Why the Natto Bean Wrapper Encapsulates Japan

Pardon the pun....

Today’s blog takes a look at one of the world’s most unique and interesting cultures - Japan. It draws on my experience from spending three months there, a period of time where I endured a sustained, unending culture shock. Japan has layers to it. Seemingly, unending. Just when you think you’re on top of things, your friend invites you to an “idol” concert where grown men pay money to talk and hold hands with young female performers. It’s confusing - a sprawling megalomania of fascination and sub-cultures on sub-cultures. Today I look at one of Japan’s underpinning cultural values.

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I burst out laughing the other morning as I stood alone in the kitchen preparing Natto beans.

I looked down at the sauce sachet that comes with the beans, for the first time noticing an important detail:

Can you see it? Perhaps you can’t…

Let me show you.

Japan has a particularly keen sense of detail. The Konbini (convenience store) - the same place you buy booze, condoms and chips - often plays smooth jazz. On a night out at your favourite izakaya, beverages will contain stirring sticks with little smiley faces engraved into the tips of the handles. Every train station in Tokyo has a delightful unique chime that makes you feel welcome at your home stop every time. On a Sunday morning, you’ll see a stray beer can rattling down the street and only then realise you haven’t seen any rubbish all week - in a city harbouring the densest population on Earth. 

It’s fascinating. And these are somewhat trivial examples. Art, food, architecture, fashion, cars, all the good stuff - follow the same trend.

In the early stages of my stay, I wasn’t yet aware of this sweeping idiosyncrasy, resulting in my becoming a bit cross- quite cross, in fact. Searching for a barber in Tokyo, I could only find prices that were double what I expected to pay.

Most things are cheaper in Japan compared with Australia - food, drinks, clothes - but these barbers were double the price of their Australian counterparts. The price parity I had spent the last month diligently constructing through the purchase of crisp Uniqlo pants and 400 Yen cling-wrapped “dinners” from 7-Eleven, was shattered.

As a matter of stubbornness, I put in some serious research to find the one, a guardian who could uphold my precious price parity. There he was! Charging 2000 yen ($20) for a haircut, whereas every other barber charged at least 6300 Yen ($60). 

My man!

I read the reviews and felt satisfied. There was one in particular, which read: “The sharpness of the scissors is bad.” More on this later.

It felt like a leap of faith going to the cheapest, most run-down barber as a Gaijin (Japanese slang for foreigners), and showing them some pictures and translated descriptions.

So I sat down in the chair, a condensation of sweat materialising in my palms, fearful of how I might look in 30 minutes. I asked for a fade on my sides, expecting him to use an electric shaver - they’re millimetre-specific after all! 

Instead, he drew a pair of scissors.

This is it! I thought to myself. He’s going to fuck my shit up!

I raised a hand, “Sorry, um, I want a fade.”

“A faaaaade,” I said.

He laughed.

Then circled me, how Michelangelo would have his sculptures, mumbling, grunting, eyes clear and attentive, before snipping away, meticulous and precise, each snip alleviating the tension inside me.

He nailed it, replicating exactly the image I had shown him. Brandishing a cheeky grin at the end he kept saying - “deja vu”.

At the bottom of this great leap of faith, it turned out, was a bed of pillows, metres deep, made from the softest of duck feathers.

And there was something else - something I thought wasn’t possible. On the train home, I realised I hadn’t scratched the back of my neck once.

Not once!

There are always little bits of hair prickling the back of my neck after the barber. Mr fade-free-handed just changed my world.

I also recalled that review:

“The sharpness of the scissors is bad.”

What originally appeared as A-grade nitpicking now made complete sense. The people of Japan are innately attuned to the finer details, demanding high quality, all the way down to the sharpness of scissors.

In my frugal stubbornness, all I had proved is that there is no parity whatsoever between Australian and Japanese barbers. Their meticulous attention to detail is unmatched.

And this extends to everything in Japanese society - even Natto bean wrappers.

When I looked down at my Natto bean wrapper some 8 months later, it was hard not to burst out laughing. It brought me straight back to the Japanese guy who perfectly faded my hair using scissors.

If you look at the wrapper you’ll see that the left side extends further. When you slice the top off it creates the effect of an icing piping bag, allowing you to squeeze all of the sauce out perfectly. 

To save you from scrolling.

I had been cooking these beans for weeks and kept wondering how I was slicing them so well.

Jokes on me!

I hope the day comes when I read a review for a barber in Australia who complains about a set of scissors that weren’t quite sharp enough, or that the wrapper for my 2-minute noodle sachet is made as meticulously as the Natto beans - that’s when I’ll know we’ve caught up. 

But, it won’t. 

And that’s exactly why you must visit Japan.