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Finding Yūgen on Mount Nokogiri A Yama no Hi Reflection


Every year on
11th August, Japan celebrates Mountain Day (Yama no Hi), a national holiday that encourages people to appreciate the country’s mountains and the important role they have played throughout Japan’s history and culture.

Visiting Japan over the years has given me the opportunity to explore some incredible places, and recently I visited somewhere that I think perfectly captures the spirit of Mountain Day Mount Nokogiri (鋸山) in Chiba Prefecture.

I’d seen photographs of its dramatic cliffs and giant stone Buddha before, but nothing quite prepared me for experiencing it in person.

From the moment I arrived, I realised that Mount Nokogiri isn’t simply a mountain to climb. It’s a place where nature, history and spirituality come together in a way that’s unlike anywhere else I’ve visited.

Standing at just 329 metres, Mount Nokogiri isn’t one of Japan’s highest mountains, but what it lacks in height, it more than makes up for in character. Its name translates as “Saw Mountain,” inspired by the jagged ridgeline that resembles the teeth of a traditional saw.

Mount Nokogiri’s distinctive appearance has been shaped by people as much as by nature. For centuries, this mountain served as one of Japan’s most important stone quarries. The high quality Boshu Stone quarried here was transported across Tokyo Bay and used to build castles, warehouses, sea walls and many of the buildings that helped Edo, now Tokyo, grow into a thriving city.

Towering rock faces rise above the pathways, with huge vertical cuts revealing where generations of stonemasons painstakingly removed enormous blocks of stone by hand. It’s difficult not to stop and imagine the incredible amount of work that once took place here. Rather than detracting from the landscape, these quarry walls have become part of what makes Mount Nokogiri so fascinating today.

On the day I had planned to visit the rain had already settled in (it was June “Japanese rainy season after all”) by the time I arrived at Mount Nokogiri low cloud clung to the mountainside, softening the sharp edges of the ancient quarry walls, while a fine mist drifted silently through the trees. The familiar scent of damp earth, moss and rain soaked stone filled the air, making the whole mountain feel wonderfully timeless.

It wasn’t the clear, panoramic day many visitors hope for. The famous views across Tokyo Bay remained hidden behind a veil of cloud. Yet somehow, it felt as though the mountain was revealing something far more intimate.

On a bright summer’s day, Mount Nokogiri is known for its sweeping vistas and dramatic scenery. But wrapped in rain and mist, it became a place of quiet reflection. The ancient quarry walls seemed even more imposing as they emerged from the fog, while the temple grounds felt almost suspended in time.


The weather softened every sound and blurred every distant outline, inviting me to slow my pace and notice the details of centuries old stone, tiny ferns growing from cracks in the cliff, droplets gathering on weathered statues and the rich, earthy fragrance that only follows a summer rain.

The rain didn’t hide the mountain’s beauty; it revealed a different side of it. One that felt peaceful, mysterious and deeply connected to the centuries of history held within its forests and stone.

As I wandered through the rain, I found myself thinking about the Japanese idea of yūgen (幽玄) a quiet, mysterious beauty that can’t quite be put into words.

Often described as a profound awareness of the beauty and mystery of the universe, yūgen is less about what can be explained and more about what can be quietly experienced. It’s the feeling that comes from standing before a mountain range disappearing into mist, watching light shift across a valley, or sensing the vastness of nature without needing to put it into words.

Rather than revealing everything at once, it invites you to imagine what lies just beyond your sight.

The drifting mist became part of the landscape rather than an obstacle. The quarry walls appeared and disappeared with the passing clouds, temple roofs emerged briefly between the trees before fading once more into the grey, and even the giant stone carvings seemed reluctant to reveal themselves all at once.

It was a reminder that beauty doesn’t always announce itself with bright sunshine or sweeping panoramas. Sometimes it lives in softer moments the scent of rain on ancient stone, the vivid green of moss after a summer shower, and the quiet rhythm of footsteps echoing along centuries old paths.

Mountains have a unique way of awakening that sense of wonder, inviting us to simply pause, observe, and appreciate what words can never fully capture.

One line from the Japanese writer Jun’ichirō Tanizaki has stayed with me over the years. In his book In Praise of Shadows, he explores how Japanese aesthetics often find beauty in shadow, subtlety and suggestion rather than brightness and clarity.

One of the highlights of the visit was exploring Nihonji Temple, whose grounds stretch across the mountainside.

Founded in 725 AD, the temple has stood here for nearly thirteen centuries, quietly watching over the mountain through changing seasons and changing times. Unlike many temples that centre around one main building, Nihonji encourages visitors to wander.

Stone staircases disappear into the trees, small statues appear unexpectedly beside woodland paths, and peaceful corners invite you to slow down and simply enjoy the surroundings.

There was a wonderful sense of calm that seemed perfectly suited to the mountain itself, I guess because of the weather there was no one else around.

One of the moments I had been looking forward to most was seeing the Nihonji Daibutsu.

Photographs simply don’t convey its true scale.

Standing over 31 metres tall, it is the largest seated stone Buddha in Japan and represents Yakushi Nyorai, the Buddha of Healing.

Despite its enormous size, what struck me most wasn’t how impressive it looked, but how peaceful it felt.

There is something incredibly calming about standing quietly in front of the Buddha, surrounded by trees and the sounds of nature. It’s easy to understand why people have visited this place for centuries.

As I climbed the winding paths through Nihonji Temple, every step seemed to disappear into the mist ahead. Water trickled gently over the rock faces, the moss glowed an almost luminous green against the dark stone, and the only sounds were birdsong, the occasional rustle of leaves and the steady patter of rain on my umbrella.

If the Great Buddha is peaceful, then the Hyaku Shaku Kannon is simply breathtaking.

Carved directly into the towering quarry wall, this immense relief sculpture stands around 30 metres high.

Looking up from its base, it’s almost impossible not to feel small in comparison.

The statue of Kannon, the Buddhist Goddess of Compassion, was created as a memorial for those who lost their lives through war and industrial accidents, giving the monument an added sense of meaning beyond its remarkable craftsmanship.

The surrounding quarry walls somehow make the sculpture feel even more dramatic. It’s one of those places where photographs struggle to capture the true scale of what you’re seeing.

As I continued exploring Mount Nokogiri, I realised that every part of the mountain tells a different story.

Its forests remind us of Japan’s natural beauty.

The quarry ruins speak of centuries of hard work and craftsmanship.

The temple reflects over 1,300 years of faith and tradition.

And the giant stone carvings demonstrate both artistic skill and spiritual devotion.

It’s rare to find all of these elements woven together in one place.

Mountain Day is about appreciating Japan’s mountains, but it’s also about recognising everything they have given to the country. Mount Nokogiri feels like the perfect example of that idea.

It isn’t simply somewhere to enjoy beautiful scenery. It’s a mountain that has provided building materials, inspired artists, welcomed pilgrims and continues to attract visitors who come to admire both its natural beauty and its remarkable history.

Looking back on my visit, I realise that Mount Nokogiri offered so much more than I expected.

It wasn’t just another day trip.

It was a chance to step into over a thousand years of history while surrounded by some of Chiba’s most beautiful landscapes.

As I made my way back down the mountain, the mist showed no sign of lifting. I never caught a glimpse of Mount Fuji, nor the sweeping views across Tokyo Bay that draw so many visitors here. Yet I didn’t feel that I’d missed out. If anything, I felt I’d been invited to see a different Mount Nokogiri one that revealed itself quietly, through rain darkened stone, emerald moss and the gentle hush of cloud drifting through ancient temple paths. On a day dedicated to celebrating Japan’s mountains, I couldn’t have asked for a more fitting reminder that not all beauty demands to be seen clearly. Sometimes it is the mountains we experience through mystery that stay with us the longest.

As Japan celebrates Mountain Day each August, encouraging people to appreciate the country’s mountains, I found myself grateful that I experienced Mount Nokogiri in these conditions.

If you’re ever looking for somewhere that combines spectacular views, fascinating history and peaceful temple grounds, I couldn’t recommend Mount Nokogiri enough.

(And don’t be put off by the rain!)

If you would like to read more about other mountains I have visited in Japan please search “Yama no Hi”

Summer Food

Doyō-mochi (土用餅) A Sweet Tradition for Surviving Japan’s Summer


When people think of Japanese summer food traditions, one custom immediately comes to mind: eating
unagi (freshwater eel) on the Day of the Ox (Doyō no Ushi no Hi) to help endure the intense summer heat. I have spoken about this in previous posts providing you with a vegan alternative recipe.

While this tradition remains incredibly popular today, there is another, much quieter seasonal delicacy that has been enjoyed for centuries during Doyo no Iri” (the start of the Doyo period) which is Doyō-mochi (土用餅), also known as “ankoro mochi”

This simple yet elegant confection is a wonderful example of how Japanese food culture intertwines with the changing seasons, tradition, and the hope for good health.

What is Doyō?

The word doyō (土用) refers to an approximately eighteen-day transitional period before each new season in the traditional East Asian calendar. Although there are four doyō periods throughout the year, the summer doyō is by far the best known, as it falls during the hottest and most humid weeks of the year, just before the beginning of autumn.

It is during this time that people have traditionally sought foods eaten as a charm for “shoki-barai” (warding off the summer heat) which are believed to restore energy and help them cope with the exhausting heat. I have spoken about this in a previous post “Summer Doyo”.

The tradition of eating Doyō-mochi dates back to Japan’s Edo period (1603–1868), when seasonal customs flourished and food was closely connected to health and the rhythms of nature.

Before the custom of eating eel became the defining feature of the summer doyō, people enjoyed a variety of seasonal foods thought to nourish the body. Among them was Doyō-mochi, particularly in the Kansai region, including the historic cities of Kyoto and Osaka.

Today, many traditional wagashi shops continue to make Doyō-mochi only during this brief seasonal window, making it a true taste of summer.

Doyō-mochi is beautifully simple and looks a bit like Ohagi but instead of mochi rice coated with anko (sweet bean paste) it is a soft, chewy mochi, made from Shiratamako rice flour, which is generously coated in smooth or lightly textured sweet azuki bean paste (anko). Some regional variations place the bean paste inside the mochi, but the classic Kansai style features the mochi wrapped in a layer of rich, velvety anko.

Like many traditional Japanese sweets, its understated appearance reflects an appreciation for balance, simplicity, and seasonal beauty.

Azuki beans have held a special place in Japanese culture for centuries. Their vibrant red colour has long been associated with protection, purification, and good fortune. In Japanese folklore, red was believed to ward off misfortune and harmful influences, making azuki beans a popular ingredient in celebratory foods and seasonal rituals.

Eating azuki during the demanding summer doyō was therefore seen as a way of inviting good health and resilience through the changing season.

While these beliefs belong to traditional folklore rather than modern medicine, they remain an enduring part of Japan’s cultural heritage. One of the most charming aspects of Japanese confectionery is its deep connection to the seasons. Rather than producing every sweet throughout the year, many wagashi are created for just a few weeks, encouraging us to appreciate each season as it comes.

Doyō-mochi perfectly embodies this philosophy. Available only during the summer doyō, it reminds us that even the hottest days of the year have their own traditions, flavours, and quiet moments of beauty.

Doyō-mochi remains a cherished seasonal confection that speaks to the heart of Japanese culture. Its combination of tender mochi and sweet azuki bean paste is comforting in its simplicity, while its history offers a glimpse into centuries old customs centred on health, harmony, and living in tune with nature.

If you happen to visit Japan during the summer doyō, keep an eye out for Doyō-mochi in traditional wagashi shops. It is a fleeting seasonal treat that carries with it a rich cultural story.

To make this seasonal wagashi at home is super easy to do with a few ingredients.

Wishing you a healthy summer!

Ingredients

  • 100g Shiratamako (Glutinous rice flour)
  • 120ml water
  • 1 tablespoon sugar
  • 240g red bean paste (divided into 6 equal portions)
  • potato starch

Method


  1. Combine glutinous rice flour, water, and sugar in a microwave safe bowl. Whisk until completely smooth with no lumps.
  2.  
    Cover the bowl loosely with plastic wrap.
    Microwave at 600W for 1 1/2 mins
    Stir vigorously with a wet spatula.

  3. Cover again and microwave for another 1 minute.
    The dough should look translucent and glossy. Stir well until it becomes elastic and sticky.
  4.  
    Let the dough cool slightly until safe to handle. Dust a tray with potato starch and tip out the dough. Give the dough a coating of potato starch this will make it much easier to handle.
    Divide it into 6 equal pieces. Roll each piece into a small ball.
  5.  
    Flatten a portion of the smooth red bean paste in your palm. Place a mochi ball in the centre. Carefully pinch the bean paste around the mochi to coat it completely.
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Kagurazaka 神楽坂 Tokyo’s “Little Paris”


Hidden on the edge of Shinjuku, Kagurazaka blends old Tokyo charm with a distinctly European feel, earning it the nickname “Little Paris.” Once famous as a lively geisha district, today its quiet cobbled lanes are lined with stylish boutiques, contemporary galleries, French style cafés and traditional ryotei which are exclusive, traditional Japanese restaurants that are highly private, luxurious establishments where guests enjoy
kaiseki (multi-course) meals. 

One of the greatest pleasures of exploring Kagurazaka is wandering its network of hidden alleys, where the distant hum of modern Tokyo seems to soften and fade into the background, replaced by a quieter, more intimate atmosphere.

Hyogo Yokocho is one of the area’s most atmospheric lanes. Its narrow stone pavement is lined with traditional restaurants and elegant ryōtei concealed behind wooden gates and bamboo fences, where the faint clink of dishes and the murmur of conversation can be heard from the pavement.

Just a short walk away is Kakurenbo Yokocho, or “Hide-and-Seek Alley.” The name reflects a time when the neighbourhood’s teahouses were so discreet that only those who had been invited could hope to find them. Today, the cobbled lane retains that same sense of mystery, with the gentle rustle of movement behind hidden entrances and the occasional creak of wooden gates adding to its hushed ambiance.

Beautifully preserved buildings and the soft glow of lanterns in the evening create an atmosphere that feels remarkably untouched by time. Strolling through these historic alleys offers a glimpse of the refined world that once defined Kagurazaka and continues to give the neighbourhood its unique charm.

This maze of passages has a quaint little game you can play while you’re walking the cobbled alleys. Hidden amongst the cobbles are ones with various shapes for you to find.

The decorative paving stones are known as inishie no koban (いにしえの小判), although many people simply refer to them as Kagurazaka’s “lucky paving stones.” During the neighbourhood’s streetscape improvements in the 1980s and 1990s, the city installed granite paving in many of the historic alleys. Scattered among the ordinary cobbles are a small number of specially carved stones featuring different motifs.

Heart said to bring success in love or help you find romance.

Star associated with success, hopes and good fortune.

Diamond believed to bring prosperity and financial luck.

Some visitors also mention other symbols, such as flowers or gourd-shaped stones, but the heart, star and diamond are the ones most commonly recognised.

What’s particularly charming is that there is no official map showing where they are. Part of the fun is simply wandering Kagurazaka’s backstreets and spotting them by chance. Locals and repeat visitors often keep an eye on the ground as they explore Hyogo Yokocho, Kakurenbo Yokocho and the surrounding lanes, hoping to discover one hidden among the regular granite blocks.

Sadly I didn’t find one.

I actually think this is one of the loveliest little traditions in Tokyo. It says a lot about Kagurazaka, rather than rushing from one famous sight to the next, the neighbourhood rewards curiosity. Looking down at the cobbles can be just as rewarding as looking up at the historic buildings. It’s a wonderfully fitting detail to include in a walking guide.

You never know what you might come across tucked away.

Zenkokuji Temple

At the heart of Kagurazaka stands the vibrant red Zenkokuji Temple, a temple with a history stretching back more than 400 years. Founded in 1595, it is dedicated to Bishamonten, one of Japan’s Seven Lucky Gods. Known as the guardian of warriors and the protector of Buddhist teachings, Bishamonten is also associated with good fortune, prosperity and the granting of wishes, making the temple a popular place for prayer throughout the year.

One of the temple’s most distinctive features is the pair of tiger statues standing guard at the entrance to the main hall. While many temples and shrines are protected by lion like guardians, Zenkokuji’s tigers reflect Bishamonten’s close association with the animal in Buddhist tradition. According to legend, he was born in the Year of the Tiger, on the Day of the Tiger and at the Hour of the Tiger, making the tiger an enduring symbol of his strength, courage and protective power.

Despite being located in the middle of bustling Kagurazaka, the temple offers a peaceful atmosphere. Visitors come not only to admire its striking vermilion buildings but also to light incense, offer prayers and seek blessings for success, good fortune and protection.

It’s easy to see why this historic temple has remained an important spiritual centre in the neighbourhood for more than four centuries.

The temple also holds many annual events, including the Setsubun bean throwing ceremony in February.

Akagi Shrine

Further uphill, is Akagi Shrine. The shrine itself dates back to around 1300, but the buildings were destroyed during the Second World War and the entire complex was beautifully redesigned in glass and wood in 2010 by architect Kengo Kuma combining traditional spirituality with sleek modern design.

Standing quietly at the entrance to Akagi Shrine are a pair of stone komainu 狛犬 the lion dog guardians that watch over Shinto shrines throughout Japan. At first glance, I assumed they were centuries old, but their clean lines and gentle expressions made me wonder if they might actually be much newer.

As it turns out, they almost certainly are. Unlike the weathered, fiercely carved komainu found at many historic shrines, the guardians at Akagi Shrine are believed to have been created as part of the shrine’s major redevelopment, completed in 2010. Their simplified forms and understated character complement the shrine’s striking contemporary design by architect Kengo Kuma, creating a thoughtful balance between ancient tradition and modern architecture.

Like all komainu, the pair stand as spiritual guardians. One traditionally has its mouth open, forming the sound “A”, while the other has its mouth closed, representing “Un”. Together they symbolise the beginning and the end, the completeness of all things and protect the sacred space beyond.

What I find especially appealing is that these statues don’t attempt to imitate the past. Instead, they demonstrate that shrine traditions are still evolving. The guardians fulfil the same symbolic role they always have, but their modern design reflects the shrine they protect respectful of history while confidently embracing the present.

It’s a lovely reminder that not everything at a shrine has to be ancient to feel authentic. Sometimes tradition is carried forward not by copying what came before, but by expressing familiar ideas in new ways.

Other points of interest Tsukudo Hachiman shrine widely regarded as a guardian shrine for the Kagurazaka vicinity and Denchuji Temple A quieter and lesser known temple.


The temple sits in a backstreet area away from Kagurazaka’s main slope and shopping streets, which gives it a very “old Edo pocket” atmosphere.


Many visitors walk straight past the district without realising small temples like this survive between apartment blocks and modern buildings.


Atami-yu

Hidden away in one of Kagurazaka’s narrow backstreets is Atami-yu, one of the neighbourhood’s last remaining traditional sento, or public bathhouses.  Atami-yu, features a gable roof, which was a common feature in sento public bathhouses during the Showa period (1926-1989).

Opened in 1954, it has long been part of everyday life in this historic district. During Kagurazaka’s heyday as one of Tokyo’s most celebrated geisha quarters, geisha would bathe here before preparing for an evening’s engagements and return afterwards to wash away their elaborate make-up. Today, little has changed inside. A traditional Mount Fuji mural overlooks the baths, the water is still heated using wood fired boilers, and stepping through the entrance feels like travelling back to a quieter, more nostalgic Tokyo. Tucked beneath the stone steps known as Atami-yu Kaidan, the bathhouse remains a wonderful reminder of the close knit community that once revolved around Kagurazaka’s geisha culture. I think Atami-yu is one of those places that really captures the character of Kagurazaka. Unlike the modern elegance of Akagi Shrine or the bustle of the main shopping street, it preserves the everyday life of the neighbourhood a place where local residents and geisha alike came simply to bathe, chat and relax.

Continue along Kagurazaka’s bustling main street and you’ll discover a neighbourhood where tradition and contemporary culture blend effortlessly. Michelin starred kaiseki restaurants sit alongside cosy French bistros and elegant pâtisseries, a legacy of the area’s long standing French community. Independent boutiques offer everything from handmade ceramics and artisan crafts to vintage vinyl records, while narrow side streets reveal bookshops, galleries and quiet cafés tucked away behind unassuming doorways.

Yet the true charm of Kagurazaka lies beyond its shops and restaurants. Turn down almost any alley and you’ll find stone paved lanes, traditional wooden buildings and softly glowing lanterns that recall the neighbourhood’s past as one of Tokyo’s most celebrated geisha districts. It’s a place where every corner invites exploration, rewarding those who wander with unexpected discoveries and a glimpse of a slower, more intimate side of the city.

Whether you’re visiting for its remarkable history, exceptional food or simply the pleasure of getting lost among its hidden streets, Kagurazaka offers an experience that feels both timeless and distinctly Tokyo.

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Tokyo’s Quieter Side Exploring Shibamata and Jindaiji

Tokyo is a city that never seems to slow down, with its neon lit streets, crowded stations, and endless attractions competing for attention. Yet beyond the capital’s fast pace lie pockets of calm where visitors can experience a different side of Tokyo. Shibamata and Jindaiji are two such places, charming districts that feel worlds away from the urban rush. With their traditional streets, historic temples, and relaxed atmosphere, both make perfect afternoon escapes for anyone looking to step back in time and enjoy a quieter, more nostalgic side of Japan.

Shibamata and Jindaiji share that nostalgic, slower paced atmosphere while each offering something distinctive Shibamata with its old town charm and connection to the Tora-san films, and Jindaiji with its temple grounds, soba culture, and surrounding greenery. If you’re wanting to escape the madness of Tokyo for an afternoon here are my two of my recommendations.

Shibamata 

Tucked away in Tokyo’s northeastern corner, Shibamata time capsule town offers a glimpse of a slower, more nostalgic Japan. Far removed from the skyscrapers and bustling shopping districts of central Tokyo, this charming neighbourhood has survived wartime damage and retained much of its traditional atmosphere. Visitors are welcomed by a retro shopping street lined with family run stores, local snack vendors, and historic buildings that evoke the spirit of the Showa era.

Shibamata is perhaps best known as the setting of the beloved Otoko wa Tsurai yo film series, whose wandering protagonist, Tora-san, remains a local icon. Whether you’re strolling through the lively Taishakuten Sando, visiting the beautiful temple grounds, or enjoying the peaceful riverside scenery, Shibamata offers a refreshing escape from the city’s fast pace and a chance to experience a more authentic side of Tokyo.

Despite feeling a world away from central Tokyo, Shibamata is surprisingly easy to reach by public transport. From Tokyo Station, take the JR Sobu Line to Koiwa Station and transfer to a local bus, or travel via the Keisei Line from Ueno to Keisei Takasago Station before changing to the Keisei Kanamachi Line. Shibamata Station is only a short ride away and places you right at the entrance to the historic district.

As you exit the station, you’ll be greeted by a bronze statue of Tora-san, marking the beginning of your journey through one of Tokyo’s most charming and traditional neighbourhoods.

Walking through the shopping street gate you may be intrigued by the shops selling figures of golden poo. Apparently these are supposed to bring you luck as the pronunciation for luck and poo in Japanese are similar.

The streets are lined with traditional food shops many being there for generations. Above and in the shops you may see Kumade 熊手 an ornamental, decorated bamboo rake said in Japanese culture designed to symbolically “rake in” good fortune, wealth, and professional success.

One of my favourite stops along Taishakuten Sando was Shibamata Haikara Yokocho, a delightful shop that captures the atmosphere of Japan in the 1950s and 60s.


Filled with traditional dagashi sweets, vintage toys, and nostalgic memorabilia, it felt like stepping into a childhood memory from another era. Visitors can even enjoy a small toy museum featuring retro arcade games and pinball machines.

As I browsed the shelves, I picked up a box of Pon Tan Ame, a classic Japanese sweet that has been enjoyed for generations. The soft citrus flavoured candy is wrapped in a thin edible starch paper, which dissolves as you eat it a simple but charming detail that makes it feel wonderfully old fashioned and these ones are vegan friendly. Sampling these nostalgic treats while wandering through Shibamata added another layer to the area’s timeless appeal.

Continuing along Taishakuten Sando, I passed Toraya, one of Shibamata’s most iconic sweet shops, and part of the set of the Tora-san films. With its traditional façade and long history, it is easy to see why visitors are drawn inside for a taste of the area’s famous kusadango. Even from the street, the shop adds to the nostalgic atmosphere, its presence a reminder of the generations of travellers who have followed the same path towards the temple.

The walk itself is part of the experience. Between the historic sweet shops, family run businesses, and displays of local delicacies, Taishakuten Sando feels less like a tourist attraction and more like a living piece of old Tokyo. Every storefront seems to tell a story, inviting visitors to slow down and savour the journey rather than rush to the destination.

At the end of Taishakuten Sando stands Taishakuten Temple, the spiritual heart of Shibamata. Founded in 1629, the temple has long been a place of worship and reflection, drawing both local residents and visitors seeking a moment of peace away from Tokyo’s busy streets.

Passing through the temple gates, the lively atmosphere of the shopping street gives way to a sense of calm. The beautifully carved wooden buildings showcase remarkable craftsmanship, while the temple grounds with its flying dragon pine tree invite visitors to slow their pace and take in their surroundings. One of the highlights is the exquisite wood carvings that decorate the main hall, depicting scenes from Buddhist teachings in extraordinary detail.

During my visit, I found the contrast between the bustling approach and the tranquil temple grounds particularly striking. After exploring the nostalgic streets of Shibamata, Taishakuten felt like the perfect place to pause, reflect, and appreciate the enduring traditions that continue to shape this charming corner of Tokyo.

Just a short walk from Taishakuten Temple, I visited Yamamoto-tei, a beautifully preserved traditional residence that offers a peaceful retreat from the outside world. Originally built in the 1920s as the home of a successful businessman, the house combines Japanese and Western architectural styles, reflecting a fascinating period in Japan’s history.

Stepping inside, I was immediately struck by the tranquillity of the gardens. Large windows frame carefully landscaped scenery, creating living pictures that change with the seasons.


Finding a table on the tatami overlooking the garden, I enjoyed a freshly prepared matcha while taking in the view. The experience encouraged a slower pace, allowing me to appreciate the quiet beauty of the surroundings and reflect on the afternoon’s discoveries.


After wandering through Shibamata’s nostalgic streets and visiting Taishakuten Temple, Yamamoto-tei felt like the perfect place to pause. The combination of traditional architecture, serene gardens, and matcha tea made it one of the most memorable moments of my visit.


To round off my visit, I took a leisurely walk along the banks of the Edo River. Away from the shops and temple visitors, the riverside path offered a quieter side of the district, with open views and a relaxed atmosphere that made it easy to slow down and enjoy the surroundings.

My destination was Kasai Shrine, a lesser known spot with a unique attraction a sacred snake that has become a point of interest for visitors.

It is a place where people come to pray for financial luck, here you will see not only snake statues which are associated with financial luck but they are combined with the golden poo. Walk over the red bridge and you will be greeted by “Nadeja-sama” look at the snakes face how does it make you feel? What you see gives you your fortune. The plaque to the side of the statue gives you your fortune. Stroke its face to fulfill it.

The shrine provided a peaceful setting and a fascinating glimpse into local beliefs and traditions. After spending the afternoon exploring Shibamata’s nostalgic streets, historic temple, and tranquil tea house, the walk to the shrine felt like a fitting conclusion to a day spent discovering a different side of Tokyo.

As the river flowed quietly beside me, it was hard to believe that the energy and crowds of central Tokyo were only a short train ride away.

Jindaiji A Bus Journey Away from the City

Just a short journey from the city lies Jindaiji, a place where time seems to slow down and the atmosphere changes completely.

Known for its ancient temple, tranquil gardens, and famous soba noodles, Jindaiji offers a glimpse into a quieter side of Japan.

To get to Jindaiji take the train to Kichijōji on walking out the station you will see a circle of buses in front of you (you don’t need these buses) instead walk left and around the corner there you will see a row of bus stops on the main road, you will need bus stop number 6 directly outside Don Quijote.

You will need to take bus number 4 which goes directly to Jindaiji which is the last stop. The bus takes about 25 minutes, as soon as you arrive it’s hard to believe you’re just a short bus ride away from Tokyo. It felt less like a tourist attraction and more like stepping into a place where history and everyday life exist side by side.

Walking towards the temple you will find an avenue of soba noodle restaurants and shops.

The moment I arrived, I was surrounded by towering trees, the gentle sound of flowing water, and the comforting scent of incense drifting through the air.

For centuries, the area has been renowned for producing some of the finest buckwheat noodles in Japan. The fertile land wasn’t well suited to growing rice, so local farmers turned to buckwheat instead. Combined with the area’s exceptionally pure spring water, it proved to be the perfect recipe for delicious handmade soba.


Today, traditional soba restaurants line the streets leading to the temple, each preparing fresh noodles using time honoured methods.
Sitting down for a bowl of soba after exploring the temple has become a tradition for both locals and visitors alike, and it’s an experience that perfectly captures the spirit of Jindaiji.


However the broth in which the soba noodles are served or the dipping broth for cold zaru soba will not be vegan. However there are shops selling fresh soba noodles that you can take home to enjoy.

Water has always played an important role in Jindaiji’s history. Natural springs flow throughout the area, providing the pure water that helped establish both the temple and the local soba making tradition.

The surrounding woodland, gentle streams and charming pathways make Jindaiji one of Tokyo’s most peaceful destinations.

Rather than rushing from one attraction to another, visitors naturally slow their pace, enjoying the sounds of birdsong and the beauty of the changing seasons.

Every March, Jindaiji also hosts one of Japan’s largest Daruma Doll Fairs. Thousands of people gather to purchase the famous red Daruma dolls, symbols of perseverance, determination and good fortune. It’s a colourful tradition that has been celebrated for hundreds of years.

At the end of the path is Jindaiji temple.

Founded in 733 AD, Jindaiji is the second oldest temple in Tokyo, after Senso-ji in Asakusa. It belongs to the Tendai school of Buddhism and has been a place of worship for nearly 1,300 years. The temple is dedicated to Amida Buddha and is surrounded by beautiful wooden buildings, peaceful gardens and natural springs surround the complex, creating an atmosphere that encourages quiet reflection. Walking through the grounds, it’s easy to appreciate why this has remained an important place of worship for generations.

Unlike some of Tokyo’s busier attractions, Jindaiji feels wonderfully unhurried. Visitors are encouraged to explore at their own pace, taking in the beauty of the surroundings and the history held within its ancient buildings.


Jindaiji offered a completely different side of Japan from the busy streets of Tokyo. It wasn’t about bright lights or crowded shopping districts, but about history, tradition and simple pleasures.

I even managed to find some vegan snacks soft warm kusamochi and sobadango which were both delicious and freshly made.




Whether it was wandering through the ancient temple grounds, enjoying freshly made dango, or simply sitting quietly beneath the trees and enjoying the sound of the waterwheels, I found Jindaiji to be one of the most relaxing places on my journey.

It reminded me that some of the most rewarding travel experiences aren’t always found in the busiest destinations, but in the peaceful corners where history, nature and local culture come together.


If you’re looking for somewhere that captures the spirit of traditional Japan without travelling far from Tokyo, Jindaiji is a place that truly deserves to be discovered. Why not give the quieter side of Tokyo a try on your next visit.

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Rooted in Nature: Exploring 1110 Cafe Bakery & Brooks Greenlit Cafe

Where green meets the plate, two green escapes rooted in nature. A tale of two sister plant based cafes that should be on every Japan itinerary. Where plant based dining flourish surrounded by nature.
Green space, Great Food, One inspiring Vision…..

Heading back to Tokyo from Gunma I wanted to make a stop at 1110 cafe bakery 川口・埼玉カフ

Kawaguchi/Saitama Cafe

Just outside Tokyo, hidden among old industrial buildings, 1110 CAFE/BAKERY feels like a peaceful escape as soon as you enter the gardens full of cherry blossom trees.

This fully vegan café and bakery in Kawaguchi is known for its plant based brunches, fresh artisan breads, cinnamon rolls, seasonal pastries, and beautifully presented dishes made entirely from natural ingredients.

With the popular “The Cinnamon Roll” as a signature item. &  craft “_SHIP” kombucha on the premises.



Surrounded by a huge green garden, the atmosphere blends modern industrial design with quiet countryside calm making it one of Japan’s most aesthetic vegan cafés.

The original owners of the property started as  foundry makers, making  manhole covers and iron works and the wife of the owner planted the garden you can now enjoy while relaxing with your meal. Then the family went on to property management while generations lived on the site in their family home.


After many family generations the current owners have now turned the area into the cafe and kombucha brewery you see today.

I was very lucky to be granted a tour of the old family home and estate.



I also got to meet the master kombucha craftsman trying their delicious range  of organic certified “_Ship” kombucha.

If you’re not familiar with kombucha it is a slightly sparkling beverage made by fermenting tea and scoby (Symbiotic Culture of Bacteria and Yeast) It is characterised by fruity acidity and refreshing taste.


The fermentation process creates live, friendly bacteria that may support gut health and digestion. It contains various B vitamins and organic acids produced during fermentation. Especially when made with green tea, it provides polyphenols that help reduce inflammation and protect the body’s cells.

Making it the perfect beverage for the health conscious.

I started my tasting with “original” which was very much like sparkling wine it has a fruity aroma and would pair very well with a special meal, having a tartness reminiscent of white grape and pear.

The next was pickled kito yuzu from Tokushima Prefecture which was light and refreshing, having a rich aroma and sour taste.

I also tried red shiso which had a perfect summertime fragrance it has the appearance of pale rose wine.

And lastly the hops,carrying flavours of grapefruit and scents of lychee and herbs. The bitterness of hops is refreshing and I think it would be a delicious alternative to having a cold beer being non alcoholic you can have it any time of day.


From vegan Eggs Benedict and kombucha to freshly baked artisan bread and pastries enjoyed beneath the trees, every detail feels slow, peaceful, and thoughtfully crafted.

I decided to choose breakfast items and went for an açai bowl which contained  granola cacao nibs and fresh berries.

Along with french toast which came with ice cream and vegan cream & of course a cinnamon roll which was warm and freshly baked crispy on the outside and soft inside.


This cafe is a hidden gem for café lovers and anyone looking for the quieter side of Tokyo.


The cafe is currently celebrating their 6th year by offering some special menu and seasonal items.

5-4-1 Ryoke, Kawaguchi City, Saitama Prefecture

Open

WEEKDAY 10:00-17:00

WEEKEND & HOLIDAY 8:00-17:00

 

Brooks Greenlit Cafe twinned with 1110 cafe bakery

PLANT BASED, BEYOND TASTE.

A variety of plant based menus that defy the bland image.

Enjoy the deliciousness and satisfaction of combining 100% plant derived ingredients with the power of fermentation, such as salt koji, miso, and amazake, based on the theme of “plant-based x fermentation x sustainability.”

Brooks Greenlit Cafe had their opening debut in December 2024 the phrase “GREENLIT” (meaning “Go sign”) implies the intention of spreading plant based (GREEN) in a playful and sophisticated form (LIT) without being overbearing.

The hope is that you will take the first step towards a sustainable future in a fun way.

As a step towards a sustainable future through plant based cuisine, the cafe which is based in  Aoyama propose a more free, playful, and sophisticated style with exciting food and a welcoming atmosphere.

This cafe is owned by 1110 cafe bakery so expect to see their house made fermented sparkling tea “_SHIP KOMBUCHA,” which is served up in a wine glass.


Their original kombucha is perfect to enjoy like a glass of wine without the alcohol while the hops can be drunk like a cool glass of beer to refresh on a hot day.

Their seasonal menu features plant based ingredients that value the blessings of nature and consideration for the environment.


With dishes ranging from plant based artisanal sandwiches using dough made from a blend of Hokkaido-grown “Yumechikara” wheat with oatmeal kneaded into it, nourishing salad and açai bowls and refreshing drinks such as kombucha floats along with smoothies and cold pressed juices.


The cafe has a chill ambience, set in a tranquil hideaway urban oasis space right next to Aoyama Park which, is dog friendly. Brooks Greenlit Cafe is a lovely place to relax for breakfast with a coffee as they open early at 8am

Why not give their next generation signature tunacado 2.0 sand a try layered with house made plant based tuna mayo and creamy avocado. Or their fermented bolognaise grilled eggplant sand, featuring a rich bolognese paired with sautéed eggplant, topped with plant based fermented cheese for added depth and umami.

I went for their vegan egg sandwich which was creamy and had a lovely crunch with the toasted bread.

I also had another açai bowl which felt super nourishing. Brooks is a place where you can refresh yourself with food in harmony with nature and take a step towards protecting the earth.

A place where vegans and non vegans alike can enjoy their meals together with peace of mind.

I only regret that these two places are not my local cafe if you live in Tokyo please stop by or if you’re visiting do not miss these places on your vegan cafe and restaurant list.

They also have a range of snacks and accessories you can takeaway.

_Ship kombucha can also be found at the following partner stores.

Again I wish I could buy this kombucha in the U.K. it’s that delicious!

4-minute walk from Aoyama-itchome Station / Free Wi-Fi / Pet Friendly

MIDORI.SO AOYAMA 1F, 1-7-12 Minami-Aoyama, Minato-ku, Tokyo 107-0062, Japan.

Open 8:00-18:00

At both these cafes it is a place to feel the changing seasons with your family, beloved dog, or friends.

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Hydrangea Trains & The Ocean Visiting Kamakura for Ajisai Season

When I decided to base my next trip to Japan on seeing Ajisai (hydrangeas) I knew I needed to make another day trip to kamakura and visit some of the best and less known temples for this gorgeous rainy season bloom.

But first breakfast.

27 COFFEE ROASTERS KAMAKURA

Just a 2 minute walk from the east exit of kamakura station.

I was looking for a cafe for a light breakfast and coffee and found a little gem at 27 COFFEE ROASTERS KAMAKURA  a beautiful café dedicated to ethically sourced Honduran coffee, roasted with so much care and intention. The atmosphere is peaceful, the coffee is incredible.

Always love discovering cafés that appreciate quality ingredients, sustainability, and thoughtful coffee culture.

If you’re plant based, it’s definitely worth checking what vegan friendly drinks or treats they have available on the day. They offer a veggie plate which is vegan and was perfect to start my day on my Ajisai walking trail of the temples for kamakura. Slow mornings, specialty coffee, and Kamakura vibes.


After a breakfast to fuel the morning I took the train back up one stop to Kita-Kamakura to start my walking trail.

My first stop was Meigetsu-in 明月院 also known as Ajisaidera (“Hydrangea Temple”)

Tucked away among the quiet hills of Kita-Kamakura is Meigetsu-in.

During hydrangea season, the temple paths are transformed into a sea of 95% soft blue blooms of the hydrangeas Hime Ajisai (“Princess Hydrangea”) a variety, which are coloured blue. So iconic they even have their own name“Meigetsu-in Blue.”

There’s something incredibly peaceful about walking through the temple grounds surrounded by thousands of hydrangeas and moss covered stone paths. The day I visited it was super hot and very crowded. There was a big line in the heat to view the circular window of the main hall which frames the scenery of the inner garden behind it full of irises. Here is a tip go inside the garden instead.

This place is only open to visitors for two weeks in hydrangea & iris season and two weeks in autumn to view the autumn colours, which makes this extra special. There was no queue and just a minimal charge to enter the garden. There were hardly any people in the garden and you can see the window from the other side plus view the garden in its entirety.

Kamakura in hydrangea season is pure magic, and this was the perfect place to begin my trail of temples and shrines in kamakura to view hydrangeas.

Leaving Meigetsu-in behind, I followed one of Kamakura’s pleasant walking trails toward  Tokei-ji 東慶寺. Founded in 1285, Tokeiji is known as the “Divorce Temple” because for centuries it provided refuge for women seeking to escape unhappy marriages at a time when divorce was otherwise difficult to obtain. Today, the temple offers a much quieter legacy, with beautifully maintained gardens, seasonal flowers, and a peaceful atmosphere that feels removed from the bustle of nearby tourist sites. After the vibrant displays of hydrangeas at Meigetsu-in, the understated beauty and fascinating history of Tokeiji made for a reflective and rewarding stop on my walk through Kamakura. Tokeiji offers a quieter moment to appreciate both the history and the atmosphere of Kamakura taking photos here is prohibited.

From Tokeiji Temple, I continued my walk south toward Tsurugaoka Hachimangū, Kamakura’s most important Shinto shrine. The route took me through quiet residential streets before gradually becoming busier as I approached the heart of the city. Along the way, small shops, cafés, and glimpses of everyday life provided a pleasant contrast to the tranquillity of the temples I had visited earlier in the day.

Arriving at Tsurugaoka Hachimangū, I was immediately struck by its scale and grandeur. Founded in 1063 and later relocated to its present site by Minamoto no Yoritomo, the founder of the Kamakura Shogunate, the shrine has long been at the spiritual and political centre of Kamakura. The broad approach, lined with trees and crossed by elegant bridges, creates a sense of occasion long before reaching the main shrine buildings.


Climbing the wide stone steps to the upper sanctuary rewarded me with impressive views across the shrine grounds and toward the city beyond. Despite the number of visitors, there was still a sense of calm and reverence, with worshippers offering prayers and drawing fortunes. The vibrant vermilion buildings stood out beautifully against the surrounding greenery, making Tsurugaoka Hachimangū both a fascinating historical site and a memorable place to pause and reflect during my walk through Kamakura.


After walking in the heat it was definitely time for some refreshments. The walk led me away from the busiest tourist areas and into one of the city’s most charming neighbourhoods.


Narrow streets lined with traditional homes, small cafés, and local businesses created a relaxed atmosphere that felt distinctly different from the grandeur of the shrine I had just visited.

Amazake Stand in the Ogigayatsu district of Kamakura. Ogigayatsu has a quieter, more residential character, nestled between the wooded hills that surround central Kamakura. As I wandered through the area, the pace of life seemed slower, offering a glimpse of everyday Kamakura beyond its famous temples and shrines. Tucked among these peaceful streets, the Amazake Stand was a welcome place to stop and rest.

Amazake Stand is a cozy little spot dedicated to amazake Japan’s traditional fermented rice drink naturally sweetened through fermentation, with no refined sugar added, full of Japanese food culture.

Every month they have seasonal flavours in June you can decide between going for Ogasawarai island passion fruit or luxurious Takami melon from Chiba and you can choose between grain or grainless. I tried one of their vegan friendly amazake drinks and it honestly felt like wellness in a cup. As long as you order without the cream on top the drink is vegan.

If you’re exploring Kamakura and want something a little different from the usual coffee stop, this place is such a gem. Creamy rice based drinks with the loveliest calming atmosphere and friendly staff. It was the little reset after temple wandering

From Amazake Stand, I continued on foot toward Wadazuka Station, enjoying another opportunity to explore Kamakura’s quieter streets away from the main tourist routes. The walk took me through peaceful residential neighbourhoods where traditional houses sat alongside small cafés and local businesses, giving me a glimpse of everyday life in the city.


Near Wadazuka Station, I stopped at Mushinan

Hidden beside the tiny Enoden tracks in Kamakura, Mushinan feels like stepping into another era.

To enter the beautifully renovated kominka (old Japanese house),you actually walk alongside the railway tracks before stepping into a beautifully preserved traditional Japanese home that’s over 100 years old. Tatami floors, wooden interiors, garden views, and the soft sound of trains passing slowly outside the whole place feels calm, nostalgic, and almost dreamlike.

Kamakura already carries this slower energy compared to Tokyo, temples tucked between houses, little seaside streets, old cafés, and the ocean never too far away and Mushinan captures that atmosphere perfectly.

I loved sitting quietly with a thirst quenching barley tea and traditional sweets while the Enoden rolled past the windows. Everything felt intentional and peaceful, like time had slowed down for an hour.

One of those places that reminds you how beautiful simplicity can be.

Light meal choices of classic Japanese sweets such as Anmitsu (agar jelly dessert) and various mochi dishes, other options like kakigori, Matcha Udon and Ochazuke (rice with tea broth). The warabi mochi with kinako (soybean flour) was the softest I’ve ever eaten.

From Mushinan, I made my way to Wadazuka Station and caught the Enoden Line train toward Hase.

The short journey itself felt like part of the experience, with the vintage carriage slowly winding through Kamakura’s streets, briefly passing homes, small stations, and glimpses of the coastline beyond. The rhythmic sound of the train and the slightly nostalgic feel of the Enoden made it an enjoyable and characterful way to travel between stops.

Arriving at Hase Station, I set off to continue my hydrangea temple exploration.


This part of Kamakura is especially well known in early summer, when the hillsides and temple gardens come alive with colour. With the sea close by and forested slopes rising behind the town, the atmosphere here feels both coastal and serene, making it an ideal setting for visiting some of Kamakura’s most famous hydrangea spots.

Arriving at Hase-dera, I was hoping to continue my hydrangea viewing, as the temple is well known for its beautiful seasonal displays. However, I discovered that access to the hydrangea path required a timed entry ticket, and unfortunately all slots for the day had already sold out. Rather than let this stop my exploration, I decided to continue my walk and follow the surrounding trails instead.

From there, I made my way to Goryō Shrine, a smaller and quieter shrine that felt much more local and relaxed in atmosphere. Inside, visitors could purchase omamori charms, including some with delicate hydrangea motifs and others featuring the iconic Enoden train design, a charming reminder of the railway that runs through Kamakura.

Photography was not permitted within the shrine grounds, which added to its sense of respect and tranquillity. However, just outside the shrine, the scene opened up beautifully, Enoden train tracks lined on both sides with hydrangeas in full bloom.

It was one of the most memorable views of the day, especially as the train occasionally passed through, creating the perfect moment to capture the essence of Kamakura where nature, tradition, and everyday life come together in a single frame.

After leaving Goryō Shrine, I rejoined the Enoden Line and continued my journey along the coast. The train ride itself was once again part of the experience, passing through small stations, residential streets, and occasional glimpses of the sea. Along the way, I made a brief stop at a traditional Japanese sweet shop, Oogiya 扇屋.

Stopping at Oogiya felt like stepping into a quieter, older version of coastal Japan.

Hidden near Enoshima’s narrow streets the shop has been making traditional Japanese sweets since 1985. Everything feels beautifully nostalgic delicate wagashi lined up behind the counter, handwritten signs, and the kind of warm hospitality that instantly made you feel welcome.

It is most famous for its Enoden Monaka 最中 a crispy wafer sandwich filled with sweet red bean paste and other flavours, packaged in charming, collectible boxes shaped like the iconic Enoden train.

I loved how carefully everything was made. Soft mochi, sweet red bean fillings, delicate seasonal flavours simple, traditional sweets that feel almost artistic in their presentation.

One of my favourite moments in Japan was simply wandering, finding places like Oogiya.

The staff here really made my day such a lovely owner.

The shop’s storefront features the front portion of a real, vintage Enoden train car, making it a popular photo spot.

It was a little late in the day when I arrived but I managed to get the last enoden monaka which was matcha flavour. Made from sugar, white kidney bean, glutinous rice, starch syrup, agar and matcha.

This beautifully crafted wagashi offered a welcome moment of refreshment and a chance to pause before continuing on.

From there, I travelled onward toward Enoshima Island for my final hydrangea viewing of the day. Crossing over from the mainland, the atmosphere shifted once again becoming more coastal and open, with sea air replacing the enclosed temple paths and hillside trails of earlier in the day.


Enoshima felt lively yet relaxed, with visitors and locals moving between shrines, viewpoints, and cafés scattered across the island.

It was a fitting final stop, bringing together the themes of the day,seasonal flowers, temple visits, quiet walks, and scenic travel by the Enoden.


Surrounded by ocean views and hydrangeas in bloom, it provided a memorable and atmospheric conclusion to a day spent exploring some of Kamakura’s most beautiful seasonal sights.


After my final time on the Enoden, I returned to Hase to enjoy one last meal before heading back toward Tokyo.


I made my way to Magokoro, a rustic-chic café with sea views that feels more like a hidden seaside sanctuary than a typical restaurant.

Tucked above the beach in Kamakura, Magokoro has a calm, understated atmosphere that immediately slows the pace of the day. The menu is thoughtfully crafted, with a focus on organic produce and a range of vegan friendly dishes, including homemade hemp curry, tempeh plates, and a few fish options as well. It’s the kind of food that appears simple at first glance, but reveals itself to be carefully considered and full of flavour.

Inside, the café carries a sun faded, rustic charm wooden interiors, soft music drifting through the space, and large windows opening out toward the ocean. From my seat, I could watch the light shifting over the sea, bringing a gentle close to a long day of exploring.


Kamakura has a beautiful contrast to Tokyo slower mornings, narrow backstreets, surf culture, temples tucked between homes, and the sea always close by. Magokoro captures that spirit perfectly. It feels grounded and peaceful, with a clear connection to conscious living and sustainability, from local vegetables and macrobiotic cooking to fairtrade products and an overall sense of care in everything they do. While not fully vegan, it offers plenty of plant based options, making it an easy and welcoming choice.

Sitting there as the sun began to set over the ocean, it felt like the perfect final pause before returning to the energy of Tokyo a quiet, reflective end to a day spent moving through Kamakura’s temples, hydrangeas, and hidden corners.

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“Japan in full bloom” A journey from Tokyo’s Azaleas to Ashikaga’s Wisteria

Last year 2025 I didn’t plan a trip to Japan around cities or landmarks, but around moments that only exist for a few fleeting weeks each year.

Much like the cherry blossoms the azalea and wisteria bloom at a certain point in the year normally between mid April to early May. My trip coincided with the “Golden Week” Japanese holiday which can be busy and people said to me do not visit Japan at the time. However as I wanted to see these blooms I didn’t really have much choice and with a little planning you can avoid the crowds by visiting not at weekends and at non peak times. To be honest it was one of the most memorable trips I’ve ever had to Japan. This trip had been much anticipated as I’d cancelled this trip during the Covid pandemic.

From the bright clusters of azaleas tucked into a quiet Tokyo shrine to the cascading wisteria in a park beyond the city, this became a journey shaped by timing, patience, and a little bit of good luck.

These are two places I visited during that week very different, but connected by the same brief, beautiful season.

Nezu Shrine (根津神社, Nezu-jinja)

The Nezu Shrine Azalea Festival (つつじ祭り, Tsutsuji Matsuri)

Nezu Shrine is a Shinto shrine located in the Bunkyō ward of Tokyo, Japan. Established in 1705, it is one of the oldest places of worship in the city and a history of over 1,900 years. Renowned for its exquisite architecture, and vermilion torii shinto shrine gates. Reminiscent of the famous ones at Fushimi Inari Taisha in Kyoto.

At this time of year Nezu Shrine takes the spotlight with one of the most anticipated events of the spring season the “Azalea Festival”.

The Azalea Festival (つつじ祭り, Tsutsuji Matsuri) has over 3,000 flowers covering an area of approximately 6,600 square meters with 100 varieties of vivid coloured Azalea.

The festival brings people together to appreciate both natural beauty and cultural heritage.

If you’re visiting Tokyo in spring and want something a little quieter than the usual cherry blossom crowds, Nezu Shrine is a beautiful alternative that feels both historic and surprisingly peaceful.

Nezu Shrine is one of Tokyo’s oldest Shinto shrines, known for its traditional architecture and tranquil atmosphere. What really makes it special in spring, though, is the hillside covered in blooming azaleas and the picturesque pathway of red torii gates.The tunnel like path formed by rows of red torii gates, winds gently uphill and creates a really atmospheric walk especially early in the morning when it’s quieter.

It has a similar visual charm to more famous spots, but without the same intensity of crowds.

The Azalea Garden (Tsutsuji Matsuri)

If you visit in April, you’ll catch the azalea festival. The hillside bursts into colour with hundreds of bushes in shades of pink, red, and white. There are small walking paths weaving through the garden, so you can take your time and enjoy different viewpoints.

How to Get There.

Nezu Shrine is easy to reach from central Tokyo:

  • Take the Tokyo Metro Chiyoda Line to Nezu Station
  • From there, it’s about a 5-minute walk

It’s also within walking distance of Yanaka, which makes for a lovely half day exploring older Tokyo neighbourhoods. Which is exactly what I did after my visit.

Opening times & admission

Visiting Nezu Shrine itself is free and generally open daily (grounds accessible most of the day). However, during the Azalea Festival (Tsutsuji Matsuri):

    • Azalea garden hours: 9:30am – 5:30pm
    • Admission fee: ¥500 (for the azalea garden only)

Even if you don’t pay to enter the garden, you can still enjoy the shrine, torii path, and atmosphere for free.

Go early or later in the afternoon to avoid peak crowds. Weekdays are much quieter than weekends

Nezu Shrine feels like a small escape from the pace of Tokyo. It’s not just about the flowers it’s the combination of history, colour, and calm that makes it memorable.

If you’re looking for a spring spot that’s beautiful without being overwhelming, this is definitely worth adding to your Tokyo itinerary.

Ashikaga Flower Park, Tochigi Prefecture

あしかがフラワーパーク

Fujinohana Monogatari Ofuji Festival 藤まつり

The festival features more than 350 wisteria vines, stunning flowers, which dangle from wooden trellise which come in a riot of colours including violet, blue, pink, white and yellow blossoms. You can also admire the park’s magnificent wisteria tree, which is lit up in the evenings and surrounded by still water that reflects the colourful flowers.

Visiting Ashikaga Flower Park: Japan’s Dreamlike Wisteria Wonderland

If you’ve ever seen photos of cascading purple wisteria that look almost unreal, chances are they were taken at Ashikaga Flower Park. After seeing these photos many times on instagram I just knew I wanted to plan a trip to Japan to visit both the azaleas and wisteria. Visiting in person is just as magical as it looks if not more so and will be a memory that will stay with me in my heart for ever. I would recommend to arrive around 5.30 in the afternoon so that you can witness the splendour of the trees both in daylight and in the dark when the trees come alive with evening illuminations.

Located outside Tokyo in Tochigi Prefecture, this park is famous for its seasonal flower displays, especially its iconic wisteria. It’s a bit of a journey compared to city spots, but absolutely worth it if you’re visiting Japan in mid to late April to witness the breathtaking seasonal wisteria displays.

The main attraction is one particular wisteria tree which is 150 years old known as ofuji, or Great Wisteria Tree, which has a canopy covering about 1,000sqm and features a jaw dropping 80,000 individual purple blossoms. This large, centuries old wisteria tree is supported by a wide trellis when in full bloom, the hanging flowers create a ceiling of purple that you can walk beneath.

There are also long tunnels of white and yellow wisteria. Walking through them feels almost surreal, especially when they’re fully in bloom.

Evening Illuminations

If you can stay into the evening, the park lights up the flowers after sunset. The reflections on the water and the soft lighting make it feel completely different from the daytime experience.



Although wisteria is the highlight, there are also other flowers depending on the time of year, including azaleas, roses, and seasonal displays. You may even see some cherry blossom.


How to Get There.

From Tokyo:

Take a JR train (often via Ueno or Tokyo Station) toward Ashikaga Flower Park Station

The station is just a short walk from the entrance

Travel time depending on route is around 1 to 2 hours

Opening times & admission

At Ashikaga Flower Park, both hours and ticket prices change depending on the season and how the flowers are blooming.

Typical opening hours:

    • Around 9:00am – 5:00pm in quieter seasons
    • During wisteria season (mid-April to mid-May), extended hours are common, often:
      • ~8:00am – 8:30pm (or later)  Admission price (varies daily):
    • Roughly ¥900 – ¥2,200 for adults during peak seasons
    • Prices are highest during full wisteria bloom
    • Evening illumination tickets are usually slightly cheaper

Prices are set each day based on bloom conditions, so it’s worth checking the official website the morning of your visit.

”One thing I didn’t realise before visiting is that Ashikaga Flower Park changes its ticket price depending on how in bloom the flowers are so you’re effectively paying for the experience at its peak.”

Ashikaga Flower Park feels like stepping into a different world. It’s one of those places that lives up to the photos, especially during peak wisteria season.

While it takes a bit more effort to reach than central Tokyo spots, it’s an unforgettable experience and a real highlight of spring in Japan.

Planning a trip around seasonal blooms means accepting a bit of uncertainty. Things might not be at their peak, the weather might shift but that unpredictability is part of what makes it memorable. Both the wisteria  and azalea bloom around peak holiday season in Japan “Golden Week” so expect crowds. Even so If you’re thinking of doing something similar, I’d absolutely recommend it!

Blog, Spring Food

Matcha, Tofu & Sakura Mushi Pan 蒸しパン


“Petals, Steam, and Something Sweetly Fleeting”

Mushi pan (蒸しパン) literally means “steamed bread,” and it emerged in Japan in the late 19th to early 20th century, around the time Western-style baking was being introduced during the Meiji era. Ovens weren’t yet common in Japanese homes, so steaming, already a familiar technique used for foods like dumplings and rice cakes became a practical way to recreate soft, bread like textures.

These early mushi pan were simple, often lightly sweet and made with wheat flour, sugar, and eggs. Over time, they evolved into a popular homemade snack and a staple in school lunches and convenience stores across Japan. Their appeal lies in their ease and adaptability you’ll find versions flavoured with chocolate, sweet potato, or seasonal ingredients.

The addition of matcha reflects Japan’s deep tea culture, rooted in traditions like the japanese tea ceremony, where matcha has long been prized for its flavour and symbolism. Meanwhile, preserved salted sakura (cherry blossoms) are a distinctly seasonal touch, often used in springtime sweets to celebrate the fleeting beauty of blossoms, especially during hanami celebrations.

Soft, and delicately fragrant, matcha mushi pan is a comforting Japanese steamed cake that brings together simplicity and elegance . Unlike baked cakes, this treat is gently steamed, giving it a moist, cloud-like texture that feels both light and satisfying. The earthy depth of matcha pairs beautifully with the subtle sweetness of the batter, creating a balanced flavour that’s both calming and indulgent. Topped with preserved salted sakura, each piece carries a hint of springtime in Japan. Whether enjoyed as a quiet afternoon snack or shared with others over tea, this mushi pan is a small moment to celebrate the freshness and beauty of springtime.

Rooted in tradition yet wonderfully simple, my mushi pan recipe is completely plant based without the use of eggs or dairy using silken tofu and soy milk as an alternative but carrying on using traditional Japanese ingredients.

Together, all these elements bring both history and seasonality into each bite.

Recipe Ingredients:

Dry

4 gms sifted matcha

120 gram of self raising flour

Wet

180 gms silken tofu

2 tablespoon of flavourless oil

100 ml of soy milk

120 ml agave sweetener

x6 salted preserved sakura blossoms (sometimes sold as tea)

You will also need some parchment paper, a 15cm bamboo steamer, x1 bowl, a sieve and a blender.

Method:

  1. Wash the salt off the sakura flowers and lay them on some kitchen towel and pat dry.
  2. Sift the flour and matcha into a bowl and mix
  3. Blend all the liquid ingredients
  4. Add the liquid ingredients to the dry and fold in
  5. Line the bamboo steamer with parchment paper and pour in the ingredients
  6. Place the sakura on-top
  7. Place the bamboo steamer with the lid on over a pan of boiling water and steam for 30 minutes until you can put a skewer through cleanly.
  8. Remove the steamer from the pan and leave to cool slightly 
  9. Serve in slices (nice still slightly warm)

Once steamed to perfection, these matcha mushi pan are best enjoyed warm, when their soft texture and delicate aroma are at their peak.

The gentle bitterness of matcha alongside the floral-salty note of sakura creates a beautifully multi-layered flavour that lingers pleasantly. Serve them with a cup of green tea for a truly soothing experience, or simply savour them on their own as a mindful treat.

However you choose to enjoy them, these little cakes offer a taste of tradition and a moment of calm.

Blog, Spring Food

Waiting for Spring The Art of Anticipating Spring in Japanese Tea and Wagashi

Plum Blossoms and Cherry Blossoms

The First Signs of Spring

Before the celebrated cherry blossoms appear, the quiet beauty of plum blossoms signals that winter is at an end. The delicate flowers of the plum tree, known as ume, bloom in the coldest weeks at the end of winter. Their blossoms often appear while the air is still crisp, making them a symbol of resilience and the first promise of spring.

In Japanese culture, plum blossoms are admired for their quiet strength, blooming bravely even when frost still lingers. They are often represented in seasonal sweets and tea utensils during late winter gatherings inspired by Chanoyu 茶の湯 (Japanese tea ceremony). These early blossoms gently prepare the heart for the season to come.

In Japan, the changing seasons are felt not only in the landscape but also in the small rituals of everyday life. A bowl of tea prepared in the quiet atmosphere of Chanoyu (Japanese tea ceremony), a seasonal sweet carefully chosen for its colour and meaning, or the first blossoms appearing on a tree all become ways of noticing the passage of time.

Soon after, the cherry blossoms begin to bloom, transforming landscapes across Japan into clouds of pale pink. Their brief but breathtaking beauty is celebrated through the tradition of Hanami 花見,when people gather beneath the blossoms to appreciate their fleeting splendour.

Together, plum and cherry blossoms represent the unfolding of spring itself. Plum blossoms offer the first quiet whisper of the season, while cherry blossoms mark its joyful arrival.

Just as plum blossoms hint at spring before the cherry trees bloom, sweets such as sakura mochi allow us to taste the coming season before it fully arrives.

In Japan, the seasons are not simply observed as they arrive; they are gently anticipated. Long before the first cherry blossoms open, subtle signs of spring begin to appear in everyday life.

People begin celebrating the feeling of the coming spring through tea gatherings, seasonal sweets, and carefully chosen tea ware.

A tea bowl decorated with plum blossoms, a sweet shaped like a spring flower, or a scroll in a quiet alcove hinting at warmer days to come.

This quiet anticipation reflects a deep cultural sensitivity to the passing of time and the beauty of seasonal change. In the world of Chanoyu, the host carefully prepares a gathering that allows guests to feel the coming season before it has fully arrived. Winter lingers outside, but inside the tea room the promise of spring is already present.

Unlike many cultures that celebrate a season once it has arrived, Japanese seasonal appreciation often begins weeks earlier. In tea gatherings, hosts select utensils and sweets that hint at the coming season rather than the current one.

For example, during the final weeks of winter, tea hosts may already introduce imagery of plum blossoms or early spring plants. This subtle transition helps guests emotionally shift from the heaviness of winter toward the hope and renewal of spring.

This approach reflects a philosophy sometimes described as “meeting the season halfway.” Another saying is “kisetsu no hazama” きせつのはざま “between seasons”. The flow from one season to another can also be known as “kisetsu no meguri” the cycle of seasons. 

In tea culture, every object used during a gathering carries meaning. Tea bowls, hanging scrolls, and sweets may depict early spring themes such as plum blossoms, young grasses, or flowing water.

A host might choose a tea bowl decorated with plum blossoms to evoke the first flowers of the year whose blossoms appear before cherry blossoms and symbolize resilience and renewal.

Even the hanging calligraphy scroll in the (tokonome) “alcove”may reference spring with a phrase suggesting warmth returning or snow melting.

Japanese confectionery, known as wagashi plays an important role in expressing seasonal anticipation. In late winter tea gatherings, guests may be served sweets shaped like buds, spring flowers or plum blossoms. These delicate creations visually suggest that spring is about to emerge.

The sweets are often eaten before drinking powdered green tea such as matcha,balancing the tea’s bitterness with subtle sweetness while reinforcing the seasonal theme of the gathering.

Japanese language contains many seasonal expressions that capture the emotional transition from winter to spring.

In Japan there are many words for the subtle moments that mark the approach of spring haru no kehai, the signs of spring in the air; yoharu, the lingering chill of winter; or ume ichirin, the first plum blossom quietly opening. Together they express the gentle art of harumachi—waiting for spring.

These expressions appear in poetry, tea gatherings, and everyday conversation.

Haru-machizuki (春待月) – “The month waiting for spring”

This poetic term refers to the final month of winter, when people begin anticipating spring’s arrival. The phrase evokes a feeling of quiet patience, as nature prepares to awaken.

Haruge (春気) – “The feeling of spring in the air”

This word describes the subtle change in atmosphere when winter begins to soften. It might be felt in slightly warmer sunlight, the scent of earth, or the first hints of new growth.

Kigo (季語) – Seasonal words in poetry

Another seasonal marker appears in traditional Japanese poetry forms like “haiku”where specific “kigo”(seasonal words) signal the time of year. Words like plum blossom, thawing snow, or bush warbler all hint that spring is near.

Mono no aware (物の哀れ) – The gentle awareness of impermanence

A central aesthetic in Japanese culture,mono no aware, describes the bittersweet awareness that beautiful moments are fleeting. Anticipating spring reflects this feeling: the joy of the coming season is heightened by knowing it will soon pass.

Hanami (花見) – Flower viewing

The well known spring tradition of hanami celebrates the blooming of cherry trees. Yet the anticipation of the blossoms watching the buds swell and waiting for the first bloom is just as meaningful as the celebration itself.

Haru no kehai (春の気配) – “The signs of spring”

This phrase describes the first subtle hints that spring is approaching, a slightly softer breeze, the lengthening of daylight, or the earliest buds beginning to form. In the context of a tea gathering inspired by chanoyu (Japanese tea ceremony)it reflects the host’s effort to bring the feeling of the coming season into the tea room before it fully arrives.

Yoharu (余寒) – “The lingering cold of early spring”

Even as spring approaches, there are still cold days that remind us winter has not quite left. This word captures that gentle in-between moment when warmth is beginning to return but the air still carries a chill. It beautifully reflects the transitional mood often expressed through seasonal wagashi and tea utensils.

Ume ichirin (梅一輪) – “A single plum blossom”

This poetic phrase refers to the first plum blossom of the year. Because plum blossoms bloom earlier than cherry blossoms, they are often seen as the earliest herald of spring. In Japanese poetry and tea culture, a single blossom symbolizes hope, resilience, and the quiet beginning of the new season.

Harumachi (春待ち) – “Waiting for spring”

This simple but deeply evocative phrase expresses the feeling of patiently anticipating spring’s arrival. It reflects a shared cultural appreciation for the gradual unfolding of the seasons rather than their sudden arrival.

Anticipating spring in Japan is not only about aesthetics, it is also about emotional awareness. Winter is seen as a time of stillness and the coming of spring symbolises renewal, hope, and gentle excitement.

Through tea gatherings, seasonal sweets, and poetic language, people collectively share this transition. The experience becomes less about marking a date on a calendar and more about feeling the gradual awakening of nature.

This sensitivity to seasonal change is deeply embedded in Japanese life, from cuisine and clothing to festivals and art.

The famous blossom viewing tradition known as hanami celebrates the blooming of cherry trees but even this celebration is anticipated weeks in advance through forecasts and gatherings.

By the time the blossoms finally open, people have already been emotionally preparing for the moment. In Japan, spring does not arrive suddenly. It is sensed in small details the curve of a tea bowl, the sweetness of a seasonal confection, the quiet awareness that spring is just around the corner.

One sweet that perfectly captures the feeling of early spring in Japan is sakura mochi 桜餅. Soft pink or white rice cakes filled with sweet red bean paste and wrapped in a gently salted cherry leaf evoke the delicate blossoms that will soon appear across the country.

Traditionally enjoyed in early spring and especially during Hinamatsuri, sakura mochi reflects the Japanese love of seasonal symbolism. The pale pink colour mirrors the blossoms of the cherry trees, while the preserved cherry leaf adds a subtle salty fragrance.

Served alongside a bowl of Matcha during a tea gathering inspired by Chanoyu, sakura mochi allows guests to taste the coming season before the blossoms themselves have fully arrived. In this way, the sweet becomes more than a dessert it is a small expression of anticipation, inviting us to welcome spring with both patience and delight.

Kansai-Style Sakura Mochi (Domyoji)

The Kansai version of sakura mochi is made using coarsely ground glutinous rice rather than a thin pancake. The rice grains remain slightly visible, giving the sweet a soft, textured appearance that resembles tiny flower buds an image that beautifully echoes the theme of early spring.

This style is strongly associated with the western region of Japan, particularly the cultural area around Kansai region which includes historic cities such as Kyoto, Osaka  and Nara.

Kansai sakura mochi is normally made with Domyoji flour, derived from a traditional ingredient called domyoji-ko 道明寺粉. This is glutinous rice that has been steamed, dried, and coarsely ground. When rehydrated and lightly steamed with sugar, the grains become soft while still retaining a delicate texture. This gives Kansai sakura mochi its characteristic soft but slightly chewy bite, quite different from the smooth crepe-like version found in eastern Japan.

This can be quite difficult to obtain so today I am sharing with you an easier recipe using sweet glutinous mochi rice which is more easily available.

The Kansai version is usually formed into a small round cake filled with sweet red bean paste (anko). The soft pink rice is then wrapped in a salt-pickled cherry blossom leaf (“sakuraba no shiozuke”.) I have a recipe for making these on this site when the young leaves emerge in May. However you can buy them now from the wasabi company in the U.K. Please use my discount code TOKYOPONY10. See link at the bottom or side of your page. 

The leaf provides a gentle saltiness and floral aroma that balances the sweetness of the bean filling. Visually, the contrast of pink rice and green leaf reflects the colours of spring just before the cherry blossoms bloom.

Like many forms of wagashi Kansai-style sakura mochi is designed to evoke the coming season rather than simply represent it. Its colour, shape, and fragrance all hint at the arrival of cherry blossom season and the tradition of flower viewing . Finish with a preserved salted sakura flower (“oka no shiozuke”.)

If you would like to make your own this year I again have a recipe on this site. However if you would like to make your sakura mochi now in anticipation of the season they can be again obtained on line often sold as sakura tea.

Served with a bowl of freshly whisked matcha, the sweetness of the rice and red bean filling softens the tea’s bitterness while also preparing the senses for the subtle seasonal theme of the gathering. In this way, sakura mochi becomes more than a seasonal dessert. It is a quiet gesture of anticipation an invitation to pause, savour the moment, and welcome the approaching beauty of the cherry blossoms.

Through sweets such as sakura mochi, the coming of spring is welcomed before the cherry blossoms open. The soft pink rice, sweet bean filling, and fragrant cherry leaf offer a small taste of the season ahead. Soft, fragrant, and gently sweet, sakura mochi offers a taste of spring long before the cherry blossoms open an edible reminder of Japan’s quiet anticipation of the changing seasons.

Recipe For Sakura Mochi 桜餅

They are made with sweet half pounded ( hangoroshi ) mochi rice.

The above shows mochi rice as well as Japanese bought and homemade sweet bean paste (anko).

You will need 1/2 a rice cooker cup of sushi rice and 1/2 a rice cooker of cup sweet mochi rice (mochigome) available on line in the U.K. from places like natural natural, or check your own Asian grocery stores.

The plastic rice cooker cup that comes with the rice cooker is 3/4 cup (180ml). In Japan, this amount is called ichi go (一合).

Red bean paste filling available from natural natural or the Japan centre in the U.K. or check your own local Asian grocery store or online.

Some salted Sakura leaves from the wasabi company and salted sakura flowers from the Japan centre.

Pink food colouring (natural beetroot juice or beetroot powder mixed with a little water)

1: First give the rice a good rinse changing the water until in runs clean.

2: Soak your rice in four cups of water over night.

3: Drain in a sieve and leave for 30 minutes.

4: While the rice is draining rinse the salt off the flowers and leaves and lay them out on some kitchen towel cover them over with another sheet and blot off the excess water.

5: Cook in a rice cooker with two cups of fresh cold water.

6: Mix a few drops of colouring into the rice when the rice is done.

7: Mash your rice but not fully so you still have some grain and leave to cool covered with a cloth so it doesn’t dry out.

8: Divide the rice into balls and flatten out. Use damp hands and a wet clean cloth to hand. I like to use a little sakura syrup mixed with water but you could also use a sugar syrup if you wish.

8: In the middle of each flattened ball add a ball of anko and then fold the rice over the anko to make a sealed ball. Carry on making until all are done.

9: Place each rice ball onto a leaf and fold the leaf over. Continue with all the remaining rice balls.

10: Finish with a salted sakura flower

11: Enjoy

In this way, the anticipation of spring becomes something to savour slowly shared in the warmth of tea, the beauty of seasonal wagashi, and the quiet awareness that nature is beginning to awaken once again.


Why not check out my other sakura mochi blogs on this site where I talk about
sakura no hi (さくらの日), Day of Cherry Blossoms and have a recipe for Kanto style style sakura mochi known as Chomeiji mochi 長命寺餅.

Planning a trip to Tokyo or Kyoto this sakura season? Why not check out my walking tours on my travel section.

Happy Hanami

 

Blog, Spring Food

Ta-no-Kami (田の神) The god of the rice fields


Ta-no-Kami (田の神) the god of the rice fields.

On March 16th in the rural farming areas  of Japan just before the spring equinox, according to Shinto belief the rice deity comes down from the mountains once more after their hibernation over winter to protect the rice paddy fields.

This deity is called Ta-no-Kami  田の神 .

Ta-no-Kami (田の神) is a kami (spirit) who is believed to observe the harvest of rice plants or to bring a good harvest. Ta in Japanese means “rice fields”.

In this unusual blog post I discuss why 16 rice balls are eaten at this time and the origins of a dance which turned into a food we now enjoy on a skewer.

This celebration is a folk calendar observance rather than a formal Shinto festival. That’s why you’ll see several closely related names depending on region.

The most common name is Ta-no-Kami Matsuri (田の神祭り)

This is the most widely used descriptive name for March 16 literally meaning “Festival of the Rice Field Deity.” It refers specifically to welcoming Ta-no-Kami into the fields. In villages, people often did not think of it as a “festival” in the modern sense, but later matsuri was applied as a convenient label.

Because the key idea is descent from the mountains, some regional names focus on that moment, Ta-no-Kami oroshi (田の神降ろし) “the descent of the field god” highlighting the crossing from mountain to field. Kami-mukae (神迎え)”welcoming the deity”a very old ritual term also used for other seasonal spirit arrivals.These names emphasise hospitality toward the kami, rather than celebration. In premodern contexts, the day might be described more formally as Sangatsu jūrokunichi (三月十六日) “The sixteenth day of the third month” This sounds plain, but in agrarian life it functioned as a fixed sacred marker, much like “Obon” does later in the year.

It is actually significant that there is no single  name as Ta-no-Kami belief predates centralized Shinto. It belongs to local, household based religion where such observances were  transmitted by word of mouth and varied from village to village. So the function of the day mattered more than its title.

As mentioned before it is custom to eat sixteen rice balls on this day so the day can also be referred to simply as Jūroku-dango (十六団子) “The sixteen dumplings.” In practice, people might say “today is jūroku-dango.” This is especially common in Tohoku and eastern Japan, where food based naming of ritual days is frequent.

Ta-no-Kami literally means “the deity of the rice paddies.” Rather than a single, fixed god, Ta-no-Kami is best understood as a seasonally moving spirit connected to rice cultivation, ancestors, and the landscape.

In many regional traditions, Ta-no-Kami has two identities depending on the time of year. Yama-no-Kami (山の神) the mountain god, dwelling in the hills during winter. Ta-no-Kami (田の神) the rice field god, descending to the paddies in spring. This reflects an older belief that mountains are the realm of ancestral spirits and they descend to protect and energize the fields during planting season then after the harvest, they return to the mountains once more. In this sense, Ta-no-Kami is often linked to ancestral spirits, not just agricultural fertility.

The 16th day of the 3rd lunar month (later mapped onto March 16 in many regions after calendar reforms) was widely regarded as the day when Ta-no-Kami descends from the mountains to the fields.

Meaning of this date marks the beginning of the agricultural year. Farmers ritually “welcomed” the deity to ensure healthy seedlings, protection from pests and flood and a bountiful harvest. This date appears repeatedly in folk calendars across Japan, though exact timing could vary by region and climate.

Practices differed locally, but common elements included,welcoming rites offering  rice, sake, vegetables, or mochi. Also setting up yorishiro (objects to invite the deity), such as branches, bamboo poles,straw decorations plus cleaning irrigation channels and paddies as a form of ritual purification. Shared meals helped bind the community and symbolically shared sustenance with the deity

The number 16 itself carries symbolic weight in Japanese folk religion. The 16th often marks a boundary day between sacred and ordinary time. For example. The 16th day of the 7th month is when ancestral spirits are believed to return to the other world after Obon. This reinforces the idea that March 16 is a threshold moment, when a deity crosses between realms (mountain to field). Even now, echoes of these beliefs persist.

Ta-no-Kami statues (often humorous or rustic) can be found in rural areas, especially in Kyushu and southern Japan. Short, squat bodies large or exaggerated heads, sometimes holding rice sheaves sake cups and farming tools. Occasionally smiling, laughing, or slightly grotesque or ancestral representation. Many scholars believe Ta-no-Kami statues are memorialised ancestors, not abstract gods. Their human like appearance reflects this, the rice deity and the ancestral spirit are effectively the same being. Grotesque or exaggerated features are common in  protective objects. They ward off disease, crop failure, and malevolent spirits.

Ta-no-Kami statues are often placed at the edge of rice fields, near irrigation channels and at village boundaries. These are spaces exactly where spiritual protection is thought to be most necessary.

Spring festivals still include welcoming  rites for field deities, ritual plowing or planting demonstrations, some communities continue to mark March 16 (or its local equivalent) as a special agricultural observance

When Japan adopted the Gregorian calendar in 1873, lunar dates like “the 16th day of the 3rd month” no longer aligned with seasons But agricultural timing is seasonal, not numerical. Villages responded in different ways to this, some fixed rituals to March 16 others shifted rites to a similar seasonal moment the nearest convenient festival day many continued rites quietly, without official recognition.

The custom of eating 16 rice balls (十六の団子・十六団子) on the 16th of the 3rd month is one of the clearest survivals of Ta-no-Kami belief.

On this day, households traditionally prepared 16 small rice balls or dumplings and offered them to Ta-no-Kami, after which they were eaten by the family or community.

This practice is usually called: Jūroku-dango (“sixteen dumplings”)

As mentioned earlier, 16 is a powerful number in Japanese folk religion between past and present , the living and the spirit word etc.

It appears at moments when spirits move between worlds.The agricultural cycle turns sacred time briefly overlaps with everyday time. You see this same logic later in the year: 7/16 ancestral spirits return after Obon 3/16 Ta-no-Kami descends to the fields So the 16 rice balls function as a properly measured offering for a deity crossing realms.

In folk belief, gods and spirits require symbolic sufficiency, not abundance. Sixteen represents wholeness, balance and enough to sustain the deity during the growing season The rice balls were often made small, emphasising number and ritual correctness rather than quantity.

While details varied regionally, a common pattern was sixteen rice balls prepared early in the daythen offered at a Ta-no-Kami statue, the edge of the rice field, a household altar or temporary shrine.  Sometimes accompanied by sake, salt and seasonal greens. Later the rice balls were shared among family members, or eaten communally. Eating them was important it completed the ritual by sharing substance with the deity.

In some regions the head of the household ate first, in others, children were encouraged to eat them for health. Occasionally, one rice ball was left uneaten or placed in the field “for the god.”These variations reflect whether Ta-no-Kami was imagined more as an ancestor, a protective spirit or a force inhabiting the land itself

In many places today this ritual is a quiet survival, people no longer eat exactly 16 rice balls but you still see spring rice offerings, first planting meals and special foods eaten “because it’s the season”.

Even when the explanation is forgotten, the pattern persists.

Why not make small rice dumplings to enjoy as a seasonal treat.


You could make shiratama dango or rice balls enjoyed in a broth with seasonal vegetables known as domako nabe (rice ball hotpot)  a popular dish from mountainous  regions of Tohoku. Or try making temari sushi small rice balls with different toppings.

Ta-no-Kami and Inari have similar roles with different origins.

At first glance, Ta-no-Kami (田の神) and Inari (稲荷) look like the same deity both are associated with rice. But they come from very different religious layers.

Ta-no-Kami is local, ancestral and rooted in folk belief,closely linked to ancestors mountains and field seasonal movement.

Worship is communal, and rarely has a shrine building in the early period Ta-no-Kami is less a “god” in the modern sense and more a presence or force that must be welcomed, hosted, and seen off correctly.

Inari Emerges as a formal deity by the Nara/Heian periods became closely associated with rice and prosperity.

Inari absorbed Ta-no-Kami functions In villages, people might say “Inari-sama” but still perform rites that are clearly Ta-no-Kami in structure. The fox, now iconic for Inari, may have replaced older animal or ancestral symbols.

In this blog post I also wanted to introduce a Japanese food you probably have heard of, “Dengaku” (田楽) which literally means “field music” or “rice-paddy music.” It originated in the Heian period as an agricultural ritual performed to pray for a good rice harvest.The performances took place near rice fields and involved dancers balancing on tall stilts, thought to encourage rice plants to grow tall. Music played on drums, flutes, and hand held percussion with sometimes acrobatic movements. By the late Heian and Kamakura periods, professional performers known as dengaku hōshi emerged, and the dance evolved into a form of popular entertainment as well as a ritual. Dengaku performances became especially fashionable among both commoners and elites in the Muromachi period, influencing later theatrical forms. So how did a dance become food?

The connection to food came through visual resemblance during performances, dancers often carried or manipulated long poles or stilts, skewered foods especially tofu cut into rectangles and grilled on sticks were seen as resembling these poles. Over time,foods served on skewers began to be called dengaku, metaphorically referencing the dance.By the Edo period, this culinary meaning became dominant, and for most people dengaku meant food rather than dance.

The classic elements developed in the Edo period skewered tofu, konnyaku, eggplant, or taro grilled and topped with a sweet or savoury miso glaze. Variations depended on region white miso (Kyoto/Kansai) red or hatchō miso (Nagoya area) and mustard miso combinations in some areas. Tofu dengaku in particular became associated with Buddhist temple cuisine, since it was vegetarian and affordable.

In modern Japanese, dengaku almost always refers to the food, but the original meaning survives in historical texts, and folk performance research.

Dengaku fits naturally into this worldview, It was performed in or near rice fields,the rhythmic stomping, music, and elevated movements were thought to awaken the land and encourage rice to grow tall and strong. When performed around spring rites, it functioned as a visible offering to Ta-no-Kami. So dengaku was not just entertainment it was communication with the divine, enacted through sound and movement.

This helps explain why foods like tofu dengaku could later carry such symbolic weight. By the Edo period, the ritual meaning faded for most people,but the structure remained,keeping those relationships in balance. Dengaku the dance speaks to the gods. Dengaku the food preserves the memory of that act.

This year I put all this together into one celebration meal by making 16 small rice balls with chopped shungiku (chrysanthemum greens), red shiso and ume vinegar, adding two of each to aburaage fried inari pouches, the favourite food of inari. Finishing off with a sprinkle of sesame seeds and a salted sakura flower, to welcome in the spring.



How ever you might celebrate the seasonal change it helps link us to the past, keep us in the present and preserve for the future.

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Hishi Mochi 菱餅 For Hina Matsuri 雛祭り

March 3rd is the second in the five main seasonal festivals of Japan Joshi no Sekku 上巳の節句. Sometimes called Momo no Sekku (Peach festival ) or (dolls festival) but more commonly known as Hina matsuri 雛祭り. This festival originally celebrated both boys and girls but over time the celebration ended up being just for girls when Tango no Sekku became popular, known as boys day.

Each year on March 3rd, homes across Japan are transformed with elegant tiered doll displays, soft pink peach blossoms, and carefully prepared seasonal sweets. This Hina Matsuri celebration, is something I’ve spoken about over many years here on my blog. It’s a day dedicated to wishing health, happiness, and protection for young girls.

Among the beautifully arranged hina dolls sits a striking, diamond (rhombus form) shaped sweet layered in white green and pink (also shown green, white and pink) Hishi Mochi 菱餅 / ひしもち). The white, green and pink ordering represents seasonal growth from snow to spring growth to blossoms and reflects older regional traditional ordering, while nowadays you will more often see the order changed to green, white and pink. Originally in the Edo period the mochi only had two layers and the pink was added later. At first glance, it appears simple. Yet its shape and colours carry centuries of symbolism, seasonal meaning, and protective wishes woven into Japan’s cultural history.

To understand Hishi Mochi fully, we must first look at where Hina Matsuri itself began.

Hina Matsuri traces its roots back over a thousand years to the Heian period . During this era, an aristocratic custom known as hina-asobi (doll play) became popular among court children. At the same time, a purification ritual called nagashi-bina was practiced, people would place paper or straw dolls into rivers to carry away illness and misfortune.These two traditions gradually merged.

The dolls, originally used as symbolic substitutes to absorb bad luck, evolved from simple paper figures into the elaborate hina doll sets displayed today. Rather than being set afloat in rivers, they were placed inside homes as protective guardians for daughters.


By the Edo period (1603–1868), Hina Matsuri had become an established annual festival. The doll displays grew more ornate, and celebratory foods including Hishi Mochi became part of the tradition.

Seasonal foods have always played an important role in Japanese celebrations, often chosen for their symbolism as much as their flavour from Sanshoku 三色団子 dango to Chirashizushi五目ちらし寿司. Why not read more about these on my previous Hina Matsuri blog posts.

Hishi Mochi became associated with Hina Matsuri because it embodied, protection from evil, fertility and growth, health and vitality and the arrival of spring. The diamond shape (hishi) is linked to the water caltrop plant, long believed to promote fertility and ward off misfortune. Meanwhile, the three colours reflect both seasonal change and protective symbolism passed down through generations.

Over time, what began as a purification ritual transformed into a deeply personal family celebration. Today, Hina Matsuri is less about warding off spirits and more about expressing love and hope for a daughter’s future.

Hishi Mochi remains displayed beneath the dolls not merely as a sweet treat, but as a visual prayer.

May her life be pure and peaceful.

May she grow strong like new grass.

May she blossom beautifully like the peach flowers of spring.

But this traditional rice cake is more than just decorative, every detail carries meaning.

The word hishi (菱) refers to the water caltrop plant, whose leaves and fruit naturally grow in a diamond shape. The diamond form is believed to symbolise fertility and growth, represent protection and warding off evil and reflect the shape of the heart in classical Japanese symbolism.

The layered diamond also visually echoes harmony and balance qualities parents wish for their daughters’ future. When displayed beneath the hina dolls, the stacked shape resembles stability and gentle upward growth,a quiet prayer for steady development and happiness.

Traditional Hishi Mochi consists of three layers though modern versions have changed the order and may even have more layers.

Pink top

Represents peach blossoms and symbolises protection from evil spirits also associated with femininity and celebration.?Peach blossoms are especially important because Hina Matsuri was historically known as the Peach Festival.

Green middle

Represents new grass and vitality, it symbolises health and long life and is associated with growth and renewal. The green layer traditionally contains mugwort (yomogi), a herb believed to have protective and healing properties.

White bottom

Represents purity and cleanliness, a fresh start and sometimes associated with snow on the ground. White suggests spiritual cleansing and protection for the coming year.

Together, the colours tell a seasonal story:

White (lingering snow),Green (new grass) Pink (peach blossoms)

It symbolises the transition from winter to spring just as young girls grow and blossom into adulthood.

Hishi Mochi isn’t just eaten it’s displayed. Like the Hina Dolls themselves, it represents a heartfelt wish for health, happiness protection and growth. Each layered colour and careful shape expresses a parent’s quiet hope for their daughter’s future.

In the delicate layers of Hishi Mochi, we find more than sweet rice cake we find centuries of quiet hope. Its diamond shape speaks of protection and growth, while its soft shades trace the gentle arrival of spring. Displayed during Hina Matsuri it becomes a symbolic offering, a wish for health, happiness, and a life that blossoms beautifully.
The mochi is eaten by eating all the corners first to form a circle which symbolises eternity and then finally eating the circle.

Though small and simple in appearance, Hishi Mochi carries a profound message that love, tradition, and heartfelt prayers for the future can be expressed in even the humblest of sweets.

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NyanNyan-ji (猫猫寺) Cat Temple

Kyoto NyanNyan-ji (猫猫寺) Cat Temple

Nyan Nyan-ji, which literally translates to Meow Meow Temple, is a haven for cat lovers.

I can’t think of a better place to talk about on my blog on Japans Cat Day than my visit to the Nyan Nyan-ji, Cat Temple last May.

In Japan Cat Day is known as “Nyan Nyan Nyan Day”. “Nyan” is the Japanese equivalent of “meow”, the noise made by cats, and “ni” is the Japanese word for number two. February 22 (written 22/2) is pronounced “ni ni ni”, which apparently resembles “nyan nyan nyan”.

When you plan a trip to Kyoto you may of thought you would see every kind of temple imaginable, serene Zen gardens, grand pagodas, moss-covered stone paths… but nothing will prepare you for NyanNyan-ji (猫猫寺), the world’s first temple style art museum dedicated to cats. It’s a “cat lover’s paradise.”

Even saying temple feels understated this place blends traditional Japanese architecture, playful cat art everywhere you look, and that quiet, almost spiritual vibe that Kyoto does so well.


NyanNyan-ji
is the world’s first temple style art museum, nestled in Kyoto’s lush Yase district and centred entirely around the charm of cats. Set within a beautifully preserved 100 year old traditional home, known as a
kominka 古民家 that was converted into a temple like art museum.



The space features sliding doors and ceilings overflowing with cat inspired artwork, immersing visitors in a playful yet serene artistic world. Inside, the gallery showcases the creations of Miyano Kaya, a cat artist who has been devoted to her craft since the age of 11. She has painted cats across all 24 sliding doors of the building and also designed the temple’s iconic maneki-neko (beckoning cats) and cat daruma dolls.


NyanNyan-ji sits in the Yase area of northern Kyoto
, enjoying panoramic view of Mt. Hiei and the Takano river surrounded by trees and gentle hillside air, a peaceful little corner of kyoto far from the city crowds.

Arriving I really didn’t know what to expect and after paying the ¥800 entrance fee stepping through the entrance felt like entering a secret world. The principal deity of NyanNyan-ji is Dainichi Nyarai, a beckoning cat incarnation of the Buddha.

Every room is filled with cat themed art from colourful sliding doors to tiny sculptures tucked into old wood nooks.

There’s a joyful mix of humour, tradition, and modern art that somehow works beautifully together though slightly surreal. The ticket gave me access to the whole museum from the main hall and cat covered sliding doors to the gallery space with works by cat artist Miyano Kaya.

Places of interest include:

Main Hall: Where traditional temple elements meet feline iconography even the deities have a cat-themed twist.  To the right of the main hall are the principal deities “Dainichi Nyarai”, “Neko Fudo” and “Neko Kannon”. To the left of the main hall is “Sanshu no Nyangi”. The ceiling paintings of unique cats, created by 44 artists.


Tenshi-Neko Room:
The sliding door painting with this angel cat on it is a work by cat artist Miyano Kaya.

Maneki-Neko Screens: The sliding screen paintings, which feature 22 beckoning cats on 12 sliding screens, are also work by the same artist.

Gallery: Showcasing pieces by Masano Kaya including some works recognised internationally.


This
is not a cat shelter, so you probably won’t find a bunch of cats roaming around but the art makes up for it.

What surprised me most was how this place manages to be sacred, silly, and beautiful all at once. If you love cats, creativity, or hidden corners of Kyoto that feel like a secret shared between you and the city, NyanNyan-ji rewards curiosity.


What I found interesting was the “
Ancient Cat Civilization Exhibition” displayed in a room below the main temple art.

Where relic type items inspired by ancient civilisations, were exhibited (e.g., stylized Egyptian cat artefacts and other imagined cat civilisations.)

Whimsical and playful relics/artifacts rather than traditional archaeological pieces themed around cat culture and mythologies.

The relics bit especially feels like you’ve stumbled into an alternate universe where cats invented civilisation first and nobody explained that to you beforehand.


Not creepy, not exactly profound just charmingly unhinged, which was kind of its magic.

If you’re in the mood for something weird but memorable and you love cats this temple/art museum is definitely for you!

There is a wide selection of good luck items, including goshuincho (stamp books), omamori (amulet), ofuda (paper charms), votive plaques and much more.
I bought this omamori with a little black cat in memory of my beloved black cat that passed away a few years ago.

To get there you need to take the special train called “HIEI”on the Eizan Electric Railway on the Eizan Line which is 5.6 km long from Demachiyanagi Station (which you can reach from central Kyoto), and then hopping off at Yase-Hieizuguchi Station.

From Demachiyanagi station, trains on both lines head north to the Takaragaike station, where the lines split into two directions. One line goes eastward to Yase-Hieizanguchi station, and the other line goes westward to Kibuneguchi and Kurama stations.

From Yase-Hieizuguchi Station  it’s about a 20-minute scenic walk through lovely neighborhoods and forest paths following the Takano river. You can even board the Eizan cable car and ropeway to the top of Mt.Hiei after or before your visit if you wish which you pass on your walk.

NyanNyan-ji alone: ¥800 for adults

Children: ¥300

Combo ticket (includes nearby Nyan-paku museum): ¥1,200

Children combo: ¥500

(There’s also a small discount for visitors with disabilities.)

Opening hours are usually 11:00–17:00 on weekdays and a bit later on weekends (until 18:00), and NyanNyan-ji is closed on Tuesdays (though they open on public holidays).

You have a few options after your visit, you could visit NyanNyan-ji morning or afternoon and then get back on the train and get off at Takaragaike station and get the Kurama line westward to Kibuneguchi and Kurama stations, to visit Kifune-jinja and Kurama-dera temple. If you would like to read about my visit to these you can do so on my “ Yama no Hi” post.


On returning back to
Demachiyanagi station I would recommend a few of my favourite places to visit in the area like the “Shimogamo Shrine”  one of the oldest Shinto shrines in Japan.

Just a 3 minute walk from the station is where the Kamo river which runs through Kyoto splits this place is called “Kamogawa Delta” here you will find the 83 “tobi-ishi”飛び石 stepping stones some in the shape of giant turtles 亀 (kame) which are loved by adults and children alike.

Last year I decided to go to a peaceful tea house after my visit to NyanNyan-ji  just a short 17 minute walk from Demachiyanagi station down Imadegawa Dori entering Kyoto Gyoen National Garden through the Imadegawa Gomon Gate.

The tea shop is called Sasayaiori

Sasaya Iori,is an historic wagashi (Japanese sweets) maker with roots going back over 300 years. Founded in 1716, Sasaya Iori has long been associated with Kyoto’s imperial and tea-ceremony culture, creating traditional sweets for temples, tea masters, and the Imperial Palace.

This tea house is one of their modern tea house cafés, which blends this deep history with a relaxed, contemporary setting. The space felt calm and understated  the kind of place where you naturally slow down, sip carefully, and take in the moment.

The standout for me was their iced matcha easily one of the best I had in Japan. Smooth, vibrant, and perfectly balanced, it avoided the bitterness that lesser matcha can have. It was refreshing without being diluted, and clearly made with high quality tea. The only thing I regret is not buying some to bring home.


Sasaya lori is a wonderful example of how Kyoto preserves tradition while making it accessible whether you’re deeply familiar with tea culture or simply looking for a quiet place to enjoy an exceptional matcha. This was the end to a (Purr-fect) day.

Blog, Winter Food

Hanabira Mochi

Hanabira Mochi The First Sweet of the Japanese New Year

As the New Year begins in Japan, the season is marked not by loud celebration but by quiet symbolism, reflection, and tradition.
One of the most delicate expressions of this spirit is
hanabira mochi (花びら餅)

Simple in appearance yet rich in meaning, hanabira mochi carries centuries of history, connecting modern kitchens to Japan’s imperial past.

Hishi Hanabira Mochi (花びら餅) refers to the original, historical form of the Japanese New Year sweet known today as hanabira mochi literally meaning “flower-petal mochi.”

It is a delicate ceremonial Japanese sweet traditionally eaten at the beginning of the New Year, especially in January, and is often considered the first wagashi of the year which was initially served to the imperial court.

The origins of hanabira mochi can be traced back to Japan’s imperial court during the Heian period. It is closely associated with a New Year ritual known as ha-gatame (歯固め), which literally means “tooth-strengthening.” During this ceremony, court nobles symbolically consumed foods thought to promote strong teeth, good health, and longevity for the year ahead.

Rather than being purely medicinal, these foods were rich in meaning linking physical strength with spiritual well being.

Hanabira mochi is believed to have evolved from this tradition, preserving the symbolism of health and endurance in a refined confection.

Hanabira mochi carries specific symbolic meaning associated with the Japanese New Year celebration. It consists of a thin mochi skin, the outer white layer representing melting snow of the past winter, and welcoming in the spring.

The shape and colouring of hanabira mochi are inspired by the plum blossom (ume), one of the earliest flowers to bloom in Japan, often while winter still lingers. Plum blossoms symbolise, renewal, hope and perseverance through hardship and the transition from winter to spring. The soft white mochi represents purity and new beginnings, while the hint of pink suggests life stirring beneath the surface a poetic image for the start of a new year.

The subtle pink colour hishi (diamond-shaped) mochi,  showing through the white mochi is inspired by the leaves of the water caltrop plant (hishi), a sacred plant believed to ward off evil omens and ensure longevity. This represents the Japanese plum (ume) blossom. The plum blossom is the first to bloom in the new year, symbolising purity, perseverance, and renewal.
The sweet bean paste filling, typically flavoured with white miso, alludes to the zoni (New Year’s soup) eaten during the New Year’s celebration at the imperial court.

One of the most distinctive features of hanabira mochi is the inclusion of burdock root, a slender piece of  sweet simmered candied burdock root (gobō) protruding from the sides. An unusual ingredient in a sweet.

In Japanese culture, burdock root represents longevity, due to its long, straight shape, stability and resilience as it grows deep into the earth and vitality, as a nourishing traditional food. Its presence is a direct reference to the ancient ha-gatame ritual, quietly carrying wishes for strength and a long life into the New Year. The thin strip of candied burdock historically represents ayu, a sweet river fish that was a traditional New Year’s food at the imperial court. Its long, thin shape is also a symbol of longevity.

The mochi is folded into a half moon shape resembling a plum blossom petal.This restrained elegance is a hallmark of wagashi enjoyed at the start of the year.

For centuries, hanabira mochi was enjoyed only within aristocratic circles. It later became associated with the Japanese tea ceremony, particularly through the Urasenke school in Kyoto.

Today, hanabira mochi is traditionally served at the first tea gathering of the year (hatsugama) and is sold by wagashi shops for a limited time in January. Its brief availability reinforces the Japanese appreciation for seasonality and fleeting moments.

Hanabira mochi is not eaten for indulgence alone. It is considered the first confection of the year because it embodies New Year wishes, health and strength through its historical origins, longevity symbolised by burdock root, purity and renewal with its mochi exterior, hope and perseverance through its plum blossom form. Eating it is a mindful act and a quiet way of welcoming the year ahead.

Unlike brightly decorated festive sweets, hanabira mochi is intentionally understated. Its beauty lies in subtlety, tradition, and meaning rather than extravagance.

To enjoy hanabira mochi is to pause, reflect, and begin the year with care, a philosophy deeply woven into Japanese New Year culture.

As the New Year dawns in Japan, many of the festive foods that define December fade from view, but one refined sweet quietly heralds the season ahead “hanabira mochi.” This delicate wagashi, with its pale white mochi, hint of blush, and slender strip of burdock root, isn’t just a treat it’s a ceremony in itself. Rooted in ancient imperial traditions and now inseparable from the first tea ceremony of the year (hatsugama), hanabira mochi embodies wishes for health, longevity, and renewal. In many Kyoto tea rooms and wagashi shops each January, it’s served alongside a bowl of matcha to mark a fresh beginning. Whether you’re celebrating in Japan or in your own kitchen, making hanabira mochi connects you to centuries of seasonal symbolism and mindful taste.

Hanabira mochi is traditionally served at hatsugama the first tea ceremony of the year, particularly in Kyoto tea schools rooted in centuries old etiquette. While these events are often by invitation within tea communities, some public tea exhibitions and cultural programs around New Year in Japan may offer a chance to participate or watch. The sweet is normally eaten in a period from New Year’s Day until the  15th of January, Koshogatsu (‘little new year’), New Year’s in the old lunar calendar.


Hatsugama (初釜)
literally means “first kettle.”

Hatsugama refers to the first formal tea gathering of the New Year in the Japanese tea ceremony tradition and is usually held in January, often within the first few weeks of the year.

Rather than being a festive party, hatsugama is a solemn yet joyful occasion, marking a respectful beginning to the year ahead.

At its heart, hatsugama is about renewal.

The gathering is an opportunity for the host and guests to express gratitude for the past year, and to welcome the New Year with humility and mindfulness. Everything about hatsugama emphasizes fresh starts, clean utensils, new charcoal, seasonal decorations, and carefully chosen sweets.

In tea ceremony, the kettle (kama) is central it provides the hot water used to prepare matcha.

The first boiling of the kettle in the New Year is therefore symbolic, representing, new energy,purification, continuity of tradition. For tea practitioners, attending or hosting hatsugama is often one of the most important events of the year.

Hatsugama gatherings are marked by subtle seasonal touches rather than elaborate displays like hanging scrolls which often feature New Year calligraphy or auspicious phrases. Tea utensils may be especially treasured or newly introduced, flowers are minimal, reflecting winter’s restraint and sweets are chosen with deep seasonal meaning. This quiet elegance mirrors the winter season and the reflective nature of the New Year.

Hanabira mochi is traditionally served at hatsugama because it embodies the same values as the gathering itself. It reflects, health and longevity  (through its historical connection to ha-gatame rituals). New beginnings (through its white mochi and plum blossom form) and respect for tradition (as a sweet long associated with tea schools). For this reason, hanabira mochi is closely associated with Kyoto tea culture and is rarely seen outside of January.

Unlike Western New Year celebrations, hatsugama is not about spectacle. It is about beginning the year calmly, intentionally, and with awareness a philosophy at the heart of both tea ceremony and wagashi. Enjoying hanabira mochi alongside a bowl of matcha during hatsugama is a reminder that the New Year does not have to be loud to be meaningful.

Below is my recipe for making hanabira mochi at home, inspired by this centuries old tradition.

For the burdock:

You will need one large piece of burdock root scrubbed of any dirt and cut to 15cm (my burdock root was quite thin so I did  a few pieces)

Then take a bowl and make vinegar water around 2-3 tablespoons of vinegar water enough to cover and soak the burdock for 30 minutes.

Take the water from the first rinse of washing Japanese sushi rice and pour it into a pan. Drop in your burdock and place on the lid, simmer on a low heat for 2 hours. Keep checking to make sure it doesn’t go dry, topping up if required.

Remove the burdock after this time and drop into cold water.

Leave in the water for 15 minutes. Remove the burdock from the water and cut to 12cm in length then cut in half lengthways. (if your burdock is large cut each half in half again and cut this in half again so you have 6 pieces about 5mm wide). Take each piece and slice off the inner core of the burdock.

Add 75gm of sugar to a pan and 75ml of water, heat the water to dissolve the sugar and drop in your cut pieces of burdock and simmer gently on low heat for 10 minutes. Turn off the heat and leave the burdock in the sugar water to cool and pickle for a few hours

When you’re ready to use the burdock remove from the liquid and pat dry with kitchen towel.

If you wish you can prepare your burdock ahead of time.

Prepared burdock root  when simmered in a sweet syrup will keep in the refrigerator for about 4 days when stored in an airtight container.

The sugar in the syrup acts as a preservative, which helps extend its shelf life.

The flavour is often best within the first few days.

For the filling:

You will need 50g of white bean paste mixed with 10g of white miso paste.

Roll into equal balls and put aside.

For the mochi:

Make two lots of mochi one with a little red/ pink dye added. I use beetroot powder to the Joshinko to make sure it’s vegan.

For each

100gm Joshinko flour

x1 tablespoon of granulated sugar

130ml of cold water

You will You will need a round cutter (I used one 78mm diameter), a rolling pin, plastic wrap and microwaveable bowl. Also you will need to dust a baking sheet with potato starch

Make the white mochi (microwave method)

If you would like to make mochi with out a microwave by Take a metal pancake ring and add this to a steamer basket over boiling water. Place inside the pancake ring some muslin cloth and pour in your mixture. Put the lid on the steamer and steam for 15 minutes.

Add to a bowl the joshinko flour and sugar then mix to combine. Add the water and whisk to a smooth paste.

Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and microwave for 3 minutes then remove the wrap. Wet the end of a rolling pin or pestle and begin to pound the mochi until it’s nice and elastic. When it’s cool enough to handle knead into an elastic smooth dough with damp hands.

Turn out onto some parchment and add more parchment on top and roll out thinly.

I find doing this with the parchment is a guaranteed way of your mochi not sticking. Cut out x6 rounds and place them on your baking sheet dusted with potato starch.

Do the same with the pink mochi but this time make a rectangle and make the mochi slightly thicker. Cut out x6 square shapes.



To assemble place a pink diamond shape on the round mochi and stretch out to more of an oval shape, followed by placing a piece of burdock root on top. Finish with a ball of white miso bean paste and fold over one half to the other to make a half moon shape. Do the rest until they are finished.

The delicate texture and short shelf life of the mochi itself (typically best eaten on the day) means that while the burdock filling can be made in advance, the final assembly of the hanabira mochi should be done on the day when you plan to eat them.

Bringing the Spirit of Hatsugama Into the Home

While hatsugama is traditionally a formal tea gathering held within tea schools and tea rooms, its underlying philosophy is not limited to practitioners alone. At its core, hatsugama is about beginning the year with intention, care, and quiet gratitude, something that can be observed in small, personal ways.

At home, this might simply mean setting aside a calm moment in January to prepare tea with extra attention. Choosing a favourite cup, cleaning utensils carefully, and taking time to enjoy the warmth of the tea can echo the sense of renewal that defines hatsugama.

Serving a seasonal sweet such as hanabira mochi alongside matcha or green tea further deepens the experience. Even without formal ceremony, the act of pairing tea with a sweet rooted in New Year symbolism connects the moment to centuries of tradition.

Many people in Japan observe tea customs informally in this way not as strict ceremony, but as a mindful pause at the beginning of the year. It is less about perfect form and more about awareness of season, history, and gratitude.

In this sense, preparing hanabira mochi at home becomes more than following a recipe. It becomes a personal New Year ritual a quiet way to welcome the year ahead with intention and respect. It is a sweet that invites reflection on time, tradition, and the changing seasons.