yfritz's Journal

yfritz's Profile | Weight History

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19 August 2023

I am glad I opened the app today. There were some great posts which motivated me to do better.
I have been quite inactive this year except at work. My job keeps me exhausted mentally and physically, and I am often in job-related pain so I mostly stay in bed on my days off, trying to recuperate.
Confession: I saw a spider web on my beautiful bicycle🕸️ This needs to change. I need your help.
On a positive note, I got into baking bread thanks to @cindylynnwho. I bake bread using my beloved Dutch oven. Baking has a calming effect on me. I bake in silence. Hopefully by the end of this month I’d be listening to music while baking. My mind hit the rock bottom this year and I avoided music. Yes it got that bad.

(94 comments)

27 July 2023

For @bearnoggin
British steamed pudding “spotted dick”
I love how everything is called pudding in UK, it’s fantastically confusing. OED says a pudding was originally an animal stomach stuffed with stuff. I even saw sausages and pea soup(!) labeled as pudding. Then there is Yorkshire pudding, which is basically a popover. Don’t even get me started on the slang side of this term. Anyway, I’m just making a conversation, I and Mr&Mrs Bear are having tea 🫖💐 Originally we celebrated Mr B’s birthday with a godless amount of doughnuts, but now I’m hell bent on calling everything a pudding, so a doughnut is a pudding, and vice versa. Happy belated birthday Mr B🧸🐻

(88 comments)

23 January 2023

Blues Alley, Washington DC

(144 comments)

21 January 2023

No-cheat, all from scratch vegan supper, inspired by zen cuisine I enjoyed while in Kyoto 🥢

Grated mountain yam over rice
Sesame paste tofu with mum leaf
Pickled kohlrabi, napa, watercress

Total 12 plant-based ingredients🌿
精進料理

(91 comments)

30 December 2022

Asakusa is a district in Tokyo known for its down-to-earth, old time vibes. I never liked the area. It’s oversaturated with tourists and shops that sell worthless tchotchkes nobody should ever want. The town was destroyed by the air raid in WWII, and although it boasts 1,400 year history, what it presents is mostly a post-war landscape. People love to call the district a symbol of rebirth. “Rebirth,” I sneered, unable to shake off my contempt towards the town that shamelessly panders to the whim of foreign visitors, gratifying every inch of their fantasy at the expense of our true sensitivity and aesthetics. The main street is lined with rickshaws for heaven’s sake. Rickshaws? How kitschy.

Nevertheless, I ended up in Asakusa because Google indicated that there I might be able to find a craftsman who still possesses the gumption to repair an ihai case, which is an integral part of the family altar that houses the mortuary tablets of the ancestors and the recently deceased. Ours is falling apart. My brother’s mortuary tablet is among others’s inside. The tablet bore his after-life name and it felt strange to read that he was no longer my little brother Yakkun.
I walked a lot past two weeks looking for someone who would be willing to repair the ihai. I went to several places except Asakusa. Repairing Buddhist articles is a thankless work and no one was interested. They all wanted me to buy a new altar. The rejection struck me as curiously heartless. Japanese are forever boasting their allegiance to the old way of life, yet in reality they seemed to have succumbed to the modern culture of efficiency. I was not convinced and decided to walk toward Asakusa, to see if the tradition was still intact as the town claims, to see if I could find a true old-school artisan who takes pride in his craftsmanship.

So here I was in Asakusa, to be precise I was in the older part of the town away from the touristy areas. I spotted a tiny obscure Buddhist store sandwiched between more prominent, franchised Buddhist establishments. I opened the old sliding door and inquired if they would look at my broken article. The proprietor didn’t even look at it, he simply declared “of course I can fix it.” He was indignant, as if to say my question was insulting. “We’ve been around, lady.” His indignation made me chuckle. “Sir,” I said, “so far everyone refused to repair it. I went to several places” “They are lazy pieces of shit, did you go to my neighbors first before you came to me?” “No, they didn’t look promising, I didn’t bother.” My answer pleased him and he started to warm up to me. “Now you found me. Well done, let me see what you’ve got,” said he. He took the ihai and handled it ever so gently as one would a newborn child. His compassion moved me. He was an old-school artisan who never forgot why we cared about mortuary tablets. In olden days, say amidst of the wartime firebombing for example, people ran back into the burning houses to retrieve them before salvaging any other household items, he never forgot that, and he instantly understood why I walked miles and miles before locating him.

My view of Asakusa changed after that. I decided to drop some US dollars like a real tourist and did quite a few touristy things, just to experience the genuine warmth and kindness its people claim to provide. I ate Anmitsu with a congenial old lady. Bought beautiful kon-peki chopsticks. At a kimono rental salon, the friendly hairdresser and I had a grand time. She was attentive, taking utmost care to dress me. “Who is going to take your picture?” She asked. “Nobody. I’m here alone.” “That’s a pity. Don’t worry. Ask one of those rickshaw brothers to take pictures. I know, I know, they are a bit rowdy, a bit much really, but they are good people. They wouldn’t mind.” And I believe her. I have no doubt those rickshaw guys are good people and would not have minded doing me a little favor, moreover, I believe they would have addressed me in the term of endearment I have not heard since my brother’s death.

Sensoji, Asakusa Tokyo, est. 645AD
金龍山浅草寺

(127 comments)

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