The signs of boredom on this first morning in Morioka are manifest. Arriving ill-equipped for the pouring rain, there is a limit to how much interest can be squeezed from the otherwise admirable station facilities. After two hours of window- shopping and an over-surfeit of canned coffees, I'm ready for the wet walk to my hotel.

Strolling, even in the heavy rain, turns out to be a good idea, a chance to reconnoiter the city prior to what promises to be more clement weather on the morrow. For now though, I'm resigned to watching my map dissolve into a sodden ball in the downpour, listening to Iwate-ben — the incomprehensible local dialect here in Japan's northern Iwate Prefecture — and that worst of all signs of chronic understimulation: the act of contemplating dinner.

At first sight, the contemporary city pales against the majestic backdrop of its volcano, Mount Iwate. Sometimes referred to as Nambu Fuji (after the name of the area straddling parts of Iwate, Akita and Aomori prefectures) the towering, conical peak stands omnipresent on the horizon beyond rice fields and hillside orchards.