Zaru Soba: Seattle Summer Rain

Seattle weather confounds me.

I arrived back in Seattle late at night, after a day that had clearly been hot. Even near midnight I could still feel it, a stillness and warmth radiating long after the sun had gone down. There was a note on my front door from my neighbor saying that she had gone in and opened some windows for me, so the house wouldn’t be too stuffy after being shut up for days. I slept that night with the French doors to the bedroom open and the covers kicked off, the cool air felt good on bare legs and feet.

But in the morning it was misty and raining. That refreshing cool had turned colder and I quickly shut the doors, burrowing back under the covers for warmth, surprised at the summer rain.

In California we have no such thing. Though San Francisco barely gets a summer—and neighborhoods such as my own are socked in with fog from June through August— most years our rain stops somewhere mid-spring and doesn’t start up again until December.

The last time I felt summer rain was in Asia. There is whomps out of the sky with force, dragging down the humidity and providing much-needed clean and cool, if only for a few hours. There, sitting inside watching the rain fall on brilliant green (think rice fields) is an annual occurrence. After all, the typhoon season takes place in late summer each year.

Here in Seattle I could feel just a hint of that summer rain phenomenon. It wasn’t properly cold, still a little stuffy despite the soft rain. As the day went on it got warmer, a slight steaminess, just a touch of humidity.

It was Zaru Soba weather.

The Japanese have many tactics for surviving the summer weather. Some of my favorites have to do with cold noodles, in specific, Zaru Soba.



Soba noodles are made from buckwheat flour, a nutty flavor. Most brands also have a significant amount of wheat in them, to keep them elastic. For those who are gluten-free or wheat-free, it is possible to order 100% buckwheat noodles, you just have to be more careful when cooking them. During the fall and winter soba noodles are served in a hot soup broth, but in the summer they are served cold. A heaping pile of chilled noodles, with a dipping sauce made of soy sauce and dashi soup stock.



If you’ve never had the pleasure of feeling cold noodles slip down your throat on a sticky hot summer’s day, you’ve got something to look forward to.

The word “zaru” refers to the basket on which the chilled noodles are usually served. You can serve them in a bowl as well, or on a plate. They are topped with thin strips of nori seaweed (the same type used to wrap rolled sushi). The dipping sauce gets a serving of minced green onion (traditionally negi, a Japanese leek) and sesame seeds. Some people like wasabi horseradish in the sauce as well, grated ginger, or yuzu.

As the rain comes down outside, and the windows stand open, take a bit of your cold noodles, dip it into the sauce, and feel them slide down your throat, cooling you from the inside out.



This week Seattle is hot, dry and baking, and I am missing my San Francisco fog. In the meantime, these noodles—as well as an emergency supply of strawberry popsicles, administered as needed—are keeping me cool. I'm hoping it starts to rain again soon.

ZARU SOBA, JAPANESE COLD BUCKWHEAT NOODLES

Soba, buckwheat noodles, are sold in packages that carry the noodles wrapped in small bundles, an average package will have five bundles. Each bundle is meant to be one serving, but I won't be the first to call Japanese servings a bit (ahem) dainty. I always make two or three bundles, even if it's only me at the table, because I like them for breakfast the next morning, scrambled with eggs (this would horrify many a Japanese housewife, but don't knock it until you try it).

The sauce is called soba tsuyu, and if you want to go the easy route you can buy it in a bottle at the store. No shame in this, most Japanese people I know do the same. Some packages of soba even include small packets of soba tsuyu (this is generally a concentrate and will need to be diluted with water—the directions may be written in Japanese, but look for any measurements or numbers you can find on the packet to find out how much water to add).

If you want to make soba tsuyu, here is a recipe:
1 cup dashi stock (you can make you own—recipe is included here—or use premade)
1/3 cup soy sauce/shoyu
3 tbs mirin
1 tsp sugar
Mix together until sugar fully dissolves

Toppings, per person:
2 green onions, sliced fine
1 tsp sesame seeds, lightly toasted
1 sheet nori, cut into thin strips

These are the basic toppings, you can also add grated ginger, grated yuzu, chopped shiso, or wasabi as desired (choose one of these, not all, or the flavors will get muddy).

Add the noodles to boiling water, then turn down to a simmer and cook until soft but not mushy, one stage past al dente. I find this takes 5-10 minutes, depending on the size of the pot and how much soba you are cooking.

If you are using 100% buckwheat soba you might want to try the following method of cooking: bring the pot of water to a boil, add the noodles, cook for a minute or two until the water comes to a boil again. When this happens, add a half cup of cold water. Wait until the noodles come to a boil again and repeat the process. These noodles are a little more fragile and this method keeps them from boiling the entire time.

Drain the noodles. You may want to drain them into a bowl as some people like to add some of the cooking water to the dipping sauce when you've finished and drink it like a sort of soup.

Rinse the drained noodles. This is not like the quick rinse you may give to Italian-style pasta, this is a thorough washing. I do this under the faucet using my hands to separate the noodles and make sure they all get rinsed. There are others who fill the pot up with water again and swish the noodles around, changing the water until it runs clean. However you want to do it, make sure any starch or residue has been washed off the noodles. This is important so they don't clump together.



Chill, covered, until ready to serve.

Assemble your toppings on small dishes and put the dipping sauce in a cup, small bowl, or soba-choko (special cup for soba dipping sauce). It's traditional to serve the noodles with the nori on top, sesame seeds on the side, but I love the look of the sesame seeds mixed in with the noodles. After you've served the dish, mix the toppings into the sauce and, taking a small clump of noodles in your chopsticks, dip them into the sauce and eat, making sure to slurp.



A note about slurping:
in Japan, people slurp their noodles, that's just the way it is. My brother and I were champion slurpers when we were young, there was something delightful about breaking the rules and making rude noises at the table. But when I moved to Japan as an adult I couldn't bring myself to slurp—it just felt wrong and I half expected someone to hit me on the back side of my head and ask me if I had been born in a barn. I was living with a Japanese family at the time and whenever we had noodles the father would look at me, sadly, and say, "I am sorry that your noodles are not delicious," as if my lack of slurping rendered them somehow less good.

It took me nearly a year to get back into my slurping groove, but everyone was delighted when I did (really, they clapped). I wouldn't say it makes the dish that much more delicious, but I think here it allows you to suck up a little more of the dipping sauce—so, slurp away!

You should be warned, however, that slurping can be a hard habit to break. One time, in Thailand, I found myself out to dinner with a gang of Aussie travelers. Halfway through the meal I realized that everyone was looking at me oddly. I had been slurping my noodles—much to the surprise of everyone at the table who, prior to this incident, thought I looked like such a polite young thing.