14 March 2011. Dark night, rain in the morning. Thoughts about Japan.
Northern coastal town. Sendai. First heard the name from a woman in Yao-Ya San market, in El Cerrito, maybe a decade back. Package of dark brown miso, quite thick, salty, with pronounced texture. Distinct red characters set it apart there on the cooler shelf, to the right--easily recognized, even when not understood. I would take it to the counter. She would smile. "The best...!"
This weave of meanings...
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