This New Year’s Day I was reminded of the New Year’s Days of my childhood. These have been days filled with joyful memories. 

I grew up in a large, two-storey, five-bedroom house on a mountainside suburb in Japan. I was living with my parents, grandparents and a younger sister. 

We had a big drawing room facing a backyard. 

For special occasions, such as New Year’s Day, we put a large ebony table in that room to welcome guests. Setting that grand table at the end of the year was a sign that the biggest celebration of the year was approaching.

In the morning of January 1st, grandma served the rest of the family a cup of Kombucha tea and some Higashi sweets. I always liked to see the warm Kombucha being poured onto a dried plum in a special tea cup. I enjoyed its subtle aroma: It was a smell that I have always associated with the beginning of a new year.

New Year’s Day also meant that I can see my two cousins. We were very close then. We played together quite often. When we grew older, grandma joined us for a game of cards. Actually, she was the one who taught us the concept of gambling. (And I was very shocked to learn how adults played risky games.) 

During the day, relatives, neighbors, and employees from my grandpa’s company visited us to exchange New Year’s greetings. 

While grandpa treated them with sake or beer (often both of them), mom and aunt prepared an Osechi feast.

Grilled sea bream, boiled prawns, beans, dried anchovies, mushrooms, rolled eggs, chestnut paste, fish sausages and various vegetable. Many dishes embellished the table. I was generally asked to serve these dishes to the table. I was proud of that role.

Counting my grandparents, my parents, my sister, my cousins and uncles, we numbered ten. After guests left the house, we sat around the table and enjoyed food with great gusto. We ate until we were unable to take another bite. 

“I’m drunk!” declared grandma.

After having a few glasses of sake, grandma would always start singing and laughing cheery. She would typically grab one of her grandchildren, and repeat.

“You have to remember how your grandma treated you with delicious food. I want you to remember me with images of food and good fun when I die.”

We, four of her grandchildren, always said to her; Yes, we will remember. Thank you grandma. We love you. 

“Promise me, that you will remember this”. She kept saying with a glass of sake in her hand.

Those days are long gone. The family home was sold out after grandma passed away. I haven’t seen my cousins for years. 

There is no room for a large table in neither the apartment that my mom or dad have. I didn’t even have a chance to have Osechi this year as I am living in Sydney. 

But I still remember grandma. Her laughter and singing. And also, of course, the delicious food.