In which Japan and I find common ground

The lights go on, A leads to B with an inevitable C to follow. All thanks to a handful of shredded fish, a sheet of konbu and 20 minutes of my day, once a week.

You can make everything, everything you need to fill out the background of a Japanese meal, in an hour on your Sunday. Dashi stock, the birth of Japanese food like chicken and beef stocks to the long dead Europeans, is so easy to make I might even go so far as to say that one almost could not screw up the process of making dashi. Hot, it takes 20 minutes and some minimal caretaking. But if you fear that even the act of flicking the burner to "on" is just too much danger for your haggard frame to handle, well friends and family there's a fascinating solution involving a pitcher, your fridge, and an overnight stay. The mother of Japanese cuisine, that tantalizing umami-filled fish broth is, when it all comes down to it, fish...fucking...tea. Where have you been, all my life.

An hour of planning saves a day of work;
Organization will set you free;
Cleanliness is next to godliness

My life has become the posterchild for the obvious revelations movement.

Expect their posters soon in a town near you—Soviet-style young towheaded sunburn grinning, marching out of his valley, planner in hand thrust triumphantly towards the heavens, while the crowd golf-claps and cheers in a patronizing tone.