Seven Gods in a Pickle Jar
Do you have a dish that feels like luck — or a kitchen side character that deserves top billing?
What’s your lucky number?
For some people it’s 7 — the jackpot number, the mythic number, the number that turns up in slot machines and stories like it owns the place. In Japan, 8 is also famously lucky: the kanji (八) widens as it goes down, a visual metaphor for prosperity and expansion. It suggests a future that opens up, a path that gets broader, easier, brighter.
Other people pick numbers attached to their birthdays, their families, their fortunes — chosen deliberately or inherited quietly.
And then there are those of us who simply like a number because it feels structurally satisfying. I’ve always had a soft spot for 12: twelve months, twelve hours twice a day, twelve apostles, twelve notes in a musical scale. Even the Buddhist number of earthly desires — 108 — is a multiple of twelve. It’s the kind of number that shows up everywhere once you start noticing it.
We attach meaning to numbers because they give shape to uncertainty. They feel like handles on the chaos.
And somehow, this tendency — this urge to find patterns, to create symbols — sneaks into the kitchen too.
The Seven Gods of Good Fortune
Japan has a beloved group of deities known as the Seven Lucky Gods (Shichifukujin). They’re thought to bring blessings like happiness, wealth, longevity, and protection — and they’ve been part of Japanese culture for centuries.
Historically, they were first worshipped in Kyoto during the Muromachi period (14th–16th century), then became widely popular during the Edo period (17th–19th century), when everyday people embraced them as symbols of luck you could actually live with — not distant gods in the sky, but friendly, familiar presences woven into daily life.
Here they are — and what each one is associated with:
- Ebisu — prosperity in business and abundant harvests (and notably, the only one of purely Japanese origin)
- Daikokuten — wealth and the kitchen guardian
- Bishamonten — protection, victory, guarding treasure
- Benzaiten — music, art, learning, wealth
- Fukurokuju — happiness, fortune, longevity
- Jurōjin — health and long life
- Hotei — contentment, joy, good fortune
It’s a fascinating blend: Ebisu stands alone as Japanese, while the others trace back through Indian Buddhism and Chinese Taoism. Over time, these traditions braided together into something distinctly Japanese — a portable mythology of harmony, abundance, and peace.
You still see the “seven” motif in modern tradition too, like nanakusa gayu, a New Year rice porridge made with seven herbs to promote health and ward off illness.
Which brings us to a pickle jar — and an idea: what if luck isn’t a concept, but a condiment?
Fukujinzuke: Pickles of Good Fortune
Fukujinzuke is a sweet-tangy Japanese pickle mix most people know as the loyal sidekick to curry rice. It’s usually bright red in shops, occasionally neon enough to look like it escaped a cartoon.
But when you make it at home, it becomes something else entirely: softer in colour, brighter in flavour, and full of texture — the kind of dish that reminds you how much mass production can flatten something that was once alive.
There are a few origin stories floating around, but one of the most accepted is that fukujinzuke was created in 1877 by Seiuemon Noda, owner of a Tokyo pickle shop called Yamadaya. The name is the point: it was inspired by the Seven Lucky Gods, and originally used seven types of vegetables.
Classic versions often include things like daikon, eggplant, lotus root, ginger, sword bean, perilla leaf, and sesame seeds — but it’s flexible by nature, and that flexibility is part of its charm.
Under Japanese Agricultural Standards (JAS), it can still be called fukujinzuke if it contains five or more ingredients from a recognised list (daikon, eggplant, gourd, cucumber, ginger, sword bean, lotus root, perilla leaf, bamboo shoot, shiitake, chili pepper, sesame seeds).
In other words: the gods are generous. They don’t count too strictly.
The Seven I Choose
For a homemade version, I like picking vegetables that create a balance of colour, crunch, and sweetness. Here’s a seven-veg combination that works beautifully:
- daikon
- cucumber
- ginger
- sword bean (natamame)
- eggplant
- lotus root
- carrot
Carrot isn’t always on the official lists, but it’s commonly used for sweetness and balance — and it earns its place.
And the sword bean? It’s named for its shape: nata means a short sword in Japanese. Slice it and you’ll see why it feels like a vegetable with a secret identity.
Use what you love. Keep what works. The “seven” is a story — the flavour is the point.
Seasoning Liquid
- 120 cc soy sauce
- 140 g sugar
- 90 cc vinegar
- 80 cc sake
- 80 cc mirin
This creates the signature profile: sweet, tangy, savoury — a pickle brine that behaves like a sauce.
How to Make Fukujinzuke
1) Slice thin.
Peel the daikon, lotus root, and carrot. Slice into thin semi-circles (about 2mm). Don’t peel the cucumber or eggplant; slice them the same thinness.
Thin slicing takes time, but it pays you back: the texture stays delicate, and the seasoning penetrates evenly instead of sitting on the surface like a coat of paint.
2) Prep the rest.
Slice the sword bean into 2mm pieces. Cut the ginger into thin strips.
3) Salt and rest.
Combine all vegetables in a bowl. Add about 1 teaspoon salt, massage gently, and let sit for 30 minutes.
4) Squeeze well.
Drain and squeeze out moisture thoroughly. This matters: less water means more flavour, better crunch, and longer keeping.
5) Make the seasoning.
In a saucepan, combine soy sauce, sugar, vinegar, sake, and mirin. Bring to a boil.
6) Simmer briefly.
Add the vegetables and simmer for 2 minutes.
7) Separate and concentrate.
Strain the vegetables into a clean container. Boil the leftover liquid for another 5 minutes to concentrate, then pour it back over the vegetables.
8) Chill overnight.
Once cooled, refrigerate overnight. The next day is when it becomes itself — deeper, rounder, more harmonious.
Why It Works: Harmony Through Contrast
Fukujinzuke is a texture festival: crisp roots, soft simmered pieces, bright acidity, mellow sweetness, salty depth — all in one bite.
It’s a dish that feels like a small committee of ingredients agreed to stop arguing and collaborate.
It also explains why it’s perfect with curry. That pairing became popular on ships operated by Nippon Yusen (NYK Line), where fukujinzuke was served as a condiment in onboard restaurants. Like chutney alongside spiced dishes, it cuts heat, refreshes the palate, and makes the next bite better.
Storage Notes
Fukujinzuke isn’t fermented, so it won’t last indefinitely like some pickles. But it keeps well:
- Fridge: about 1 week
- Freezer: up to 1 month
If freezing, let it rest in the fridge overnight first so the flavours properly soak in. Thaw naturally before eating.
Seven Gods — But Only a Sidekick?
Most people think of fukujinzuke as “the curry pickle.” The supporting actor. The little pile on the edge of the plate.
But no great story is carried by the lead alone. Supporting characters make the world feel real. They add contrast. They give rhythm and relief.
So what’s the “side character” in your kitchen that’s being overlooked?
Maybe it’s that jar of pickles at the back of your fridge. Maybe it’s an ingredient you always serve the same way because it’s easier. Maybe it’s a condiment you’ve never made yourself — so you’ve never really tasted what it could be.
Try making one from scratch. Take your time. Pick your ingredients with intention. Direct the scene instead of watching it pass.
Because when you do, even a humble pickle jar can turn into something memorable.
And who knows — when you sit down to eat, maybe the Seven Lucky Gods will quietly pull up a chair too.
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