By Paul Hughes ( A wandering idiot!) Guest Post
When I first booked my summer backpacking trip to Japan, I had a rough plan — Tokyo, Kyoto, Osaka — the classics. I didn’t know I’d arrive in Kyoto right in the middle of Gion Matsuri, one of Japan’s oldest and grandest festivals. And I certainly didn’t expect that the best pork cutlet I’d ever eat — Tonkatsu — would be in a tiny back-alley restaurant run by an old Japanese lady with hands tougher than the soles of my hiking boots.
But that’s the beauty of travel, isn’t it? The best bits are the surprises.
Gion Matsuri: Where Time Slows Down and Floats Go By
Kyoto in July is hot. Like, “why did I even bring jeans?” kind of hot. But Gion Matsuri makes up for it in every possible way.
The whole city feels like it’s stepped back into history. Locals wear yukata (summer kimono), the streets are lit with paper lanterns, and there are these incredible floats — yamaboko — slowly parading through the city, pulled by teams of men in traditional clothing. Music, drums, bells, and the scent of festival food fill the air. It’s a slow, elegant kind of celebration, nothing wild, just centuries of culture on display.
As an outsider, I stood wide-eyed watching it all from the side of Shijō-dōri. A local man offered me a cold barley tea. Someone else handed me a fan. For a moment, I wasn’t just a tourist — I was part of it.
The Tiny Shop That Changed My View of Pork
After hours of walking, sweating, and being amazed, hunger hit me like a truck. I ducked into a small, nondescript alley near Yasaka Shrine and found a wooden sliding door with a faded curtain that said “とんかつ” (Tonkatsu). Inside was a tiny room with three tables, a counter, and the most determined-looking old lady I’ve ever met — her name was Oka-san (they just called her that, like “Mum”).
She didn’t speak English. I didn’t speak Japanese. But when I pointed at the menu and smiled, she gave a small nod and got to work.
When the plate came, I didn’t expect much — just fried pork and rice, right?
But when I took that first bite… crispy, juicy, tender, perfectly seasoned — I swear the festival outside disappeared for a moment. It was simple food made with care, and it hit the soul.
Later, I Learned to Make It Myself
I was staying at a cozy little Airbnb with a retired couple in Kyoto. The husband, Kenji-san, used to be a chef, and when I told him about my tonkatsu experience, he offered to teach me.
So here’s Kenji-san’s home-style Tonkatsu recipe, for anyone who wants a bit of Kyoto in their kitchen.
How to Make Classic Tonkatsu (Japanese Pork Cutlet)
Ingredients (for 2 servings):
- 2 boneless pork loin chops (about ½ inch thick)
- Salt and pepper
- ½ cup flour
- 1 egg (beaten)
- 1 cup panko breadcrumbs (Japanese breadcrumbs — makes a huge difference!)
- Oil for deep frying (vegetable or canola)
- Tonkatsu sauce (store-bought or homemade — see below)
- Shredded cabbage (for serving)
- Cooked Japanese rice (optional but ideal)
Instructions:
1. Prep the Pork
- Trim excess fat if needed.
- Use a meat mallet (or the back of a knife) to gently pound the pork to make it tender.
- Lightly season both sides with salt and pepper.
2. Set Up Your Coating Stations
- Place flour in one bowl, beaten egg in another, and panko in a third.
- Dredge pork in flour → dip in egg → press into panko until fully coated.
Kenji-san’s Tip: “Don’t press too hard. Let the panko sit light. That’s how it stays crispy.”
3. Fry It Right
- Heat oil in a deep pan to 170°C (340°F).
- Gently place pork into oil and fry for about 5 minutes total, flipping halfway.
- Remove and drain on paper towels or a wire rack.
4. Slice & Serve
- Slice into strips and serve with:
- Shredded cabbage
- Rice
- Tonkatsu sauce
Quick Homemade Tonkatsu Sauce:
Mix:
- 3 tbsp Worcestershire sauce
- 2 tbsp ketchup
- 1 tbsp soy sauce
- 1 tsp sugar
Stir well and adjust to taste. Done!
Why Tonkatsu Stuck With Me
Back home in England, we eat a lot of fried stuff — fish and chips, chicken, you name it. But Tonkatsu is something else. It’s not heavy or greasy. It’s balanced, clean, almost delicate — but still satisfying. It reminded me how powerful simple food can be when made with attention.
Every time I make it now, I remember that sweaty, magical night at Gion Matsuri. The paper lanterns, the sound of distant flutes, and that tiny shop with the old woman who said nothing but gave me one of the best meals of my life.
If you ever find yourself in Kyoto in July, let the festival carry you through the streets — and when you get hungry, don’t look for a famous name. Just follow your nose down a quiet lane. You might just find your own little slice of magic.
