It has taken the worst recession since the war to force Japan’s kitchen-phobic white-collar workers, known as salarymen, to get in touch with their inner chef.
Falling wages, slashed bonuses and fear of redundancy have shrunk household budgets, and for a growing number of workers that means cutting down lunchtime trips to the local sushi or ramen joint. Instead, almost 10 percent of men now take bento boxed lunches to work in an attempt to save money, according to a survey by a Japanese bank.
And in a sign of the shifting power relationships in Japanese households, many of the men now seem happy to wake up early and cross the kitchen threshold to create their own bento ensemble, typically grilled fish, rice, pickles and an omelet, all lovingly arranged in a compartmentalized box.
Despite his popular image as a formidable corporate warrior during office hours, the average salaryman is far more docile when it comes to household finances. About 40 percent of salarymen hand over their monthly pay to their wives, who dish out pocket money for essentials such as lunch, manga comics, canned coffee, cigarettes and after-hours bonding sessions over beer and sake.
But, according to the survey, average monthly allowances have fallen over the past year to about 45,000 yen (US$490), well down on the 76,000 yen (US$830) at the height of Japan’s economic bubble almost 30 years ago.
The bento craze has spawned a new range of sleek black or metallic lunchboxes with matching chopsticks, clearly designed with the younger salaryman in mind.
Bento box sales in Tokyo have doubled over the past year as male office workers join aficionados among their female colleagues.
An array of books, including the bestselling Danshi Gohan (Food for Men), guide hapless amateur cooks through the minefield of assembling nutritious and aesthetically pleasing boxed lunches. Others get recipe advice from What Did You Eat Yesterday?, a manga about the dietary habits of two cohabiting men, or hone their cooking skills at weekly evening classes.
Masafumi Ono, a business software developer, eschews restaurant lunches in favor of a bento he makes himself. “I used to eat out all the time, but since I got married and had a child I have had to be more frugal,” he said as he settled down to lunch in the Tokyo sunshine.
Ono, 33, uses leftovers from the previous night’s dinner and reckons he is saving between US$220 and US$330 a month.
His bento comprises a rolled omelet, mini-hamburger, fish sausage, sauteed mushrooms, pickled radish and rice with seaweed on top.
Chuji Takeda, who works for a medical supplier, has been less ambitious. “My son is studying overseas, spending my money, so I have to count the pennies by making this sorry excuse for a bento,” the 49-year-old said as he looked down on his meager offering of rice ball, hard-boiled egg and pickles.
The intricately arranged bento of today is a far cry from the original version from the Kamakura period (1185 to 1333), which was often nothing more than a clump of dried or boiled rice eaten on the hoof.
The bento took on a more refined look around the 19th century, when rice balls were packed into woven bamboo boxes and consumed during breaks in Noh and Kabuki performances in theaters.
That US assistance was a model for Taiwan’s spectacular development success was early recognized by policymakers and analysts. In a report to the US Congress for the fiscal year 1962, former President John F. Kennedy noted Taiwan’s “rapid economic growth,” was “producing a substantial net gain in living.” Kennedy had a stake in Taiwan’s achievements and the US’ official development assistance (ODA) in general: In September 1961, his entreaty to make the 1960s a “decade of development,” and an accompanying proposal for dedicated legislation to this end, had been formalized by congressional passage of the Foreign Assistance Act. Two
Despite the intense sunshine, we were hardly breaking a sweat as we cruised along the flat, dedicated bike lane, well protected from the heat by a canopy of trees. The electric assist on the bikes likely made a difference, too. Far removed from the bustle and noise of the Taichung traffic, we admired the serene rural scenery, making our way over rivers, alongside rice paddies and through pear orchards. Our route for the day covered two bike paths that connect in Fengyuan District (豐原) and are best done together. The Hou-Feng Bike Path (后豐鐵馬道) runs southward from Houli District (后里) while the
President William Lai’s (賴清德) March 13 national security speech marked a turning point. He signaled that the government was finally getting serious about a whole-of-society approach to defending the nation. The presidential office summarized his speech succinctly: “President Lai introduced 17 major strategies to respond to five major national security and united front threats Taiwan now faces: China’s threat to national sovereignty, its threats from infiltration and espionage activities targeting Taiwan’s military, its threats aimed at obscuring the national identity of the people of Taiwan, its threats from united front infiltration into Taiwanese society through cross-strait exchanges, and its threats from
March 31 to April 6 On May 13, 1950, National Taiwan University Hospital otolaryngologist Su You-peng (蘇友鵬) was summoned to the director’s office. He thought someone had complained about him practicing the violin at night, but when he entered the room, he knew something was terribly wrong. He saw several burly men who appeared to be government secret agents, and three other resident doctors: internist Hsu Chiang (許強), dermatologist Hu Pao-chen (胡寶珍) and ophthalmologist Hu Hsin-lin (胡鑫麟). They were handcuffed, herded onto two jeeps and taken to the Secrecy Bureau (保密局) for questioning. Su was still in his doctor’s robes at