it's already apparent that everything in japan is impeccably designed. no detail goes unfinished and every object, from the waffle iron to the toilet, embodies simplicity, elegance, and supreme functionality. apparently this sensibility derives from the principles of zen buddhism, but that is a rather complex topic for more reading and another day. my present focus is how the japanese have applied this unique sensibility to the snack food.
onigiri. it's deceptively simple. a triangle-shaped ball of steamed rice, usually wrapped in nori [seaweed], the size of your fist. at it's center, a small morsel of goodness, perhaps taking the form of minced pork, salmon roe, or pickled plum. onigiri can be bought freshly made at the supermarket or pre-made at any convenience store on virtually any street corner in japan.
as a snack, it's an ideal combination of starchy but not dry, salty but not thirst-inducing, satisfying without being filling...all wrapped into a flawless package. each onigiri is nestled in two layers of cellophane: an outer layer to protect it from the elements of the store shelf, and a second, slipped between the rice and nori to keep the rice white and the nori crisp. as with all things japanese, there is a pre-determined method for opening. the entire package, including the inner layer of cello, can be unwrapped and ready to eat by pulling lightly, in sequence, in three numbered locations.
for a person who is typically either spilling, dropping or breaking whatever she holds, the perfect unwrapping of an onigiri can impart a real sense of satisfaction - as if you've tried all your life to draw a perfect circle and now, suddenly, you can.
