There’s no place like home

If I had a hundred yen for every time someone asked me if I liked 納豆 (natto), I’d have enough money to bribe my way out of ever eating it again.

What’s natto? Fermented soybeans in all their sticky glory. Which doesn’t sound too bad, right? I thought so too.

I love Japanese food beyond sushi and ramen. I ate もつ鍋 (motsunabe), essentially stewed organs, for every second meal I was in Fukuoka. When I have friends visiting, I take them out to eat raw horse (馬刺し: basashi) and raw chicken (地頭鶏たたき: jitokkotori tataki), half because I want to give them a unique experience and half because I want to eat it.

Granted, I haven’t tried pufferfish (河豚: fugu) because it’s expensive, or whale, because… well, they’re whales and I can’t.

But natto. It’s something else. It’s healthy and cheap and part of almost every local household as far as I can tell but. No.

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