Eko-In - Koyasan

We can't check in until afternoon so we leave our bags at the bustling temple of Eko-In to explore our Koyasan day #2. A longer walk around the town yields an elaborate mausoleum and a grand temple.

We finally check in and I note that Eko-In looks... Exactly like Kumagaiji. Except it has less luxuries for a higher price. We're on the second floor of the back building so it's a flight of stairs down to the bathroom and a walk across the rainy courtyard to take a bath.

A couple hours to kill and then we run to the one reason we booked this room: meditation class. A monk instructs an eager group in rudimentary Ajisan, and we sit cross-legged, focusing on the length of each breath. I figured it wouldn't be hard. It's impossible not to relax in a place so calm and so zen... Unless you're me. It must be hard to meditate with one annoying person squirming beside you... And I was THAT person.

How do people do this?! Also, how the hell do you keep your eyes half open and half closed? That alone made it impossible to meditate.

Meditation was a lot more strenuous than I expected. I exerted myself so much I was ravenous by dinnertime.

A more reasonably-sized meal is served at Eko-In, one that is much easier to finish. Thanks to the cross-courtyard trek, the Tempura is cold by the time it arrives. Still the veggies are welcome, unlike the Kelp, which tastes fishy and has the slimy texture of uncooked octopus. Works for some people, not so much for me. The Sesame Tofu is cut from the same block as Kumagaiji, and the clear Soup is similar.

The Freeze-Dried Tofu is a bit different, adorned with blocks of sweet gluten, taro, and rice cake. The Soba is rather soft, made savory with potent slices of shiitake.

We slept soundly once again, but an early train made breakfast a lot less likely. They gave us onigiri with pickles so we could eat it on the go.

Once considered Japan's best-kept secret, there's no doubt that Koyasan is out. Unmistakeably a tourist-town but really, in the best way possible. Everyone's English is excellent, and the road are well-built, connected by timely buses. The streets are safe, and the shokudo are both peaceful and hospitable, giving you a taste of traditional Japanese and temple life. I do love an off-the-map experience, but thank goodness for the cable car.

Mangjyu - Koyasan

Vegetarian meals are on the lighter side so more room for me to snack.

Not much to snack on in Koyasan, not much stuff to eat outside the monasteries, except maybe the Mangjyu. Springy, mochi-esque texture but a little more firm. Sweet red bean filling, an adorable little niblet, buried in banana-leaf. At only 140 yen per mangjyu, it's impossible to have just one.

Kumagaiji - Koyasan, Japan

I'm not sad to be leaving Kyoto, but to go to Koyasan, you have to WANT to go to Koyasan. Four trains from Kyoto...with so... so many stairs.

The gorgeous greenery is your reward for making it to the final switch at Shin-Imamiya, touristy Kyoto and industrial Osaka long forgotten. The only skyscrapers are cloud-climbing trees, and the stops are so secluded that even the pocket wifi doesn't reach.

It takes nearly an hour of chugging around the mountains, but we make it to the cable car. Afraid of heights? The cable car is NOT for you. Shaped like a staircase for the vertical climb ahead, it will make you feel like you are literally falling off the face of the earth.

Still, the cable car is not the end. It is only after ten bus stops that we find ourselves at Kumagaiji, one of the 52 shukudo where we will spend the night.

The temples are in traditional Japanese style, with paper doors sliding open to reveal a series of no-shoes-no-problem tatami mats lining each room. Ryokan, it is not, but the service comes quite close. The common bath is like an onsen, cozy yukata are worn everywhere but the temple, and the monks serve meals right in your room. They collect your finished dishes and drag out a mattress right when the food coma starts to set in.

Shojin Ryori is the food of choice, and the monks eat like kings. Dinner starts off light, a clear Soup with slices of tofu skin. Their pride-and-joy Sesame Tofu is a dense, pasty, savory square; pure and rich. The Tempura is textbook, and the green tea salt trumps the finest dipping broth. The usual suspects are always welcome: eggplant, shishito, sweet potato, kabocha, but the lotus root is an added bonus. Small slices of Fried Gluten are tougher, purposely chewy and made to be mock meat. The slices are like a drier smoked tofu, a concentrated flavor best interspersed with bites of rice.

Cheese crusts half an Avocado on the second tray, rich enough to be a meal by itself. The sugared and suspiciously alcoholic plum Tomato is a palate-cleansing contrast, making room for the more rice to go with the fuzzy fronds of Pickled Fern. Freeze Dried Tofu is another Koyasan special, spongy cells soaked in sweetness; as much a dessert as the fresh chunks of Watermelon.

We crawl into bed by 9, exhausted from the trip, with morning services scheduled promptly at 630 AM.

Morning services are simple, yet no less spiritual, with a single chanting monk. The fire ceremony that follows is far more exciting, and I throw my wish, happiness, into the fire. As I watch the flames dance around my stick and feel the beat of the drums in my chest, I think that maybe my wish is already granted.

I'm still full from dinner when we sit down to breakfast, but the seductively simple spread looks too good to refuse. A few sips of green tea is an eye-opener, and a bowl of rice glides down with a sweet gluten and vegetable cake, pickled Bamboo Shoots, and swigs of Miso Soup.

We bid a brief goodbye to Kumagaiji, checking out and dragging our bags, just to check in elsewhere.

Honke Owariya - Kyoto, Japan

Kyoto is... Nothing like Tokyo. The pace is slower, the glut of tourists makes it easy to blend in, and the walk-slow-and-just-relax atmosphere is a stark contrast to the constant hustle and bustle.

There seems to be a struggle between the new Kyoto and the old. The classical architecture is well-preserved in tourist-town Gion, but move just a couple streets over, and skyscrapers dwarf the shrines. The temples and teahouses stand staunch, firmly defending the institutions that anchor Kyoto as a window into Japanese culture and all the tradition that entails.

Some traditions never get old, and Honke Owariya is one such tradition. Born in 1465, we can officially consider it a Kyoto institution, and today it still stands.

It's a pretty walk through a peaceful neighborhood from the subway, and the Rikyu-Fu is a warm-up to the soba of legends. Slices of spongy gluten, absorbent and squishy but firm, a harder, more assertive gefiltefish without the fish.

The Ten Siero features soba. Probably the common ancestor of all soba, textbook buckwheat, with tempura on the side.

Soba is not so filling, and tempura is light. Plenty of room for Tokoro Ten dessert. Gelatinous noodles that taste like nothing, adding texture to sweet red beans that taste like everything.

After seeing all the elegant women throughout my trip to Japan, I can only conclude that everything ages like Japanese women... so basically nothing ages. Honke Owariya is no exception. Good food is timeless, and it only gets better as it gets older.

Itoh Dining Kyoto - Kyoto, Japan

Will work for wagyu. Will also work through every other awful dish on Itoh's chef's choice menu to get to the only thing that matters.

It all starts with a boring Beef Tongue, which sets the tone for the lackluster meal. A snooze-worthy soy sauce-marinated beef is actually a little tough as whatever preparation made the tongue lose some of its tender texture. It sleeps on a bed of boiled whatever vegetables.

The Barley and Vegetables Soup tastes like Campbell's at its finest. Well-balanced in flavor and proportions, made in the finest microwave.

The Pate Brick is probably the worst thing I've ever had. Between the presentation and the contents, I felt like I was eating out of a garbage bag. At first, it looks like a drawstring purse. Then you open the purse and the bag bursts open, spilling what looks like something you scrape off a plate before placing it in a dishwasher.

There is a small, chewy chunk of white fish, tomato "pate" that bears an eerie resemblance to leftover spaghetti sauce, and a pulpy floret of broccoli on top.

The Grilled Black Cod with white miso sauce changes the course of the meal, with the thinnest crisp outside encasing a soft white flesh beneath. The cod and miso are cogent complements but must be combined with care as the miso can bulldoze the delicate filet.

Cranky after suffering through so many courses, I was starting to resent the steak. How much suffering is A4 Kuroge Wagyu really worth? The answer is A LOT. There may be no limit to how much I'm willing to suffer. Each pliable piece turns to juice and more juice, releasing an overpowering gamey, savory fragrance, as the marbling melts into liquid meat. There's nothing solid left by the time you swallow.

I would have been happy to end with the beef. The Strawberry Creme buried by berry is a pleasing pairing, but I didn't need the nice, forgettable dessert.

Far as I can see, Itoh only knows how to make one thing but they do make it very well. The rest of the menu is awful but at least I learned a lesson: Conciseness is not overrated, and next time I get wagyu beef, I'll remember to cut to the chase.

La Tiare - Kyoto, Japan

Fushimi Inari shrine is HOT. The arches throw a little shade but dehumidify, they do not. Cooling off is key, and La Tiare is a pretty good place to do just that.

The Mixed Fruit shaved ice is surprisingly exquisite for something served in a plastic cup. Delicate mango shavings with strawberry circles, the sugary sweetness is just the right combination of satisfying dessert and refreshing iced fruit infusion. It slides down so easy and smooth, you'll start to feel like you do the Taisha climb again.

Daiichi Asahi - Kyoto, Japan

Wow, the shinkansen, what a way to travel. Amtrak on crack, but smoother and without the half-hour delay, and we're only on the second fastest train.

The line at Daiishi Asahi moves at comparable speed considering its length, and an order of pan-fried Gyoza shoots out faster than I can say "Take me to Tokyo." The gyoza are shockingly good for faster food; lighter, juicier pork-and-scallion filling with an al dente wrapper done just right.

The prices are low for the quantity AND the quality. Even my mini-bowl has several slices of chashu stewing in the porky-rich broth lightened by just a hint of shoyu. The noodles are slightly slippery ropes, making slurping a must.

Slurping is a skill, and my splatter-free technique needs work. It is a genius method for cooling the broth before it burns your tongue, but how anyone slurps so fast without covering both themselves and the person next to them with broth is beyond me. The guy at the next table hoovered a large bowl in ten minutes, max, and his white shirt remained immaculate. I know this because I observed him closely while wiping stray droplets of broth from my chin, my hair, my forehead...and my ears. Perhaps I'll just stay in Japan until I learn to slurp.