A broth of dashi (kombu seaweed and bonito flakes) enriched with a spoonful of miso paste, garnished with tofu and wakame. Comforting, salty, deeply umami: the bowl that opens every Japanese day.

Why this dish? Tabei grew up in Miharu, Fukushima Prefecture, in a modest family of seven children. Miso soup, prepared each morning with dashi and a few garden vegetables, was the unchanging foundation of the post-war family table — the first warmth of the day before school and the early mountain hikes.

At home in Miharu, the morning always began with the sound of my mother dissolving miso into the broth. There were seven of us children, so we needed little: a bit of seaweed, finely cut tofu, and that brown paste that smells of soybeans. I was taught one rule I never forgot, even later on glaciers: never let the soup boil once the miso is added, or its fragrance flees. I assure you, a steaming bowl is the strength of an entire morning.

How it was made : In rural Japan before and after the war, miso was often homemade, fermented in large jars to last the winter. Dashi was prepared from whatever was available; modest families sometimes used simple dried sardines (niboshi) instead of bonito.

The contemporary twist : Add enoki mushrooms and a drizzle of toasted sesame oil: a 'high-altitude miso' served warm in a thermos cup, as a nod to Tabei's bivouacs.

Junko Tabei · Charactorium