A bowl of miso soup rights the wrongs. Lift the bowl to your lips, inhale briefly, take a sip of the deeply savoury liquor, and suddenly all is good with the world once more. It's the hot broth, of course – hearty, fruity, virtually beefy in its intensity, perfectly clear when still then intriguingly cloudy once stirred, but there's more to it than that. The feel of the smooth lacquer bowl in your hands, hearing the occasional whisper that emanates from the tight, steam-freckled lid, and the smell, that is for me the essence of Japan, bring with them a serene pleasure. Then there's the steam that rises from the surface and the gently swirling patterns of the miso in the clear stock as you sip.
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