A taste of the book: When Spring Moved into Söndrum

When the cherry trees outside my grandmother's house stood in full bloom, I knew spring had finally arrived. I can still recall the light, the colors and the faint scents that met me and welcomed life back after a long, gray Swedish winter. That particular feeling, of a fresh start and of deep tradition at the same time, is what I most want to share in my forthcoming cookbook. So today I am offering a small taste from the very first chapter of the book: Haru 春 (Spring).

This chapter is more than a collection of recipes. It is a journey back to my roots, and a tribute to the place where my understanding of Japanese culture took shape on Swedish soil.

A house that breathed Japan

In the book I take you to Söndrum, a district in the west of Halmstad. There, in a handsome house whose character and architecture set it clearly apart from the standard villas around it, was my second home. It carried a history of its own and had a certain dignity about it from the first glance, but the real magic only revealed itself once you climbed to the upper floor.

Up there, my grandparents had built a traditional Japanese room, a washitsu. It was a peaceful world of its own inside a Swedish house. I remember well how, as a child, I would often slip in there, always with a sense of reverence. I would sit inside just to take in the mild, slightly grassy scent of the woven tatami mats, and to look carefully through all of my grandmother's Japanese objects, each one placed with care. The smell of sandalwood incense hung in the room like a familiar, almost tangible veil, while Japanese voices came softly from the news on the television in the living room below. To a child it was a portal to another continent, right in the middle of Halland.

Hanami: celebrating the cherry blossom in Halland

One of the strongest and most beautiful memories I describe in the book is our family hanami celebration. Sakura, the Japanese cherry blossom, is far more than a pretty spring flower in Japan. It is a powerful cultural symbol of purity, of new beginnings, and above all of the fleeting beauty of life. It blooms intensely for only a few days before the petals fall like snow, a reminder to appreciate what is beautiful in the present moment, the idea known as mono no aware.

For our family, spring and the blossom meant gathering under the flowering trees in front of the house in Söndrum. My grandparents were firm that the tradition should be kept, whether the Swedish April offered sunshine or a cold wind.

We laid out generous hanami meals. There were always heaps of onigiri (perfectly shaped rice balls filled with salted salmon or umeboshi), beautifully rolled tamagoyaki (the sweet and salty Japanese omelet) and mountains of crisp karaage (Japanese fried chicken). And of course, in true Japanese spirit, we dragged the karaoke set out onto the lawn to celebrate loudly and happily together with friends and with the people who worked in the family business.

Two cultures meeting and merging

It was often a strange feeling, and at the same time completely natural. We were physically on Swedish ground, with Swedish grass underfoot, yet we lived and breathed Japan. Despite how little authentic Japanese produce the grocery shops carried back then, my grandmother and the other adults managed to build our own Japan in Sweden.

Through the food, through the language spoken around the table, and through that particular warmth in the air, I learned early to value the present and to stop at the small moments in life. I learned that food is more than nourishment; it is identity, culture, and a way of showing care.

Our yearly hanami still reminds us that nothing lasts forever, and that this is precisely why we have to enjoy the blossom while it is here. This chapter, Haru, is at heart a loving tribute to that fragility, to the force of tradition, and to roots that reach all the way from the islands of Japan, across the oceans, to a green garden in Halmstad on the Swedish west coast.

I truly hope that, once the book is printed, you will feel something of the stillness, gratitude and joy that those spring days gave me growing up. I am looking forward to sharing the rest of this story, and all the recipes that go with it, in "Nekko: Japan i Sverige".

Keep an eye on Nekko Journal for more glimpses, anecdotes and recipes from the book.