Osechi cooking: Kobumaki with salmon & apricots, Stuffed Wishes for the New Year / 杏子とサーモンの昆布巻き

What Osechi Really Is

Osechi, or osechi-ryori, is often described simply as a Japanese New Year’s bento. While that description is technically correct, it barely scratches the surface.

Historically, osechi dates back to seasonal ceremonial foods prepared for important turning points of the year. Over time, it became closely associated with the New Year, a moment of renewal, rest, and hope. Traditionally, the dishes were prepared at the end of the year so that cooking could be minimized during the first days of January. This allowed those who usually cooked, often women of the household, to rest and begin the year with ease.

Osechi is eaten slowly over several days, shared with family, revisited again and again. It is not a single meal but a rhythm. Each box, each layer, carries intention.

From Formal Tradition to Everyday Choice

In contemporary Japan, osechi has changed. Store-bought osechi, once reserved for formal households, is now widely enjoyed. Department stores, supermarkets, and even convenience stores offer beautifully prepared boxes. For many families, this has made osechi more accessible, more casual, and less intimidating.

And yet, making osechi at home still makes a difference.

Not because it is more authentic, or more correct, but because of what the process teaches. Preparing osechi is an accumulation of small, fundamental cooking lessons: seasoning gently, adjusting as you go, understanding how ingredients behave over time, learning patience.

In that sense, osechi may be the ultimate home-cooked meal. It is not about speed or perfection. It is about care, repetition, and intention.

Kobumaki as a Vessel of Meaning

Among the many dishes found in osechi, kobumaki holds a special place.

Kobumaki, kombu rolls, are traditionally stuffed with dried herring and gently simmered. Kombu itself is rich with symbolism. The word “kobu” echoes “yorokobu,” meaning to rejoice. Its widening shape is said to represent happiness spreading outward. It is a dish that quietly carries joy.

Making kobumaki is an exercise in restraint. Ingredients are wrapped rather than exposed. Flavors are encouraged to mingle slowly. The act of tying with kampyo is both practical and symbolic, binding the contents and the wish together.

Adapting Tradition Abroad

Living abroad inevitably changes how traditions appear in the kitchen.

Dried herring is not always available, and so adaptation becomes not a compromise, but a continuation. This year, I returned to a familiar version, stuffing kombu with salmon and shredded ginger. The result is tender, rich, and deeply comforting.

Alongside it, I tried something new: thin shabu-shabu pork slices paired with dried apricot. It is not particularly traditional, but it felt aligned with the spirit of osechi. The gentle sweetness and slight bitterness of apricot balanced beautifully with the pork’s depth. A new discovery, and one I will remember.

What matters is not strict replication, but intention. The care taken in rolling, tying, simmering, and adjusting.

Chapter 5. The Quiet Technique Behind the Dish

Making kobumaki involves techniques that feel almost invisible when done well.

Quick-cooking kombu is soaked until pliable. Kampyo is massaged with salt and briefly boiled to soften. Ingredients are rolled tightly, tied securely, and arranged knot-side down in the pot.

The simmering is gentle. The seasoning is adjusted gradually. Pork and fish are cooked separately, respecting their differences. The goal is not intensity, but balance. By the end, everything is glossy, tender, and unified.

It is slow food in the truest sense, but never heavy.

Cooking as an Act of Enclosure

There is something deeply symbolic about stuffing and wrapping food at the end of the year.

It is not just about filling an ingredient. It is about enclosing wishes. Folding intentions inward. Allowing time and heat to do their work quietly.

As I cooked, I found myself thinking about a line from a film I once watched, where a performance made someone feel like the New Year had arrived. Sharp, clear, and full of promise. That feeling, slightly awkward to explain but instantly recognizable, surfaced again in the kitchen.

Perhaps that is what osechi does best. It creates a sense that something good might happen.

Why Handmade Still Matters

Tasting kobumaki while it is still warm is a privilege reserved for the maker. It is a small reward, but a meaningful one.

Store-bought osechi has its place. It allows more people to participate in the tradition, and that is a good thing. But making even one or two dishes at home anchors the season differently. It turns the New Year from a date into a process.

In that sense, osechi is not about abundance or display. It is about continuity. A quiet craft passed from hand to hand, year after year.

Quick flow in photo

シンガポールで作るお節：杏子とサーモンの昆布巻き

おせちは、日本のお正月に欠かせない家庭料理でありながら、時代とともに形を変えてきました。
いまでは市販のおせちも身近になり、気軽に楽しめる存在ですが、やはり手作りには特別な意味があります。
昆布巻きのように、食材を包み、結び、ゆっくり煮含める工程には、調味の基本や素材への向き合い方が詰まっています。
少量でも自分の手で用意すると、お正月の時間が少しだけ深く、静かに整う気がします。作り手だけが味わえる出来立ての一口も、そのご褒美のひとつです。