You're looking at two membrane sacks stuffed with salted, chili-seasoned eggs from a fish called suketōdara, or Alaska pollack, or mentai. Hungry yet?

This is what mentaiko ("mentai babies") looks like when you buy it in the supermarket. It's a common onigiri (rice ball) filling in Japan and occasionally pops up in things like bi bim bap or pizza, but one of the most popular and, in my opinion, most delicious ways to eat mentaiko is on pasta, typically in a butter- or cream-based sauce.

This may seem strange. When I told a friend in the U.S. about the "fish egg pasta" popular in Japan, she thought I meant some kind of fish-flavored egg noodles, maybe a variation of squid ink noodles. When I told her I actually meant pasta topped with fish eggs, I think she may have briefly considered never emailing me again. But mentaiko, and especially mentaiko pasta, deserve a try. The salting and chili-seasoning process produces something a little spicy and not very fishy, with a flavor all its own. Heck, I'll even go so far as to say mentaiko is my favorite of all the fish roes! You heard it here first, people.

I've eaten mentaiko pasta in restaurants and at the home of a mentaiko-obsessed friend, and it seemed time for me to try making it myself. I used the recipe in Harumi's Japanese Cooking, a good book to have if you are interested in trying out some of the modern-style dishes Japanese people like to eat.

It took less than ten minutes to put the sauce together -- squeezing the mentaiko out of the membranes was strangely gratifying -- and the finished dish was nearly as good as and several pounds lighter than the incredible cream-based version served at one of the cafes in my town. Next time I'll look for darker red mentaiko, as the usually-shocking-pink sauce is part of the allure for me. And I might throw in some mushrooms as well. Perhaps there's a mentaiko pizza in my future?

Some notes on ingredients: If you can't get mentaiko, make a nice eggplant parmesan or something; there are no substitutes. See the notes about shiso here. Kombu cha powder is a hard one. Harumi recommends using a strong fish stock as a substitution, but maybe you could mix kelp powder (available at health food stores) with some matcha powder. Or just throw in some parmesan cheese. The kombu cha is just there to add umami anyway.

Mentaiko Pasta

Adapted from Harumi's Japanese Cooking

Serves 2

6 oz/170 g uncooked thin pasta (such as spaghettini)
3 oz/85 g mentaiko
2 tablespoons butter
1/2 teaspoon kombu cha (kelp tea) powder
2 small sheets of nori, cut into matchstick-sized pieces (about 2 tablespoons)
3 shiso leaves, finely shredded
chopped green onion or chives, to garnish
soy sauce, if needed

Boil the pasta in salted water according to package directions. While it is cooking, soften the butter for 10-20 seconds in the microwave, then beat until creamy. Remove the roe from the membrane and mix into the butter. Add the kombu cha powder and stir until smooth. It will resemble buttercream frosting at this point, but resist the urge to eat it straight from a spoon.

When the pasta is al dente, drain and immediately mix with the butter mixture, tossing to coat the pasta evenly. Taste for seasoning and, if necessary, add a little soy sauce. Divide onto two plates and top with the shiso, nori and a sprinkling of green onions or chives.

Tsuyu is the name for the rainy season in Japan, which is currently in full swing. The two characters of the word mean "plum rain," which I think is a rather undeservedly pretty name for several weeks of constant rain, sogginess and encroaching mold.

Tsuyu is also the name of a sauce usually used as a dip for cold noodles. I think tsuyu is delicious during tsuyu. I thought there might be some connection between the two, but my word detectivery was cut short when the first Japanese person I asked said, "They're just homonyms." (My word inventery, however, has continued unabated.)

I've been using tsuyu a lot in the last couple weeks, especially on days when it's too hot to fire up the fish grill and I'm sweating so much I can barely peel the paper bands off my soba noodles. My reliance on tsuyu as a way to cook without really cooking explains why I buy the bottled stuff, as opposed to making it from scratch. I'm a terrible Japanese housewife, I know. But the Kikkoman Hon Tsuyu is really very good, I assure you.

Some additional ingredient notes: Katakuriko is a starch made from potatoes, similar to cornstarch, but with its own special texture. So while cornstarch is an acceptable substitute, I think the lovely chewiness of agedashidōfu made with katakuriko is not to be missed. (You can buy it online here.) Lastly, I find it is worth it to spend more on soba noodles. More expensive noodles will undoubtedly be more flavorful and have a better texture than the cheaper brands in the store, so go ahead...spend the extra dollar. Plum rain season comes but once a year.

Agedashidōfu (Fried Tofu with Tsuyu)

1 block momen (cotton) tofu
2 Tbs katakuriko (potato starch)
vegetable oil
1/4 cup tsuyu
2 Tbs green onion, chopped
1/2 myōga bulb, thinly sliced, or 1/2 tsp grated ginger

Drain the tofu. I wrap mine in paper towel, put it in a bowl and microwave it for 50-second intervals two or three times, wrapping it in fresh paper towel between zappings. Then I let it sit for 5-10 minutes on a dry paper towel. It loses a lot of water and feels much more firm at that point.

Cut the tofu into eight pieces and dredge in the potato starch. Cover the bottom of a skillet with a thin layer of vegetable oil and heat over a medium flame. When the oil is hot, put in the pieces of tofu and cook briefly on all sides, until just barely golden. Remove from the oil and put on a paper-towel-lined plate.

Transfer the tofu to two small bowls and top with the tsuyu, green onions and myōga or ginger.

Thanks to James for introducing me to the delicious simplicity of homemade agedashidōfu.

Cold Soba Noodles with Sesame Tsuyu

1 bundle of soba noodles (about 100 grams)
1 Tbs white sesame seeds
1/3 cup tsuyu
1 Tbs green onion, chopped

Bring a pot of water to a boil and add the soba noodles. Cook for about 4 minutes, or until the noodles are al dente. Immediately drain into a colander and rinse well under cold water.

Toast the sesame seeds in a pan over a low flame, tossing or stirring the seeds constantly until they become fragrant and golden. Pour into a small bowl and with a pestle or wooden spoon, grind and crunch up some of the seeds. Add the tsuyu and green onions.

Put the noodles in a large bowl and serve with the sesame tsuyu. To eat, dip the noodles in the sauce and slurp away!