelain with an auspicious phoenix design, which aptly symbolises renewal and a fresh start in the new year, due to this mythical creature rising from the ashes. The tea itself had a pleasant toasty aroma that perfumed the mouth with each sip, and a delicate savouriness that heightened one's anticipation of the final matcha and sweets.

抹茶と自家製お菓子

Matcha and homemade seasonal sweets

干し柿（柚子あんこ入）、大徳寺納豆

On each of our plates was a slice of dried persimmon with a filling of yuzu-infused bean paste, and Ikkyu's trademark dried natto (fermented bean - a well-known health food, but an acquired taste, even for some Japanese). I have never quite been a fan of natto myself - the taste and smell are too pungent for my liking - and this black pellet had an even more concentrated flavour due to drying; just one was enough. However, its saltiness went extremely well with the sweetness of the stuffed persimmon, and its pungence was effectively tempered by the fresh aroma of yuzu from the bean paste. No prizes for guessing I preferred the stuffed persimmon, a winter delicacy with a rich date-like texture. Its elegant bean paste filling was very smooth and creamy, and left the palate feeling remarkably crisp amidst all the other heavier textures and flavours.

Frothy whisked matcha is customarily drunk after finishing the dish of sweets, as the lingering aftertaste of the latter effectively neutralises the bitterness and astringency of the former. It was no different here, and only a little matcha (3 small mouthfuls to be exact) was needed to end this feast on a very clean note, without any unpleasant puckering traces. My teabowl was a lovely example of kyo-yaki 京焼, in which vibrant designs of flowers and fruits are usually hand-painted on a bare glazed ceramic surface. (It is common practice for the guest to admire the form and design of a teabowl, after the matcha has been finished.)

My partner's matcha was served in a black ceramic bowl, known as kuroraku 黒楽. Such unadorned bowls, with irregularities in form that occur naturally from the processes of moulding and firing the clay, are considered the perfect expression of Zen ideals within the Japanese tea ceremony. The potter's individuality is palpable in this particular style of ceramics that prizes the unpredictability of the human touch and nature's processes, above an intentionally polished refinement.

Before leaving, we got to revisit the front of the building, which is where the main retail section is situated. It doesn't get more traditional and rustic than this, and a delightful calming aroma of incense permeated the space, befitting its temple connection.

All of Ikkyu's signature items available for take-away,
written on wooden panels, with a water feature below.

For the first time since I started coming here, we also got to greet Ikkyu's chefs, and a family photo was surely in order!

The lovely people behind this evening's feast (right to left):
Yoshiaki Tsuda 津田義明, his daughter, and son-in-law.

I actually had a little gift for our hostess: a photo of her which I had taken during my second visit in 2011. In return, we both received a nice wrapping cloth (furoshiki) each, which was a really lovely and unexpected gesture. The family seemed genuinely pleased that we were returning customers, and that we have always enjoyed their food so much. And of course, with typical Japanese hospitality the young couple just had to see us all the way out, going back into the building to close up only when they were certain that we had turned the corner into the main street. (We were the last customers to leave as we had had the most elaborate menu.)

Apparently, as I was told by our hostess, one of very few
pictures they've had together as husband-and-wife -
I'll have to give this to them the next time I return!

Update: passing by the restaurant again while sightseeing the next morning.

Throughout this evening, our hostess was very warm and chatty, and our conversation was peppered with occasional moments of humour. The whole experience was absolutely relaxed, therapeutic even, and I do really look forward to reliving this feel-good moment, hopefully in the near future. The service was extremely intimate by fine-dining standards - might even be too close for the folks who are used to a more distanced professionalism - but I didn't mind it at all! For me, and for now, Daitokuji Ikkyu still serves the best vegetarian food money can buy, coupled with truly incredible omotenashi; I can't recommend this gem of a restaurant highly enough.