A good friend who somehow profited from a little business advice from this writer thanked three column writers with a trip to Hokkaido in Japan.
Not having been there before, he asked me to draw the itinerary, and so I mapped out visits to Hakodate, Niseko and of course, the capital, Sapporo. I have been to Sapporo and neighboring Otaru in the past, but this was my first time to Hokkaido’s ski capital along Mt. Yotei, and Japan’s old shipping center, Hakodate.
The trip was memorable, not only for the magnificent vistas, the feel of powdery-soft snow and the sub-zero temperatures this time of the year, but because it gave me and my travel companions a glimpse into the real Japan, far from the commercial glitz of Tokyo, the shopping madness of Osaka, or even the ancient grandeur that is Kyoto.
What impressed me most throughout this visit to Japan, my umpteenth to this beautiful country, was getting real proof of the admirable work ethic that has made this Asian country a giant in the whole world.
Our tour guide was also our van driver, a lady at that, whose friendly solicitude made up for her halting spoken English. One of our travel members noted that if we were in the Philippines, we would have a silent male driver and a female tour guide, while in Hokaido, both were rolled into one.
In Otaru, one of Hokaido’s port, we went to a small ramen restaurant because one of us hankered for tantan men. Lo and behold, we had a most delicious ramen in a small nondescript place beside the wharf, owned and managed by a duo of husband and wife in their seventies, still faithfully cooking the same recipe handed down to them by their fathers. Husband prepared the broth painstakingly through the night to steaming perfection by day, and served us a bowl of ramen so good. Wife fried the frozen gyoza and within our sight, steamed the dumplings appropriately, so that we had crunchy bottoms and soft tops where the vinegar and spiced sesame permeated perfectly.
Just two of them, doing what they did best through all of 40 years since they started their mom-and-pop operation, and doing it with such grace and dedication to craft one rarely sees in these jaded times. Wonderful!
Later, cutting a long land trip from Hakodate back to Sapporo, we stopped by a small yaki-niku restaurant near Lake Pokoroko in Shiraoi, which prides itself with the finest wagyu in Hokkaido.
In a bigger restaurant with more tables, there were just four people working in the eatery: a butcher who prepared the meat, a waitress who likewise prepared the salad and the oshinko (pickled vegetables which always complement a good Japanese meal, my favorites being the ones they prepare in Kyoto), a helper who made sure the charcoal brazier was cleaned and oiled, and another, a young lass who cleaned the tables and everything else—all in the family.
The yaki-niku was simply great, whether one grilled the marbled rib-eye or the leaner rump, so tender, so buttery. The greatest surprise was the price, which was much, much lower than what one would pay in exclusive Tsukiji on Pasay Road, or even the more affordable variants in Makati or BGC.
Mom and pop, with kids helping. The quintessential work ethic of the Japanese!
There are many other stories descriptive of a work ethic one rarely sees in our country that I have personally witnessed: in a restaurant at the ground floor of the Limmathof in Zurich, a mom-and-son restaurant in Barcelona, a poor farm-hand who triumphed through dint of hard work to become one of Taiwan’s wealthiest men.
The secret is simple—hard work. Dedication to craft or profession. A single-minded pursuit of excellence.
The Otaru tan-tanmen was something that people who tried it once would come hankering for more. The Shiraoi beef that strived for excellence to compete with more well-known wagyu from Kobe. Or the Kaohsiung farmer who painstakingly grafted guapple and native pink guavas into a crunchy fruit with a soft oh-so-sweet center. Or the Furano farmer who harvests the sweetest, juiciest melons even if they cost an arm and a leg.
Back in Taipei after a few days in Hokkaido, I went to another mom-and-pop noodle house, far from the beaten track but recognized even by the great chefs of France for its pursuit of gustatory excellence.
One rues the fact that save for a few places like Lukban in Quezon or Vigan in Ilocos Sur, the other provincial food trips have been bastardized by fast-food joints which have killed the family-type operations which served good native food. Just look at Baguio and Session Road, “killed” by behemoth SM appropriating what used to be genteel Pines Hotel on the hill overlooking the city.
What is the common denominator of these success stories now lost in the Philippine landscape?
Hard work. Patience and perseverance. An obsession for excellence. And a market that demands excellence as well, not ersatz food; not can-do quality. Not mass-produced mediocrity.
The same obsession that made the Formosa Group a world-renowned brand. Visiting their Mailiao complex in central Taiwan together with some businessmen and congressmen last week, one marvels at how patience, hard work, vision and perseverance transformed this company into one of the world’s topnotch producer of petro-chemicals, resins, poly-vinyls and heavy industries, especially when told that the founder had not even finished high school!
Would that we had this kind of work ethic.
Not if we continue with the “bahala na” attitude. Or “pwede na ‘yan.” Or a consumer market that does not appreciate native goodness and would rather embrace foreign crap. And a business elite whose only driving force is to give the market whatever it wants, without guiding them into what it should want.
★★★★★
This weekend we will commemorate once again the Edsa revolt that once upon a generation made us feel so proud. Thirty-one years, and what have we to show for it? Time for us to reflect.