Kazunoko (数の子, seasoned herring roe)

Kazunoko looks like a small gold ingot and sounds like dry snow under the teeth. That crisp little crackle is the whole point. For New Year, we put it in the jubako, the stacked lacquer box, because the countless eggs carry an old wish: many children, many years, the household continuing without fuss. A serious wish, packed into a bite you can make while the kettle behaves itself.

The fear is the salt. Salted herring roe comes to you preserved, firm, and far too sharp to eat as it is. Soaking is not a nuisance step, it's the dish. Draw out too little salt and the roe tastes briny and hard. Draw out too much and it turns flat, with no backbone for the dashi to hold. The first secret is to soak it in weak salt water, not plain water, because a gentle brine pulls the harshness out evenly without making the roe taste washed and tired.

After that, there's almost no cooking. Make a clear dashi, season it lightly with soy and mirin, cool it, and let the peeled roe rest in it overnight. The marinade should support, not cover. Nothing hidden. When it's right, the pieces stay golden, the beads crunch cleanly, and the flavor is quiet enough to sit beside kuromame, datemaki, and the other New Year dishes without elbowing them off the tray.

Serve it restrained. Three short pieces, a pinch of katsuobushi if you like, a sliver of yuzu peel if the citrus is good. Leave it room. Osechi is not a heap of lucky things, however tempting luck may be. It is the method, not the menu: each little dish carrying its work clearly.