The Slow Kitchen Podcast

Episode 18 - "What Japan Taught Me About How to Eat (Part 1)"

• Cat Dillon • Season 1 • Episode 18

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🌟 5 Key Takeaways

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  1. That summer in Japan, I didn’t just learn about food—I learned how to truly experience it.
  2. My first meal in Kyoto showed me that even the simplest food, when prepared with care, can feel extraordinary.
  3. Every meal had a quiet balance to it, and without even trying, my body began to relax into that rhythm.
  4. Whether it was a bowl of ramen on a rainy day or cooking with my students, food was never rushed—it was given attention.
  5. What stayed with me most was that food in Japan wasn’t just about eating—it was about respect, presence, and connection to everything around you.


đź“š Resources & Inspiration

Japanese Food Culture & Mindfulness


Mindful Eating Influences

  • Wabi Sabi Love: The Ancient Art of Finding Perfect Love in Imperfect Relationships

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SPEAKER_00

Hi everyone, and welcome back to the Slow Kitchen Podcast, your space to slow down, reconnect, and find a more nourishing way to eat and to live. I'm Kat Dylan, registered holistic nutritionist, former chef, and someone who is deeply passionate about the intersection of food, metabolism, hormones, and the lived experience of eating. Here we explore how to care for your body in a way that feels both supportive and sustainable through simple, beautiful meals, thoughtful habits, and a deeper awareness of what your body truly needs. There are certain times and places in your life that don't just stay in your memory, they stay in your body. For me, that place is Japan. The summer of 87, when I was 21, a university student, teaching English, and completely unaware that I was about to learn something so much deeper than language. I learned how to eat, not just food, but life. After being picked up from the airport, the family I was staying with took me out to a sushi bar. A complete surprise. And at that time, sushi wasn't what it is today, at least here in the US. Don't get me started, slight pet peep there. No elaborate funky rolls, no heavy sauces, just sheer simplicity. I remember sitting there with my tiny Panasonic camera, completely mesmerized by something as simple as the ginger on my plate. Long, slender, pale pink, perfect. And the sashimi, thick, beautiful cuts of fish, so fresh, almost glowing. I thought I understood presentation before that moment, balance of texture, flavor. But this was completely different level. That was my first real experience of what I now think of as respect for food. What struck me most wasn't just the taste, it was just how everything fit together. Like my breakfasts of steamed tofu, or sometimes fish and rice and pickles, and fermented soybeans, super rich in vitamin K and really good for the brain and for the heart and for the bones. And definitely advanced for my American palate at the time. Lunches during the rainy July days, I'd sit in this smoky little office I was told to spend time in. Monday to Saturday, a bit of a long work week, not to mention the 12-hour day. And honestly, stepping out whenever I could when everyone lit up. And then a gentleman would arrive on a scooter with a steaming bowl of ramen for each of us. Simple, warm, and oh my God, so satisfying. Dinners with the family were just as beautiful. Grilled saba, which is mackerel, brighted mountain potato, rice, vegetables, and seaweed salads, not the sugary kind you see now with bright green, but real hijiki, burdock roots, carrots, green onions, a little sesame sprinkle on top, freshly toasted. And everything had a place. And without even realizing it, my body relaxed into that. Are you a midlife woman struggling with energy crashes, sugar cravings, or frustrating weight shifts? Join me for my upcoming workshop with the Midlife Carb Map, Finding Your Sweet Spot. I'll walk you through exactly how to understand your body's carb needs, choose the right types, and time them so your energy stays steady, cravings are easier to manage, and your sleep improves. This isn't about restriction. It's a practical, hands-on approach that fits your life, your hormones, and your plate. I'll even show you how I do it myself. Take control, gain clarity, and find your carb sweet spot. Sign up now for this workshop on Thursday, the 26th of March at 11 o'clock Pacific Standard Time. Your body and soul will thank you. So it wasn't just the meals, it was everything around them. Sitting in cafes with iced coffee, they call it iced cookie, watching students and workers pass by on these little Vespas, tiny trucks, little white cars. It seemed like everybody had a white car. And mornings in a fishing village near Maizaru where I'd go out for a run, and the local women would laugh, covering their faces and wondering what the hell I was doing. One morning, a woman handed me a freshly steamed smelt right off the boat. It felt a little absurd that early in the morning, but I ate it, and oh my gosh, it was perfect. My students didn't just learn English from me. They taught me how to cook a little bit. I learned how to make okonomyaki, this beautiful savory pancake with seafood or pork or noodles and this tempura batter, and they top it with tonkatsu sauce and shave bonito. It's known as Japanese pizza. And it made us smile to eat it. But even in that joy, there was intention. Food wasn't rushed, it wasn't distracted, it was given utmost attention. There were things that I didn't understand at first. The structure, the formality, expectations. The family I stayed with was very protective, and it mattered to them how I was seen, where I went, and who I was with. And at the time I didn't fully understand it, but over time I began to see that it really wasn't about me being restricted in any way. It was about care, it was about respect and how your presence reflects on the people around you. I even made the mistake once with gift giving. And I remember that deep embarrassment. In Japan, giving a gift isn't just about generosity, it's about timing, thoughtfulness, and presentation. And I didn't really realize this. And I handed my gift, I think, at the wrong moment, in a way that felt maybe a little too casual at the time. And to them, it disrupted a subtle social balance. They frowned, not because the gift was bad, but because I guess it missed the careful context that makes gift giving meaningful. Just this internal awareness that I had missed something important. Japan teaches you like that, not by telling you, but by letting you feel it. And then there's matcha. I didn't fully understand it back then. I just knew I loved it. The color, the depth, the way it slowed everything down, even if I didn't have words for it yet. And now, all these years later, it's part of my everyday life. Yes, for the health benefits, the antioxidants, polyphenols, the support for metabolism, heart, brain health, but more than that, for the pause and care and presence it invites. And what I've come to realize is that matcha isn't just a drink from Japan, it's a philosophy. It's grown a certain way, prepared a certain way, experienced in a certain way. And at 21, I only scratched the surface. Now I see it completely differently. So next time I want to take you deeper into that world, how matcha is actually made, what to look for, what I personally drank, and why this simple green tea has stayed with me for all these years. That summer I was teaching at Fujita Gakwen, but truly, I was the student. I learned that food is not just about nutrients, it's about attention, connection, respect for the environment. I was only 21 and I had no idea how much that experience would shape how I live, how I eat, and how I teach today. And I know this, I will go back. This time, I will go to Tokyo with a bit of older eyes and the same sense of wonder. And before you go, I just want to say thank you so much for being here with me. I know how full life can be. And the fact that you chose to spend this time listening, it really does mean a lot. If something in this episode stayed with you, maybe reminded you of your own experience, or made you pause in a different way, share it with someone. Send it to a friend, a sister, someone you love, someone who might need that same moment. That's how this kind of work grows, just person to person. And I am so grateful that you're a part of it. See you next time.