A Trip Back in Time, Part 1
Also, a great place to shop for fancy food. A treasured vintage menu.
I wrote this in the fall of 2013, and I present it to you now because someone recently asked me to name a place I long to revisit. This lovely ryokan leapt into my mind.
The drive to Miyamasou is gorgeous. And harrowing. We twist our way up a misty mountain road, through fields, forests and Buddhist shrines. As we rise higher the road narrows to a single lane, and we drive more and more slowly, peering into the mirrors at the curves to try to see what's coming toward us.
The sounds: waterfalls, babbling brooks, wind in the trees. The leaves are changing, becoming deeper red as we climb higher into the hills.
And then we are at the ryokan. The quiet is intense. A man dabbles in a small stone pond, netting fish. The entire staff rushes out to greet us, ushering us into the small, spare inn. Shoes are removed, tea is brought, and suddenly the entire world as we have known it drops away. We are in another world, another time.
Our room is much as it was a hundred years ago: serenely simple, all wood and window hanging over the river. For the moment it is bare - the futons will be spread while we are at dinner.
We head to the bath, the water warm and soothing, with a view to the trees and the brook running across the rocks just outside. We wrap ourselves in robes, put on wooden sandals and make our way up the path to dinner.
There are seven of us, seated around the chef who stands in the middle, cooking. The food goes from his hands to ours. Each dish feels like a gift, and we eat with the chopsticks the staff makes by hand each morning. “Even something as simple as a chopstick,” says the owner, “can be a connection to the land.”
First flavor. (Note the lovely mioga.)
Ginko nuts in gingered miso, roasted in a leaf.
Matsutake mushrooms.
Shrimp, peanuts, ginko: hidden away, deep in the back, a single bright red egg yolk.
There are many, many more courses. This fish was swimming in the river just outside before being caught, grilled, wrapped in bamboo and embellished with local leaves. It is offered as a little present.
Finally, a simple dessert….a slick slice of perfectly ripened persimmon. Scoops of grape sorbet. And a single glazed grape, sparkling like a jewel.
Afterward we make our way through the lantern-lit yard to another bath and bed in huge fluffy futons.
We wake to rain, which makes the ryokan even more otherworldly than the sunshine. A bath. And then what might be the world's best breakfast.
The trip down the mountain is even more harrowing in the rain. Half an hour down the road big trucks start rumbling toward us, and by the time we reach Kyoto we're prepared for civilization.
Still, it's nice to know that Miyamasou is up there on the mountain, waiting.
Your article makes me nostalgic for the hot spring ryokan we stayed at in 1992 on Ishigaki Island. Ours was a budget ryokan, but it still had marvelous food.
I remember a breakfast with several types of fish, seaweed salad, vegetables and rice.
We were given an Ameridan style room which came with two giant gokiburu. Fortunately, I had brought along a large can of hair spray. I sprayed the critters, which only stunned them. They fell off the wall and ran under the bed. As I chased them out of one side of the bed my husband was waiting on the other side of the bed and pounded them with his shoe. Then it was safe to go to sleep.
From the photo I knew it had to be Japan. I too have been writing about Japanese dining experiences on Substack. Glad you’re on this platform. This is an amazing time for food writers!