Read Online Untangling My Chopsticks by Victoria Abbott Riccardi - Free Book Online
Authors: Victoria Abbott Riccardi
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roommates, she was a wealthy urbane Japanese woman married to an American diplomat and living in Kyoto. In addition to speaking perfect English, she understood the American culture and the art of networking.
I met her for tea one fall afternoon toward the end of November in her modern ranch-style home, surrounded by bonsai, with huge picture windows that looked out over the city. I had just come from my first Japanese language lesson at Nihongo Gakko, where my professor, Mr. Hideo, had filled my head with basic vocabulary words, such as taberu (eat), sensei (teacher), and kamera (camera). I was learning there were three types of Japanese words: indigenous, Chinese-derived, and those borrowed from modern foreign languages. The indigenous and Chinese-derived ones were words like taberu and sensei, which had no Latin roots and therefore needed to be memorized. The borrowed ones, however, were often taken from English and thus easy to remember, like kamera.
Because I was hoping to ask Florence for an onegai, or “favor” (indigenous word with no Latin root), I had brought her a tin ofDanish butter kukki, or “cookie” (borrowed English word). I also figured the sugar-topped knots and swirls would make a nice hostess gift, which Florence, in a distinctly non-Japanese manner, promptly opened and set out for us to enjoy with our brewed green tea. After polishing off a few knots, I asked her where I might study tea kaiseki.
It turned out Florence had an English-speaking Japanese friend, Mrs. Hisa, who was taking tea kaiseki classes at Mushanokoji, the same tea school the woman in the tourist office had mentioned.
The famous tea master, Sen no Rikyu—the one who had helped transform the tea ceremony in the sixteenth century—had three grandsons, each of whom established a Kyoto tea school to carry on Rikyu's unique art of tea.
Grandson Sen no Sosa established Omote Senke ( senke means “school”); Sen no Soshitsu established Ura Senke (written Urasenke, which has branches all over the world, including New York City); and Sen no Soshu founded Mushanokoji Senke. These three schools became and still are the leading tea schools in Kyoto, if not all of Japan.
Since the Heian period in the ninth century, art forms preserved their purity by being handed down through a highly skilled family, referred to simply as an ie (family). Over time, the term's definition changed slightly to mean the male head of a particular house (or school) of traditional arts. In turn, the term for that person became iemoto.
Florence told me she would call her friend to see if she would be willing to introduce me to Mushanokoji's iemoto at his earliest convenience. To my surprise and delight, later that evening Florence called back with the plan: Mrs. Hisa would meet me atMushanokoji on Friday at noon. She would show me the school, then present me to the iemoto, also called the Grand Tea Master.
For some schools of traditional arts, a person's lineage is often more highly regarded than the quality of his skills. But the Grand Tea Masters of the big three Kyoto tea schools are also heralded for their capabilities. They must train for decades to learn the art of the tea ceremony so perfectly it appears all but encoded in their genes.
Nowadays, men and women can study tea for a year or a lifetime, depending upon their level of commitment. As they progress up the tea ladder, they attain higher levels of expertise until they reach the topmost status of a tea master. But a male tea master, regardless of his expertise, will never become a Grand Tea Master, or iemoto, unless he is a descendant of Rikyu, or marries into the “house.”
During their training, male and female tea students learn the seamless choreographed movements necessary to boil water, measure out powdered green tea, and whip the two together with a small bamboo whisk to create thick and thin tea. To an outsider, this process sounds as simple as making a glass of instant lemonade.
Which
I met her for tea one fall afternoon toward the end of November in her modern ranch-style home, surrounded by bonsai, with huge picture windows that looked out over the city. I had just come from my first Japanese language lesson at Nihongo Gakko, where my professor, Mr. Hideo, had filled my head with basic vocabulary words, such as taberu (eat), sensei (teacher), and kamera (camera). I was learning there were three types of Japanese words: indigenous, Chinese-derived, and those borrowed from modern foreign languages. The indigenous and Chinese-derived ones were words like taberu and sensei, which had no Latin roots and therefore needed to be memorized. The borrowed ones, however, were often taken from English and thus easy to remember, like kamera.
Because I was hoping to ask Florence for an onegai, or “favor” (indigenous word with no Latin root), I had brought her a tin ofDanish butter kukki, or “cookie” (borrowed English word). I also figured the sugar-topped knots and swirls would make a nice hostess gift, which Florence, in a distinctly non-Japanese manner, promptly opened and set out for us to enjoy with our brewed green tea. After polishing off a few knots, I asked her where I might study tea kaiseki.
It turned out Florence had an English-speaking Japanese friend, Mrs. Hisa, who was taking tea kaiseki classes at Mushanokoji, the same tea school the woman in the tourist office had mentioned.
The famous tea master, Sen no Rikyu—the one who had helped transform the tea ceremony in the sixteenth century—had three grandsons, each of whom established a Kyoto tea school to carry on Rikyu's unique art of tea.
Grandson Sen no Sosa established Omote Senke ( senke means “school”); Sen no Soshitsu established Ura Senke (written Urasenke, which has branches all over the world, including New York City); and Sen no Soshu founded Mushanokoji Senke. These three schools became and still are the leading tea schools in Kyoto, if not all of Japan.
Since the Heian period in the ninth century, art forms preserved their purity by being handed down through a highly skilled family, referred to simply as an ie (family). Over time, the term's definition changed slightly to mean the male head of a particular house (or school) of traditional arts. In turn, the term for that person became iemoto.
Florence told me she would call her friend to see if she would be willing to introduce me to Mushanokoji's iemoto at his earliest convenience. To my surprise and delight, later that evening Florence called back with the plan: Mrs. Hisa would meet me atMushanokoji on Friday at noon. She would show me the school, then present me to the iemoto, also called the Grand Tea Master.
For some schools of traditional arts, a person's lineage is often more highly regarded than the quality of his skills. But the Grand Tea Masters of the big three Kyoto tea schools are also heralded for their capabilities. They must train for decades to learn the art of the tea ceremony so perfectly it appears all but encoded in their genes.
Nowadays, men and women can study tea for a year or a lifetime, depending upon their level of commitment. As they progress up the tea ladder, they attain higher levels of expertise until they reach the topmost status of a tea master. But a male tea master, regardless of his expertise, will never become a Grand Tea Master, or iemoto, unless he is a descendant of Rikyu, or marries into the “house.”
During their training, male and female tea students learn the seamless choreographed movements necessary to boil water, measure out powdered green tea, and whip the two together with a small bamboo whisk to create thick and thin tea. To an outsider, this process sounds as simple as making a glass of instant lemonade.
Which
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