Toyama is a place by the sea, so it follows that fish and seafood products have a long and illustrious history here. Today we’re going to go try our hand at making kamaboko (かまぼこ), that savory steamed fish cake that you’ve seen floating in your ramen, chopped up in your yakisoba, or served straight-up with any number of Japanese meals.
Mizuhashi, a rural suburb swallowed up by Toyama City, to its east, is the home to rather a few kamaboko factories. We’re going to hit Umekama, who is kind enough to offer visitors the opportunity to make their own kamaboko, as well as host a small museum explaining the history and techniques of this seafood staple.
Mizuhashi Station is only two stops east of Toyama Station on JR’s Hokuriku Line (10 minutes, ￥240), so getting that far is easy enough. As ever in the countryside of Japan, buses theoretically exist but rarely come and frankly can’t be counted on to get you anywhere in a convenient fashion. If you do manage the decipher the bus schedule, find the right stop (probably the one on the south side of the road, east of the station?), and have the timing and/or patience to catch an actual ride on an actual bus, get off 4–5 minutes later at the Komura-something-or-other-mae stop.
Assuming you’ve found your way through the rice fields and arrived at Umekama’s factory, head into the U-mei-kan — the main door with the huge styrofoam kamaboko fish and rolls beside it. Check in at the desk, because you’ve made a reservation for your and your at least three friends by emailing eigyou@umekama.co.jp or calling 076–479–1853, right? Sadly, I was a special case: they don’t tend to offer the hands-on making experience to groups numbering fewer than four.
The museum and factory observation window appear to be open to anyone, provided it’s between 9am–4pm, not Wednesday, not New Years, and maybe not on holidays (website has conflicting information). The kamaboko making has it’s own hours: 9:30am–12pm, 1pm–3pm; closed Sundays, Wednesdays, holidays, and December (their busy season). It’ll also run you ￥1400/person and take about 40 minutes for the whole deal.
You’ll get a brief presentation (with slides in English, no less) about the history and making of kamaboko, and then perhaps an equally brief tour around the museum and viewing window. Kamaboko has been made from a huge variety of fish for many hundreds, if not a thousand or two, years, and you’ll get some idea of the implements and involved process that go into making the stuff, historically and modern-wise.
In any case, the short explanation of the modern process is: catch some fish, clean them and take out the inedible parts, grind them up into surimi (すり身), package them on the boat, freeze the suckers, ship them off to factories where it’s combine with other types of surimi, add solidifiers, coloring, and flavoring, shape it in a mold, steam it in an enormous cabinet, and then optionally add extra decorations before perhaps another round in the steamer. Package it up and it’s ready for sale. Phew.
In Toyama, at least, large tai-shaped (sea-bream) kamaboko are considered to be auspicious gifts and you’ll often find enormous ones at weddings. Guests are given a section of it for the road, with your relative importance dictating how close your piece is to the head of the fish. Fish-shaped fish product equals good luck!
When it’s your turn to decorate one of these bad boys, you’ll be taken through the back and be asked to suit up in a sanitary outfit before you can enter the factory floor. I looked smoking hot in that thing, let me tell you. You’ll also have to switch into rubber boots, wash your hands, roll off any lint from your suit, and wade through a small pond. No kidding.
You’ll be presented with a semi-cooked fish and an assortment of pasty tubes filled with various colors of fish paste. Grab, twist, and squeeze a design out on to your fish. Mine went idiotically neon. Stupid rave fish.
They’ll cook your kamaboko and bring it out to you piping hot. I guess you could eat it now, but they’ll also package it up for you to hit the road with. While you’re waiting the 20 minutes or so, peruse their selection of conveniently packaged and professionally made products! Also, they’ve got some interesting rice/kamaboko roll things that you put in a microwave? Curry flavor one was good, as it goes.
After you’ve had your fill, head back to Mizuhashi Station by whatever means of transport you arranged. Since it’s June, the irises are blooming all around, so we’re going to visit the ones in Namerikawa’s Gyōden Park (行田公園, Gyōden-kōen). From Mizuhashi Station to Namerikawa Station by train is only one stop, 5 minutes, and ￥190.
Once you’ve arrived in Namerikawa, there’s another tiny and confusing bus to fiddle with, if you so desire. Watch that you get the Community Bus and not the larger bus, when you catch it from the north side stop. Otherwise, it’s a pleasant 15 minute walk southeast from the station to the park.
Gyōden Park is home to at least four thousand irises, separated out into several different paddies around the grounds. The variety is largely the purple and white hanashōbu (花菖蒲, Japanese iris).
This park is essentially a swamp, though its spring water was named one of the “Heisei 100 Famous Waters”, meaning it’s effectively in the top 100 of the famous waters of Japan. Because water can be famous and delicious here. In any case, this park is great for an atmospheric stroll, no matter the season, though the irises tend to bloom from mid-June until the end of the month.
Perhaps you could even procure some soy sauce and have yourself a kamaboko picnic, enjoying the rainy season as best one can.