The Simple Joy of Sharing Kinosaki Onsen Tamago in the Morning

I bite into my Kinosaki onsen tamago and scoop up the soft yolk with the tiny wooden spoon. This Kinosaki onsen tamago tastes different, I tell Fafa.

“Lighter?” he asks.

I know he is comparing it to the onsen tamago we had in Yunomine Onsen during our Kumano Kodo hike. That one sits very clearly in my memory.

It was our first morning in Kinosaki Onsen. We had spent some time wandering before taking a quick walk to the foot of the Kinosaki Ropeway, where a small stall sells eggs ready to be cooked in the hot spring water. I try to remember how many eggs we got last time and how long we were supposed to leave them in the boiling water. I think we got three eggs and left them in for about nine minutes.

What I do remember clearly is that the onsen water in Yunomine seemed hotter. Back there, I was the only one standing close to the steam, carefully boiling my eggs.

Here, the making of Kinosaki Onsen tamago was more chaotic. The place to boil the eggs is smaller, and for a moment, I forgot which red fishnet basket contained our eggs because I hadn’t marked it with a number. Eventually—eleven minutes later, according to the instructions on the board—I fished out what I hoped were ours.

I cracked my onsen tamago open using a small egg-opening tool. It was my first time using one, and I had more fun than I expected.

We ate them with soy sauce and a little pepper, which, yes, made it even better. But if I’m comparing just the egg itself—the silkiness of the yolk, the softness of the white—which one was better?

Also, it’s not just choosing between Yunomine or Kinosaki onsen tamago.

The first time I had onsen tamago was even earlier than that. It was in Hakone, shared by Vi, who somehow managed to sneak a few eggs into her jacket pockets and peeled one for me while we were on the Shinkansen back to Tokyo. And because of that, Hakone onsen egg could just be my favourite.

And if you would indulge me in tracing the memory further back, the moment that made onsen tamago special to me started long before Japan.

It was 2002.

The game was Harvest Moon.

After a few weeks of playing it with my classmates, one of them told me that if I boiled the eggs from my chickens in the hot spring near the lake, I could sell them for a higher price.

That small detail stuck with me.

Maybe that’s why every real-life onsen tamago moment now feels oddly meaningful—a small full-circle moment from a childhood video game to a real hot spring town in Japan, eating onsen tamago.

Back to that morning in Kinosaki, we were still wearing our yukata, our hair slightly damp from the baths, sitting together and sharing the last warm Kinosaki onsen tamago between us surronded by strangers doing somewhat similar things.

It was simple, communal, and somehow perfect.

Maybe that’s why I’m convinced every onsen tamago deserves its own little memory. Maybe even its own blog post. Also, maybe I should make it my mission to eat onsen tamago in as many onsen towns across Japan as possible.

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