I spent my childhood in a bustling metropolis known as Mito, located north of Tokyo. As the New Year approached, my mother would busy herself in the kitchen, making osechi ryori, a variety of cold dishes we'd share with visitors wishing us a prosperous year. But New Year's Day was a private affair; a day to spend with family and enjoy a comforting bowl of ozoni, a special New Year's soup prepared with dashi or miso broth, an array of vegetables, and small serving of meat or fish cake, all crowned with grilled mochi.

In our home, my mother handled most of the cooking, but the task of preparing the ozoni fell to my father, the family accountant. His office was an extension of our home, where he'd perch the mochi on top of the gas heater to delicately grill it. I recall the joy from my younger years as I intently watched my father work his magic. Meanwhile, my mother would prepare a warming dashi broth with a mixture of carrots and yam or potato, giving it the final touch with a splash of soy sauce. Once the mochi was perfectly grilled, my father would bring it inside, and we’d all get our share.

Ozoni is far from complex. It doesn’t demand grand culinary skills or intricate techniques. Yet, for me - and for many others in Japan - it’s a dish steeped in memories, with each person having their unique ozoni tale. After moving to the United States and starting my own family, I began the tradition of preparing ozoni for my wife and kids every New Year's in our home in Chicago. The dish comprises square mochi, chicken protein, carrots, possibly taro root, shiitake mushrooms, and a hint of spinach for color. It's the first meal we relish every New Year's Day.

While the dish is simple and not overly seasoned, its importance goes beyond just food. It symbolizes shared memories and traditions. Each Japanese person will have their own unique stories associated with ozoni, about these precious moments spent with family. It’s not an everyday dish, but rather an annual reminder of our shared history. Every time you make it, something changes, a new chapter is added to the story.

When I prepare ozoni, I painstakingly adhere to my father's method, it’s a homage to his memory. The dish may not be about showcasing creativity, but I am content keeping it as it is. It's a fond reminder of my roots, a tangible link to a cherished past.