手ちぎりこんにゃく　(英語版) Hand-Torn Konnyaku

At some point, cooking began to feel exhausting.
You spend time preparing a meal, and once it’s eaten, it’s over. Then you think about the next one. An endless cycle.

It wasn’t always like this.
When my children were young, I planned meals carefully, thought about nutrition, and tried to save money. There was a sense of purpose. Perhaps I had learned that attitude from my mother, who always cooked with care. I used to read cookbooks and bake cookies and cakes.

After retiring, I started working from home as an acupuncturist and English tutor. I go to the gym, enjoy swimming, Zumba, belly dance, and Tai Chi.

My interest in meals for just my husband and me has faded.
We gave up the car and now live by bicycle; grocery shopping is mostly led by him.

Still, I cook.
But nothing that requires a recipe. Only dishes I can make from memory, with approximate seasoning.

Today, I made Chikuzen-ni.
Burdock root, carrots, chicken, and konnyaku—simple and quick.

Then I remembered.

My mother used to tear konnyaku by hand.
“The rough edges help the flavor soak in,” she would say.

In winter, konnyaku is cold. Hands get cold and dry.
I used to do the same.

But today, without hesitation, I cut it with a knife.

Even if the flavor doesn’t soak in as well, it’s easier on my hands.

Perhaps my way of thinking has changed.

It’s not that I hate cooking.
I just want to spend whatever time I have left on things that truly interest and delight me.

And today, knife-cut konnyaku was enough.

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#Konnyaku
#ChikuzenNi
#LifeAfterRetirement
#SimpleLiving
#MemoriesOfMother
#EverydayCooking
#SeniorLife