Despite an elaborate eight course, two and a half hour kaiseki dinner the night before, we woke up eagerly anticipating breakfast.
At home, we usually have something light, like biscuits or toast, accompanied by a cup of black freshly-brewed filter coffee.
But we were not at home, and this was no ordinary morning.
Tomoko-san, the proprietress of Shiraume, had kindly arranged for us to have our first meal of the day in a private room on the first floor of her elegant ryokan.
We freshened up, donned our yukatas, gingerly climbed down the slightly rickety wooden stairs and made our way to the designated venue.
A petite obaasan slid open the bamboo doors with a gentle touch and gestured for us to enter. The room itself was beautifully appointed, but the exterior was the true highlight.
Floor-to-ceiling glass not only let in soft, natural light, but also provided an unobstructed view of the the meticulously maintained zen garden outside.
It was the kind of scenery that made time itself seem to flow more slowly.
Simmering softly at the far end of our table was a dark brown donabe sitting on a portable gas stove. Silently bubbling away, the mysterious contents remained hidden from view, piquing our curiosity.
In a spacious room that could have comfortably accommodated ten diners, we were left all alone to quietly enjoy the serenity of our solitude.
Obaasan politely entered the room and knelt in front of the donabe. She removed the heavy lid and revealed a delicate broth with hamaguri and tofu.
The aroma of seafood-infused dashi wafted over, and small porcelain bowls filled with large, plump clams and soft, silken tofu followed soon after.
Light and clean tasting, the warm liquid went down smoothly. One bowl was not enough and there was more than enough for multiple refills.
Our appetites were fully awakened, and it was a good thing that they were, because the rest of our breakfast arrived. Everything, everywhere, all at once.
Numerous small dishes were arranged on large, bamboo-coloured wooden trays, presented to us individually by yukata-clad servers.
It was a feast for the eyes, but more importantly, it looked very healthy and contained all the major food groups.
Even though we already had a soup, miso shiru was provided.
It’s an essential component of every meal, and ours was made with white miso with strips of aburaage, wakame seaweed and crunchy bits of mitsuba.
Three different “salads” were part of the ensemble, each featuring various local ingredients. First was watermelon daikon with other shredded greens in a black bean vinegar, mushroom essence and shoyu dressing.
Next was a half slice of corn on the cob accompanied with some asparagus and long beans. And lastly, lightly sweetened soy beans with diced bamboo shoots, carrots and sansho pepper leaves.
Western breakfasts always include some form of egg dish, and it’s a similar situation with traditional Japanese breakfasts.
Interestingly, our tamago dashimaki came in a dense multi-layered roll which didn’t have the usual fuwa fuwa texture. It was a different experience though it still tasted equally oishii.
We were told that the eggs were sourced from northern Japan, and that the sakura-shaped kombu promoted hair growth. The latter was a random food fact, but given our age, every little benefit counts.
Our second protein item was a piece of perfectly miso grilled hirame.
It was soft and flaky, slightly sweet and bursting with umami. The fish tasted like it was allowed to dry overnight, resulting in an intense and concentrated flavour.
Helping to cut the richness was a piece of umeboshi wrapped in a similarly pickled shiso leaf which we nibbled on between bites.
And of course, rice was served. Specifically, in the form of simple white porridge; its plainness providing a blank canvas for the rich palette of flavours on display in front of us.
Pickled daikon and ume were provided, as well as toasted white sesame and hijiki seaweed toppings. A little sprinkle went a long way, and they transformed an otherwise bland staple into a dish in itself.
We spent the better part of an hour slowly savouring the diverse array of small bites spread across our table.
There was no prescribed sequence of when to eat what, so we had a little bit of this, a little bit of that and repeated the cycle until everything was gone.
When our cups of black coffee and small plates of freshly-cut fruits arrived, we knew that our breakfast was finally, and regretfully, coming to an end.
As we read the handwritten message that came with our final course, a wave of nostalgia washed past.
Our previous stay was five and a half years ago, but we could still remember every single detail from our visit then.
I’m not sure when we’ll be back in Kyoto, but when we do return, chances are high that we’ll be spending another memorable night at Shiraume.
