Yoshiharu Ochida at work in
his Rogers Park storefront.
Photo: Marc PoKempner
May 2006
The Art of Tofu
In a Rogers Park storefront, a Japanese master keeps an ancient, organic tofu tradition alive
By Rose Spinelli
If you’re an enlightened consumer who is concerned about food safety issues, you probably shun genetically altered “frankenfoods” because nothing less than free-range will do.
No antibiotics, hormones, DDT or heavy metals for you. Perhaps you even have discovered the wonders of tofu and believe those little beige blocks of protein are a consistently safe and wholesome food source. The soybean is beyond reproach, you think, especially when labels beckon with phrases like “all natural,” a term that sounds reassuringly like “organic.”
But when it comes to tofu, not all tofu is equal. In fact, most brands that line the supermarket shelves and specialty stores sacrifice integrity somewhere along the food-chain continuum from farm to consumer. That’s right, the tofu you’re eating is probably made from genetically modified, chemically treated soybeans. But there is a way you can have your unadulterated nutrients and eat your tofu, too.
Buy Locally
On weekdays, Yoshiharu Ochida rises before dawn and repairs to an unsuspecting storefront in the Rogers Park neighborhood, just off a stretch of Clark Street dotted with dollar stores and taquerias. There, for the past 27 years, he’s been practicing a 2000-year-old art.
Ochida, who arrived in the U.S. in 1974, worked as a camera technician before heading back to his native Toyko to apprentice in a tofu shop because he “wanted to start a business that was interesting and useful.” He returned, established Mu Tofu and has since been providing local restaurants and grocery stores with his organic tofu, tempeh and soymilk.
It would be heartening to report that business is booming at Mu Tofu. But “It’s not so good right now,” Ochida said. In fact, sales are down by 30 percent since 1999, with no sign of a reversal in sight.
Why? “People complain the prices are too high,” he said. One pound of his tofu, which comes in super-soft, soft or firm, sells for about $2 dollars retail — that’s 50 percent higher than the locally made bricks sold in plastic sacks and readily available in most Asian shops throughout the city, and at least 25 percent higher than supermarket brands that boast huge automated capacity.
“It’s very hard to compete with the bigger makers, so we’re being squeezed out of the market,” Ochida said.
Tofu-making is often compared to cheese-making, in which milk is coagulated and the resulting curds are pressed into blocks. But for most Americans, it doesn’t have the artisan status that is accorded to, say, a nice imported parmigiano reggiano.
An Ancient Art
What makes Mu Tofu superior is not just the Midwest-raised organic soybeans but also the hands-on technique, which is difficult to master and can’t be fully automated. Japanese tofu uses the coagulant nigari, a natural mineral extracted from seawater. The nigari must be applied with a practiced hand as speed and stirring time determines the tofu’s texture and taste — a richer, more subtle sweetness than that of the higher-yield method used by the Chinese, the original tofu authors.
That’s not to say Ochida’s work is meditative or easy. On production days, the tiny shop is a din of decibel-breaking whirrs from grinder, pressure cooker and extractor. White clouds of wet, wheezing steam gulp the air. As production assistants William Francis and Corey Gibbs keep the process moving, Ochida hefts 23-gallon pots, catches streams of bubbling soymilk and scoops up pillowy curds onto cheesecloth for pressing. His unsquandered motions are fast, rhythmic and continuous and have left him with a lean and sinewy frame resembling that of a long-distance runner. “You don’t have to worry about working out,” he joked.
A Dying Art
Of course, Mu Tofu is not without its devotees. Tuesday is usually tempeh-making day, but on a recent Wednesday Ochida was busily filling a customer’s special tempeh order, preparing to ship a year’s supply to Wisconsin, where the customer will freeze and store it for future use. “There used to be shops like this in most college towns — Madison, Ann Arbor, Bloomington,” Ochida recalls. Today, he’s one of the few remaining.
Mu Tofu is the brand of choice for most of the respected vegetarian restaurants around town. The Chicago Diner has been a client from the beginning.
“He’s a master,” owner Mickey Hornick said simply. “We opened in 1983 and in the early years we used to scout out all our purveyors. Yoshi was organic before organic was in. We’ve been in his place. His quality is great and he has a lot of variety.” Hornick recalled a time when outside of California “no one was making super-soft, which we use for our cheesecakes …. Sometimes I get worried,” he lamented. “What are we going to do after he retires?”
Ochida worries too. Now 56, he’s getting tired. As Ochida contemplates retirement, he doesn’t want to give up on his tofu.
“With handmade tofu, there’s so much involved, the standards are so high.” He’s hoping to find the right person who shares his passion. “I would like to pass on my skill to someone who will continue this work, maybe update it, but without losing quality,” he said. “We’ve been doing something good for society here, for over 20 years, I believe. I don’t want to see it die.”
For more information on where to purchase Mu Tofu products, call Yoshi Ochida at 773-743-1929. Mu Tofu is located at 1735 W. Greenleaf Ave., Chicago.
Rose Spinelli is a Chicago-area writer.
![[Send]](http://consciouschoice.com/sendlink/send.gif){kind=small}
Recommend this page to a friend
Top Ten pages recommended to friends:
