Outside, the sky is heavy with coming snow. From the steaming pot, a serving is ladled out and set in front of you: daikon radish, egg, konnyaku — so far, the cast you would meet anywhere in Japan. In Toyama, though, a soft white mound sits on top. It is tororo kombu — kelp shaved into airy threads.
The Topping Is Tororo Kombu
In Toyama, there is a custom of eating oden with tororo kombu piled on top — and it is no special flourish. In this prefecture's kitchens, shaved kombu is an everyday ingredient: wrapped around rice balls, dropped into soups, laid over udon. The oden bowl simply stands on that same line. A pinch from the bag kept on the shelf, and on it goes. There is no hesitation in the local hand.
The White Threads Drink the Broth and Come Undone
Tororo kombu comes in black and white, divided by which part of the kelp is shaved and how thickly. On oden, it is the white that performs. The moment it lands, the show begins: the airy white threads drink up the broth, turn translucent, swell, slacken, and come undone into the soup. Do you gather them onto a piece before they vanish, or wait and drink them once they have dissolved completely? Deciding the moment with your own chopsticks is the pleasure of this way of eating. Draped over the daikon, it doubles the broth; laid on the egg, it lends the yolk a breath of the sea.
Even the Fish Cake Has No Board
Look closer into the bowl, and the Toyama in it is not only on top. The fish cake among the pieces is akamaki — kamaboko rolled into a red spiral, with no wooden board attached, in the Toyama way. The tororo kombu melts into the soup, the akamaki drinks up the broth, and at the end you lift the bowl and drink it dry. Only then is the serving complete.
By the time you finish, the tororo kombu is nowhere to be seen. But take one sip of the soup and you know exactly where it went. It did not disappear; it became the broth. The best ingredient in Toyama's oden does its real work after it has vanished from sight.