With a Mother's Touch*

Thank goodness I am not a mother living in Japan, for my child would have been ridiculed had s/he been given the bento box I made for my partner during our Obento exchange. As a sign of a Japanese mother’s love towards her child, the technique is not taken lightly or carelessly executed, but rather a significant and important art form created through love from a mother to a child.
When Dr. Andrea G. Arai, a visiting scholar in anthropology of Japan, came to visit our class to discuss the history of food and in Japan, specifically to discuss Obento making skills and their importance within Japanese society, I had not the slightest idea how important Obento boxes were to both the mother and the child. Aesthetically arranged courses, situated in a tiny container is not your ordinary lunch, but rather, “highly crafted elaborations of food: a multitude of miniature portions, artistically designed and precisely arranged, in a container that is sturdy and cute” (Allison, Anne, “The Obento as State Ideological Apparatus pg. 195). Preparation/thought, time and attention, go into each obento—arranging shapes, sizes and contrasting colors next to one another, all to be eaten quickly by the child during lunch. Notice my use of the person, ‘mother’. Although fathers could and do sometimes fix obentos for their children, more commonly it as seen as a mother’s job to not only provide a nutritious and filling meal for her child, but also to affirm that she is a good mother.
Without delving into gender roles within Japanese society regarding Obentos, the love, effort, and lunch making efforts make me reevaluate my appreciation towards my parents and their packed shack lunches for me. Inside my lunchbox and eventually my brown paper bag, I commonly found: a turkey sandwich, an apple, yogurt, fruit snacks/wheat thins and occasionally something to drink. Sometimes I’d find a note from my mom with a smiley face on a napkin wishing me a good day, and other times I’d get the great bagel sandwich my dad would make for me that everyone always wanted a bite of. Whatever the meal may be, I was always taken care of and I thank my parents graciously now for all their efforts for so many years.
As for my lunch on our Obento making day—there was love and attention, but nothing like a mother’s. I tried adding a variety of textures and foods, colors and eye appealing arrangements for my partner, but it ended up looking like a silly face with a swollen nose. I felt bad while assembling my Obento as well because although I washed my hands, I felt that most of the time I was molesting the rice and other ingredients just to fit into the Tupperware. I think that distracted me from ‘the love’ and the true nature of the Obento. My apologies Greg if it tasted yucky.