Dreaming of Tokyo and the perfect egg sandwich

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If I ever find my own Midnight Diner, I would ask Master to make me this common snack and and see what goes into his version

As the familiar, melancholic theme song of Midnight Diner filled my living room, I felt a fierce longing for Tokyo that took my breath away.

 

I have gone every year for about a decade. This year, I was busy moving back to my home after renovating it and had to skip my usual January trip. Life and its labyrinthine pathways then conspired to keep me away from what I laughingly call my spiritual home.

 

And now, watching the second season of this charming series on Netflix, it all came flooding back, the longing.

 

The show is about a Shinjuku diner called Meshiya, which opens from midnight to 7am. A mysterious man, known only as Master, owns it.

 

He has a group of regulars, but strangers often turn up after hearing about his unique proposition. There is just one dish on the menu - tonjiru, which is miso soup with pork and vegetables, but he will cook anything for anyone if he has the ingredients on hand.

 

Everybody who orders something has an interesting story to tell about his or her dish. These are never elaborate things. Usually, the dishes bring back memories of childhood, lost love or some other life hiccup. Yakisoba stuffed into a hotdog bun, salmon and mushrooms baked in foil, chicken fried rice and plum onigiri are among the dishes in the second season.

 

I never skip the title sequence because I stay in Shinjuku each time I am in Tokyo and think of it as my 'hood. That street is a familiar one I have walked many, many times.

 

What startles me is how much I feel for a city that has tried its best to alienate me. After the initial euphoria of discovering Tokyo had worn off, I began to resent how much more difficult it was to book restaurants every year.

 

How suspicious the restaurants are of non-Japanese diners, so afraid that I would be like all the other gaijin who book and never show up.

 

I have elaborate schemes to book places I want to eat at, involving concierges, friends, acquaintances and the hard twisting of arms. I had begun to tire of the physical exertion.

 

Tokyo is tough to crack. Its people sport armour 24/7. When they let their guard down, you feel like you have received a precious gift. Is this why I keep going back?

 

This sort of wariness I don't see in my travels outside of the city.

 

Give Tokyo a break, I tell myself. Go to other places in Japan. Gifu, Miyazaki, Kobe. Really get under the skin of Kyoto and Osaka.

 

"Forget Tokyo, go to Kanazawa," says someone I know. I love the area. There is a little restaurant there which served one of the best sushi meals I have ever had in my life. And a ryokan of unparalleled beauty. Even snow melting on its grounds can make a person swoon. Snow is my name, but it is also my bete noire because of the way it derails life in Tokyo when it falls.

 

But it is so hard to quit Tokyo, irresistible because of its aloofness and elaborate rules of engagement. Can the challenge of decoding the city be the real draw for me?

 

There is also the possibility of finding a Meshiya. Where everybody knows your name. Master knows just what you need. There is warmth under his brusqueness, to soften the blows Tokyo rains on mere mortals.

 

Meshiya is, alas, fictional. Yet I live in hope. But to find a place like this, I'll have to keep going. When I do find it, I know what I'll ask Master to make. Tamago Sando.

 

Yes, an egg sandwich. Not an elaborate omakase sushi meal, but a snack available in all convenience stores or konbini. Ubiquitous.

 

But I'll want to see what he puts in his sando. For the ones I make, I insist on tobiko because I love the way the tiny spheres of flying fish roe pop in my mouth. I prefer the gentler bite of chives, rather than bracing scallions, in my sandwich. I add a bit of Dijon mustard to the filling because I like the tang.

 

I wonder if he'll have what I call the "presentation egg" in the middle of the sandwich. I like the yolks fudgy and, if you follow my instructions to the letter, yours will be too.

 

When he sets the plate down in front of me, I'll tell my story. It is not about childhood memories, lost love or hiccups.

 

My story is about the longing I have for a city which does not love me back.

 

TAMAGO SANDO

INGREDIENTS

• 6 extra large eggs, each weighing 70 to 75g
• 2 tsp salt
• 4 to 5 stalks chives
• 2 Tbs Japanese mayonnaise
• 1 Tbs tobiko (flying fish roe)
• 1 Tbs Dijon mustard (optional)
• Salt and white pepper to taste
• Salted butter
• 8 slices white sandwich bread, crusts trimmed off

 

METHOD

 

1. Poke a small hole in the rounded end of each egg, using a thumb tack or an eggshell piercing tool (below, available at Daiso).

 

2. Set two timers; one for 7 minutes 30 seconds, the other for 8 minutes 15 seconds. Fill a medium pot, which will hold the six eggs comfortably, with enough water to submerge the eggs. Add salt. Bring the water to a rolling boil. Gently lower the eggs into the water. Start the timers.

 

3. Fill two bowls with water and ice cubes. When the first alarm goes off, remove two of the eggs and plunge immediately into one ice bath. When the other timer goes off, remove the rest of the eggs and place them in the other ice bath.

 

4. Chop the chives finely.

 

5. When the eggs are completely cool, peel the four eggs in the second ice bath. Place in a large bowl and mash with a fork. Add the chives, Japanese mayonnaise, tobiko and mustard if using. Mix with a spoon. Have a taste and add salt if needed, and white pepper to taste.

 

6. Peel the remaining two eggs and slice in half.

 

7. Line a tray that will hold the four sandwiches with baking paper. Make the sandwiches: Butter two slices of bread. Place half an egg on one slice, cut side down. Spoon the filling around it. Place the other slice of bread over it. Place the sandwich on the tray. Repeat with the remaining slices of bread.

 

8. Place a sheet of baking paper over the sandwiches and top with a chopping board or tray to press the sandwiches down lightly. After 10 to 15 minutes, slice the sandwiches in half and serve.

 

Serves four as a snack

 

Source: The Straits Times © Singapore Press Holdings Limited. Reproduced with permission.

 

 

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