Natto

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Fuck. 

Last week I was at a super weird bar in an alleyway of Hakodate, Hokkaido. The bar is run by a jovial Master and his wife. Locals and regulars fill the seats. I met some random salarymen, had a glorious time. Too much sake and sochu were had. In my drunken haze I think I asked one of the salarymen who turned out to be a natto distributor to send me natto.

Well. Not even seven days later, a box arrived filled with six three-pack variations of Hokkaido soy bean natto I’ve never seen before.

One problem: natto is extremely difficult for me. Which is the grown-up way of saying I HATE NATTO.

It smells like socks worn by someone who went bowling, hiking, ice skating, then finished off those activities by marathoning cross country in socks he’s worn since childhood. Natto really stinks.

And can we talk about texture? It’s slimy and gooey and the fermentation coats your entire mouth. GROSS.

I just… can’t. Or I CAN’T EVEN as the kids are saying these days.

And now I feel like utter shit because a stranger shipped what seems to be some out of control high quality natto, just because he was kind. (And probably felt obligated to.)

Anyone want these? First come, first serve.
Or perhaps this will be a good chance to re-visit challenging myself to consume these nasty things.

😦

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