Neba Neba Okra, Neba Neba Nattō

My Love of Okra Did Not Prepare Me for Nattō

I love okra. I really do. I like it pickled. I like it in gumbo. I like it charcoal grilled on skewers and seasoned with plum vinegar. I’m not terribly fond of it battered and fried, but I quite like it in bhindi masala. I especially love it stir-fried with onions and plum tomatoes, and seasoned with salt and pepper. In this regard, I find that once again I am an outlier in my family.

Like many people, my children cannot get past the mouthfeel of okra. The slip! The slime! The goo! So with the exception of exuberant declarations about how much they dislike okra, all conversations about them actually eating okra pretty much end there. And I’m okay with that. More slip, slime and goo for me! 

As it turns out, okra is a favorite in Japan. It falls into a category of food called neba neba, an ideophone and adjective meaning “sticky” or “slimy” in texture. Neba neba foods include the aforementioned okra, satoimo (taro root), certain seaweeds and certain mushrooms but the most popular is nattō.

Like okra, nattō is massively nutritious and hugely polarizing. Made from fermented soybeans, nattō has a strong, almost pungent scent and comes in many different varieties. Color-wise it’s the definition of bland, we are talking 50 shades of beige, bland. It is meant to be stirred to enhance flavor and stickiness before consuming. After just a few turns of a chopstick, you get long thin strands of slick, almost translucent, fermented bean goo that somewhat mimics the appearance, but not the taste, of the strands of melted cheese that make a bridge between your mouth and a hot slice of pizza after taking a bite. And this is where I hit a brick wall.

Nattō is decidedly, unapologetically, extremely neba neba. I incorrectly assumed that being unbothered by the texture of okra would extend to nattō. But coupled with its distinct scent, nattō is a challenge for me. Every time I try nattō I feel like I have selected the dare option in an epicurean edition of Truth or Dare. The only upside is that for once I can empathize with those who just can’t stomach okra.

I’ve been in Japan for almost three years now and it finally occurred to me that if I am to ever overcome my aversion to nattō, I should employ the same technique recommended to parents by pediatricians when introducing new foods to picky toddlers. In other words, I ought to try nattō anywhere from five to 15 times before giving up on it for good. (Clearly I didn’t utilize this technique with my children, otherwise we’d be eating okra, tomatoes and onions for dinner tonight). 

Every time I try nattō I feel like I have selected the dare option in an epicurean edition of Truth or Dare.

Fortunately a friend suggested I try kuromame nattō, a variation made with black soybeans and wasabi. Black soybeans are purported to have a mild flavor and the prospect of wasabi made me hopeful. When preparing okra, adding an acid such as tomato, lemon juice or vinegar greatly reduces the mucilage that makes okra a no-go for so many. Highly acidic and packed with flavor, the addition of wasabi likely serves a similar purpose. Inspired, I purchased a package of kuromame nattō, brought it home and proceeded to actively ignore it, leaving it undisturbed in my refrigerator for almost 72 hours before finally giving it a go.

As I opened the container, I noted the smiling cartoon mascot on the side of the package and was grateful that at least one of us was optimistic. I removed the two small flavor packets from the container; one wasabi and one sweetened soy sauce and then removed the thin plastic wrapper that keeps the nattō from drying out and separates it from everything else. Grabbing a pair of chopsticks, I vigorously mixed everything together, hesitated for just a second longer and then took a very small bite. (The size of the bite is more a tell betraying my poor chopsticks skills than a response to the nattō.) To my surprise, I found I liked the flavor but I still could not get past the neba neba.

Nattō is decidedly, unapologetically, extremely neba neba.

The next day, ashamed that I’d only managed a single bite, I resolved to eat an entire container. In Japan, nattō is often eaten with rice at breakfast so even though it was well after the 5 o’clock chime, I scooped a serving of rice into a pretty bowl and  repeated the steps from yesterday. I placed the nattō over the rice and topped it with negi (green onions). Presentation is everything, amirite? I mixed it all together; the rice, the natto, and the negi, sat down at my table and proceeded to eat. The rice offset the neba neba and I was able to enjoy the complex flavor. I finished every bite.

Now I’ll be honest, I can think of a dozen other foods I would choose before I reach for nattō again but I like being able to speak with authority about the importance and pleasures of trying new foods. Meanwhile, I suspect my children will be a lot less enthusiastic about my new-found appreciation of nattō. Little do they know, Operation Okra will commence shortly, followed soon thereafter by Operation Nattō.

Give me five to 15 days and I will have them eating all things neba neba in no time.