DELICATESSEN HEARTBREAK

No matter how long we live abroad, how well we master the language, or how convincingly we nod at jokes we don’t quite understand, our stomachs eventually betray us. Assimilation may work on the outside, but deep inside, the gut is waving a little national flag and shouting, “Feed me what I grew up with!”

Take my Japanese wife. Though our daily meals are mostly Western, she is occasionally seized by an undeniable, primal urge for pickled plums or hot miso soup. And of course, that's completely natural.

By the same logic, I am periodically overcome by a fierce craving for the things I grew up with in Switzerland. And no, I don’t mean just chocolate or fondue (though they rank highly). I’m talking about a glorious spread of smelly cheese and cold cuts.

Now, when I moved to Japan decades ago, finding these things was impossible. The supermarket cheese section was essentially a shrine to processed slices wrapped in plastic – perfect if you’re making a convenience store sandwich, not so perfect if you want to re-create a proper Swiss-style cold supper.

Fast-forward to today: globalisation has worked its magic. You can now buy these things in Japan, but you'll pay handsomely for them. Imported cheese prices are so high that I sometimes wonder if it wouldn't be cheaper to fly to Zurich, buy a wheel of Emmental, and fly back with it in the seat next to me.

Mind you, these are not mainstream items. I still represent a tiny niche market in this country. That fact became painfully clear the other day. My wife and I had decided to treat ourselves to a Saturday "kitchen holiday": a cold supper of bread, cheese, and cold cuts. My mission was clear: I proudly marched into the local shopping centre.

The cheese hunt went well – I only needed to hand over the equivalent of Liechtentstein's GDP.

Next, I headed for the pièce de résistance: a platter of assorted cold cuts from our beloved delicatessen, Schmankerl.

Yes, the name’s German. And yes, it literally translates to “delicacy.” You don’t call yourself Schmankerl if you’re selling fish sticks.

My mind was set on their delightful selection of ham, salami, meatloaf and mortadella. A perfect companion for the cheeses I had bought.

My taste buds were already rehearsing a waltz when – bam! A boarded-up storefront. A cruel sign informed me that Schmankerl had permanently closed down.

I can't quite explain the heartbreak. It felt like preparing to meet George Clooney, only to discover he had sent his understudy from the local amateur theatre troupe instead. This wasn't my first loss, either; the only other decent cold-cut shop nearby had closed years before.

And here’s the lesson: what is absolutely normal in Switzerland – where every village butcher has enough cured meat to feed an army – remains a niche novelty here. Japanese shoppers love to try new things, but adoption is a different story. They’ll line up for hours when the shop opens, post photos on Instagram, then vanish as soon as the next latest trend hits.

But, you ask, surely there’s online shopping? Oh yes, there is. Amazon kindly informed me that I could have:

• 100g of Australian mortadella for the bargain price of US$ 18 (including shipping, hurrah!)

• Or, if I’m feeling extravagant, 500g of Italian mortadella for US$ 90.

That’s roughly 20 cents per gram. I don’t know about you, but I usually measure mortadella in millimetres of thickness, not by the equivalent of gold prices on the commodities market.

So here I am: stuck between my cravings and my wallet, torn between nostalgia and economics. Maybe the universe is trying to tell me something. Maybe it’s whispering, “Stick with rice.”

Or maybe it’s just laughing at the Swiss guy who still believes he can get a cold cut platter in Japan's capital without needing a financial advisor.

Until then, I’ll try to keep my cravings in check… though if anyone hears about a Schmankerl 2.0 opening somewhere, please let me know. My taste buds are starving for democracy in the delicatessen aisle.