Fukui – One Day, Three Experiences, Many Lessons
- Binh Nguyen
- 7 days ago
- 11 min read
This was my second time visiting Fukui, but this trip was different—it was with my company, and the purpose wasn’t just relaxation or sightseeing, but also to experience and learn something new. Throughout the journey, we stopped at three places. The first was a shop and workshop for making lacquered chopsticks. The second was a small local producer of Heshiko, a regional delicacy. The final stop was a traditional knife-making workshop, where we explored both the craft and its heritage.
In this post, I’ll walk you through each place we visited, and the little things I learned along the way. To me, the entire trip was a surprise. We only knew the meeting time, our destination (Fukui), and that a bus would take us there. We weren’t given any itinerary—no details on where we’d stop or what we’d be doing. That made me even more curious about what kind of experience this would be. I didn’t expect much at first, since there was nothing specific to look forward to. But that made the surprises feel even more special.
🥢 Lacquered Chopsticks Workshop – Learning Culture from the Smallest Things
Venue: Seiwa 箸匠せいわ
Address: 35-1 Obamaarayo, Obama, Fukui 917-0241, Japan
Our first stop was a lacquered chopstick workshop located in the town of Obama—a place that produces 80–90% of all lacquered chopsticks in Japan.
Right after getting off the bus, we were warmly welcomed by the staff. Each person in our group was asked to choose a pair of chopsticks. At that moment, I wasn’t sure what they were for, since we hadn’t been told the detailed plan. But it turned out they were for the workshop experience that followed.
We stepped into a large room with a big screen at the front and rows of long benches. A friendly guide explained how to properly use chopsticks according to Japanese etiquette, then started a short quiz with the group.
Some of the questions seemed simple, but surprisingly, even our Japanese colleagues got some of them wrong. For example:
“Is it okay to lift the small dipping sauce bowl while eating?”
Many people thought the answer was no—but it’s actually fine.
“When picking up sushi, is it okay to put your hand underneath just in case it falls?”
This feels like a polite thing to do, but according to traditional Japanese table manners, you’re not supposed to. Supporting food with your hand like that is considered improper.
I got the first question right but missed the second one—because I often do that exact thing when eating sushi. It’s such a habit, especially when I feel something might drop. Now that I understand why it’s not encouraged, I’ll be more mindful the next time.
Next, we moved to the polishing area.
At first glance, the chopsticks looked very plain. But as we gently sanded off the outer layer, different colors hidden beneath began to appear, forming unique patterns.
There was a chart on the wall showing various sample designs we could follow. But I didn’t stick to any of those. I just went with my own inspiration, polishing as I pleased.
In the end, I ended up with a rather random pattern—some areas with curved strokes, others with straight lines going in different directions. But honestly, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that I had done it myself. The process of creating something by hand made the chopsticks feel truly personal.
After finishing, we rinsed the chopsticks and each received a small paper bag to take them home in. I really liked this part—it turned a small hands-on activity into a tangible memory, something you could bring home, use daily, or gift to someone.
Simple, quick, and meaningful.
After the workshop, we moved into the gift shop. I picked up a pair of couple’s chopsticks (夫婦円満箸), which symbolize harmony between husband and wife. I thought it would be a perfect gift for a close friend back in Vietnam. I also bought a set of five colorful chopsticks for my family to use.
After checking out, I took a moment to reflect on how the space had been designed: from the welcome area to the workshop, then smoothly flowing into the gift shop and checkout.
There was no pressure to buy. Instead, the focus was on letting guests experience and learn, then giving them the option to purchase something they actually connected with.
Compared to the kind of group tours I’ve seen in Vietnam—where people often get rushed straight into souvenir shops—this felt so much more thoughtful. It made me realize how much of a difference it makes when you design an experience that puts people first.
🐟 Discovering Heshiko – From Fermentation Room to Lunch Table
Place: Heshiko Fermentation Workshop & Teahouse (へしこ酵房・茶屋)
Address: Mihama, Mikata District, Fukui
Our next stop was a small workshop that specializes in making Heshiko—a local delicacy made by salting mackerel and fermenting it in rice bran for a full year.
The owner walked us through each step of the process: cutting the fish, salting it, carefully layering it into large tubs, and finally placing heavy stones on top to apply pressure.
Inside the fermentation room, I saw dozens of yellow plastic tubs arranged neatly in rows. Each one was covered and stacked with three round stones tied together with netting.
It looked simple at first glance, but I soon realized the setup was key—those stones applied just the right pressure to ensure the fish soaked evenly in the salt and rice bran over the entire year.
No machines. No noise. Just time, patience, and a quiet, cool environment. Everything was done by hand, and there was a deep sense of discipline and purpose in the air.
I stood there for a while, quietly thinking:
A dish that looks so small and humble actually takes a whole year to make. That kind of flavor isn’t something you can rush.
At the hotel where I work, we actually serve Heshiko at breakfast. But until this visit, I had only thought of it as a very salty, slightly spicy fish.
I didn’t understand how much time and effort went into making it. Now that I’ve seen the process, I can’t help but wonder:
If guests knew that each little slice of fish had been fermented for a year, wouldn’t they be amazed?
I’m sure they’d remember the dish much more vividly if they knew its story.
Heshiko really is a local treasure, and I’m proud that we get to share it with our guests.
After the tour, we were invited upstairs to have lunch.
It was a special meal, with every dish featuring Heshiko—the mackerel that had been salted and fermented in rice bran for an entire year.
Everything revolved around this one traditional ingredient:
Chazuke Heshiko (茶漬け)
A bowl of soft white rice (similar in texture to Vietnamese plain congee) was poured over with hot tea—usually Hōjicha or Genmaicha, two mild, fragrant teas that pair well with salty foods like Heshiko. On top were shredded yuzu peel and finely sliced shiso leaves, and of course, shredded Heshiko.
The citrusy aroma of yuzu and the fresh bite of shiso balanced beautifully with the rich saltiness of the fish.
The shop owner even added an extra helping of Heshiko for me, making the flavor even bolder—and honestly, irresistible.
I usually don’t enjoy rice soaked in liquid. It reminds me a bit of plain rice porridge with salty fish, which I never really liked.
But this dish was different. I found myself spooning it up quickly, savoring every bite, and by the end, the bowl was completely clean.
Heshiko sashimi-style
Thin slices of Heshiko arranged like sashimi, served with shiso leaves and thinly sliced daikon radish.
The fermented fish aroma, the fresh herbal notes, and the crispness of the daikon made for an elegant and unexpected combination.
Crispy Heshiko Onigiri
Plain rice balls wrapped in seaweed, served with a side of lightly battered and fried Heshiko filling.
Soft, crispy, and full of ocean flavor.
Cherry tomatoes and pickled ginger (gari)
A simple side dish meant to refresh the palate and balance the meal.
Hot green tea
The perfect way to end the meal—soothing, warming, and helpful for digestion, especially after a salty fermented dish.
The meal was simple but surprisingly good—rich in flavor yet light and comforting.
For people who don’t eat meat but enjoy fish, this kind of menu would be an ideal option.
It’s compact, satisfying, and good for your health. It also works well as either a light breakfast or late dinner, especially when you don’t want anything too heavy.
At the hotel, we occasionally have guests who don’t eat meat but still eat fish.
This kind of Heshiko-based menu could be a great way to offer them something local, unique, and meaningful.
Why not give it a try?
After lunch, we had a bit of time to chat with the shop owner and her daughter.
Both of them were warm, down-to-earth, and clearly passionate about what they do. They shared with us their hopes of introducing Heshiko to more people—not just locals, but visitors from other places too.
From them, I could feel a deep sense of respect for their hometown and its traditions.
They weren’t just selling food—they were preserving something meaningful and trying to pass it on.
I think anyone who hears their story, or has a chance to experience what I did, would come to love Heshiko as much as I do.
🔨 Traditional Knife Workshop – When Craft Becomes Culture
Venue: Takefu Knife Village
Address: 22-91 Yokamachi, Echizen, Fukui 915-0873, Japan
Our final stop was Takefu Knife Village, a traditional knife-making complex that blends technique, spirituality, and craftsmanship.
From the outside, I could see both the production workshop and a uniquely triangular building that stood out in the open grounds—this was the showroom.
Before entering, the staff welcomed us and guided us to a small workshop space designed for visitors.
This wasn’t a place to learn how to make a real knife from scratch. Instead, it was a hands-on activity using tools to simulate part of the process. All the tools were laid out neatly on the floor.
After a short explanation, each person received a round metal tag (with a hole so it could be turned into a keychain). We were instructed to use a hammer and metal letter stamps to engrave whatever message we liked.
It sounded easy, but when I actually tried it, I realized how much care it required—don’t tilt the stamp, don’t hit too hard, and don’t be too soft either.
I carefully stamped “BEAN JP” onto my tag—a small memento from the trip. Just being able to hold and use the same kinds of tools that real blacksmiths use gave me a much deeper appreciation for how delicate and disciplined the craft really is.
We then entered the main workshop building. The visitor path was designed like a living museum, spread across three levels:
Ground floor: an exhibition space with panels explaining the history of knife-making, traditional rituals, production processes, and finished tools—not just knives, but also scissors, sickles, and farming tools. One corner even recreated a ritual setup by the forge, complete with a hammer, bellows, and anvil. It felt like a small museum that helped visitors understand both the cultural and spiritual depth of the craft.
Second floor: an observation deck. From here, we could look down into the active production area, where blacksmiths were sharpening blades, working with metal, and moving with incredible focus. The workspace was a bit dusty but very real—no fancy displays, no staged settings—just an actual workshop in motion.
Top floor: a small shrine dedicated to Chiyozuru Kuniyasu, a legendary swordsmith who came from Kyoto over 700 years ago to this region in search of pure water—and eventually helped establish the knife-making tradition of Echizen. The shrine was accessed by a red staircase, with a large rope and an offering box out front. Every year on November 8, a traditional festival is held here to honor the spirit of the craft—something that’s been passed down since the Edo period. The use of color here had meaning too: blue for water, red for fire, yellow for metal—the three elements that come together to make a knife.
This one building led us through a complete experience—from the tools, to the people, to the spirit behind it all. It felt truly meaningful.
After visiting the workshop, we were guided to the Takefu Knife Village showroom—a modern building with a striking triangular design, standing out in the open courtyard.
Inside, the space was bright and thoughtfully arranged, displaying an impressive range of handcrafted knives behind glass cases. There were also kitchen tools, knife accessories, and a corner for souvenirs.
What impressed me the most was an art installation called “REFLECTION.” Here, knives were suspended mid-air in a mirrored space, creating reflections from every angle. The entire setup felt both modern and minimal, yet incredibly refined—it really brought out the sharp beauty and precision of each blade.
The way everything was displayed reminded me that these aren’t just tools—they carry stories, values, and the dedication of the people who made them.
🍢 Dinner at a Cozy Izakaya to End the Day
Restaurant: Tensen
Address: 1162-2 Omiyacho Zennoji, Kyotango, Kyoto 629-2504
To end the trip, we stopped for dinner at a cozy Izakaya-style restaurant called Tensen, located in Kyotango.
The name “Tensen” is made up of two simple symbols: a dot (●) and a line (―).
In Japanese, the dot is “ten” and the line is “sen.” Together, they form “Tensen” — a name that suggests a continuous line starting from a single point.
I believe the meaning behind this is intentional: a restaurant that hopes to create a warm, continuous, and consistent culinary experience for its guests.
A steady line—just like the quiet dedication of those who run the place, making sure every visit feels just as thoughtful as the last.
From the outside, the building looked like a simple wooden house—not eye-catching at all.
But once we stepped inside, it was a completely different world: warm lighting, modern minimalist decor, and an open kitchen counter where we could see the chefs preparing dishes.
The restaurant specializes in yakitori (grilled skewers), but the presentation was elevated and full of care.
Each dish was served on handmade ceramic plates with elegant patterns.
The flavors were balanced and rich—no extra sauce needed.
Their grilled chicken had crisp golden skin with tender, juicy meat inside.
Later, I learned that the chicken they use is freshly prepared every day.
Having dinner there felt like a gentle reward after a long day of learning and exploration—quiet, warm, and complete.
I’d love to bring my family here someday for a great dinner.
🧳 Final Thoughts
Just one day. Three stops. But so much to take away.
Have you ever had a trip where you felt like you learned and experienced more than you expected?
I didn’t just learn about chopsticks, knives, or Heshiko—
I learned about how people here design experiences, preserve culture, and invite others to take a small part of it home with them.
Fukui—until next time. I’ll be back.
© 2025 Bean JP.
This story and its images are part of my personal journey. Please don’t reuse without asking first. Thank you!
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