Japan is complicated from the flashing lights of the pachinko parlor (where I won $20 and a box of cookies) to massive indoor shopping malls, to the train stations packed with first-class eateries, to the rural Japan, in this case Cofunia, an inn co-founded by Chisato Maeda and located in Tenri, Nara Prefecture. At Cofunia, named after ancient “kofun” burial mounds, Chisato and her co-founder Takumi Takano offer an alternative lifestyle experience including cooking and medicine and, just last year, a place to stay. Located along the Yamanobe-no-Michi, Japan’s oldest walking path, Chisato cooks, gardens and creates recipes for the inn’s teas, syrups, herbal bath concoctions and incense. It’s light-years from Wavy Gravy’s Hog Farm commune where I spent a night in the early ‘70s—a rough-and-ready American version of the alternative lifestyle. The food is great, the inn is exquisite, and Chisato radiates tranquility and knowledge—unlike the kids at the Hog Farm, who burned the brown rice and didn’t know how to bank a woodstove for the long cold nights. I almost froze to death.

Chisato and Cofunia make it difficult to answer the question, “What is Japan?” It’s not one thing; it’s many. It’s not out in the open; it’s hidden. It’s polite but opinionated. It’s modern but clings to the past. (Walk into a 7 Eleven and you’ll find decent-quality sushi and sando (sandwiches) alongside brightly packaged junk food.) Most Japanese live in modern apartment buildings but some, such as Chisato, live in small towns, in ancient, restored houses. And the Japanese culture is famous for indirect communication, telling guests who have overstayed their welcome that “It is time for porridge” (a traditional evening supper) instead of simply asking them to leave. Taking something under consideration is preferred to outright rejection.

But the answer to the question, “What is the essence of Japanese cooking?” is easier. It’s “ryōri no sa shi su se so,” the mnemonic for adding sugar, salt, vinegar, soy sauce and miso in order. In terms of texture, Chisato pointed out that “stickiness” is a sought-after attribute as is the combination of something crispy on the outside and soft on the inside. This may be due, in
part, to the weather, which is wet and moist and suitable for growing sticky rice, not the drier varieties found in other places.

Walking up the stone path through the herb garden and then into the kitchen, you feel lightyears away from the crowds in the Osaka train station. Your blood pressure dips, the quiet is enveloping, and the greeting is charming and humble. But that is the point. Chisato is creating her own world at Cofunia. She studied agriculture in the Netherlands and then returned to Japan to work in Kyoto’s Tango Peninsula, coordinating workshops on traditional rural wisdom and cooking. She is also a passionate fermenter, with hands-on experience in multiple koji and miso factories. The gardens are based, in part, on the notion of a central compost area, which radiates out to feed the plants.

But I was here to cook, not to garden, and the first recipe was karaage, or Japanese fried chicken. First, a bit of nomenclature. Tatsutaage is a form of karaage, the former being marinated in soy sauce and mirin and coated with potato starch. Karaage is a broader term for fried food where wheat flour is often used and the seasonings can be more varied. The recipe goes back to the 16th century, when the Portuguese introduced deep-frying, which later inspired tempura. Karaage became a Chinese-style restaurant dish in the 1930s, but it really took off after World War II, including an annual Karaage Festival in Nakatsu referred to as the Karaage Grand Prix. Nearly 1,000 shops compete and a panel of judges now picks the winner. (Nakatsu prides itself on being the center of karaage in Japan, but karaage shops are all over.)

Karaage is, simply put, boneless marinated chicken pieces that are fried with a particularly thin, crisp coating. Potato starch is the coating of choice, but they keep it simple—no eggs, no breadcrumbs. It’s a basic concept but one that demands the correct ingredients and careful technique. Hiromi Yuuki at Cofunia demonstrated
her recipe.

Speaking of potato starch, we wanted to test the common alternatives: cornstarch, rice flour and all-purpose flour. Rice flour was a distant second with a crisp but slightly hard coating that was flavorless. Cornstarch and all-purpose flour were pretty much tied for last. The cornstarch coating was slightly crispier than all-purpose, but the latter had better flavor with testers commenting, “Not crisp, approaching soggy.” The walk-away winner was indeed the potato starch with the crispiest, thinnest, crunchiest coating with a craggy, whitewashed exterior— by far the most authentic choice for karaage. (Potato starch produces a more complex coating with a more varied surface.)

In terms of the marinade, we found the classic 1-1-1 was best here (soy, mirin and sake). Two hours was the minimum for marinating; you can go up to 24 hours. For the oil, you need 6 cups for a 6-quart Dutch oven and the chicken, as is most fried chicken, double fried with an oil temperature of 350°F. (The temperature will drop once the chicken is added, which means that the oil will be at a lower temperature during frying. However, make sure that the oil comes back up to temperature before starting on a second batch.)

There are two approaches to the sauce served with karaage. One is based on soy sauce and rice vinegar; the other is a simple mayonnaise with a bit of spice. For the former, mix equal parts tamari and unseasoned rice vinegar with a little freshly grated ginger and toasted sesame oil. For the mayonnaise version, see our recipe.

Chris Kimball

Christopher Kimball is founder of Milk Street, which produces Milk Street Magazine, Milk Street Television on PBS, and the weekly public radio show Milk Street Radio. He founded Cook’s Magazine in 1980 and was host and executive producer of America’s Test Kitchen until 2016. Kimball is the author of several books, including "The Yellow Farmhouse" and "Fannie’s Last Supper."