While doing fieldwork in Japan, I received a strange email message from a restaurant owner in a small fishing town that sits on the Southern coast of the island of Shikoku. The message explained that in an effort to revitalize the local economy, high school students had adapted the local specialty of seared tuna (katsuo tataki) into a burger. The burger was certainly not on the list of the dishes I was planning on investigating but I went along with it. When I arrived at the school, I was greeted with a full TV crew and a writer from the local newspaper. With the help of two high school student, we lined up a dozen locally baked buns flavored with dried bonito flakes, smeared tartar sauce with locally grown Japanese ginger bulb (myoga), carefully placed a leaf of lettuce and a slice of tomato and finally stacked slices of seared tuna which had been fished the same morning. As I prepared to bite in the burger, the cameraman, intent on pleasing his audience, focused on my reaction. I looked in the direction of the high school students their eyes full of hope, thought about the restaurant and the community of this small town. “Delicious,” I said with my mouth still full and, just like that, I had inadvertently endorsed a new regional dish.
In Japan, homemade miso soup has the most umami (photo by fto mizno)
The first time I heard about umami, I had started working in a run down sushi shop on top of Nob Hill in San Francisco. I learned how to steam Japanese rice and season it with the appropriate balance of sweetness and sourness. I cleaned and gutted small fish as I was not to be trusted yet to cut the more expensive fish. The head chef also took the time to explain how to make the staple miso soup. The most important part of the process was to dissolve the light brown miso paste in dashi Japanese fish stock. When I inquired to why I needed to add this mild tasting fish broth to the soup, the chef gave me one word: umami. Instead of trying to describe the elusive taste, he poured some of the soup he had just made in one cup. Then, he mixed a bit of miso paste with some hot water. I tried the soup with no broth first and then tried the umami rich miso diluted in broth. They both tasted exactly the same to me. Six years later, I sat at a sushi bar in Montreal on a cold winter night, a perfect night for a miso soup. However, the soup I was served was off. It had no umami. Over the course of a few years, I had discovered a new taste anchored in Japanese culture.
Do you you really want to disappoint this guy? (photo by Joe deSousa)
The self-proclaimed aficionado parked at the sushi bar adds more wasabi to his little soya sauce bowl turning the mixture into sickly green mud. He then drops a piece of sushi in the mixture. I see the delicate construction brake apart as the rice soaks up more and more of the sauce. The sushi chef, neck veins twitching, his expression frozen in an impossible display of self-control, as he watches his guest with a smile. Sushi and other imported Japanese foods have gained much popularity in recent years. Discovering new food horizons is more than just sampling the exotic, it is also respecting the culture around which it developed. The best strategy to do so is to quietly observe Japanese people around the table learning from your own mistakes. For the less fortunate, here are a few useful pointers in order to not offend a Japanese host.
Out the window, sparsely populated luscious green mountains and valleys streamed by giving the impression we had left Japan.
“Do you like meat,” asked Yasu my Japanese friend who was driving.
“I love meat. There isn’t much I can’t eat,” I boasted remembering my breakfast of smelly natto fermented soybeans.
We soon arrived at a small shop in the countryside. The shop, a Japanese owned Chinese restaurant, was a local institution serving the Kubokawa pork that was so famous in the region. We seated ourselves at a Japanese table so close to the ground I could barely fold my legs under it.
“Give us two full set menus and some of the raw as well,” ordered Yasu.
The waitress balanced a flat iron griddle on top of a portable gas burner. Although my mouth had been salivating at the idea of eating grilled pork chops, I froze when I saw the food coming out of the kitchen. The dark brown liver was sliced sashimi style and served over a salty citrus sauce. The honeycomb intestine was also served raw with a spicy sesame oil. On the grill, sizzled a sectioned heart, curly intestine and unidentifiable fat coated organ meat. Food culture shock is real. Here is what to expect when eating out in Japan.
Live octopus ready to be eaten (photo by Alice Cai)
The first time I ordered odori ebi, dancing shrimp, in a Japanese restaurant, I was not too sure what to expect. The order came as four pieces of sushi topped with prawn that whipped their tails like they were trying to swim away. This had not been the first time I had dealt with freshly caught seafood as people outside of Japan also enjoy live boiled lobster and freshly chucked oysters. However, Japanese cuisine takes it one step further when it serves sea urchins, octopus and sashimi fish so fresh they still move. In reality, this so-called live seafood is still moving only because it is is animated by reflexes. These dishes will disgust many foreign diners, yet, they are a real treat in Japan and are served only in the best restaurants. Why do people in Japan come to enjoy their seafood so fresh that it is still moves?
In recent years, sushi has gained tremendous popularity around the World. As a result of this global success, sushi has come to mean different things depending on where it is eaten. For example, sushi in Japan is different from sushi in California. At its most basic definition, sushi is seasoned rice with raw fish, yet, to better understand sushi we need to take a closer look at its history. The precursor of sushi, nare-zushi, was first developed in East Asia to preserve fish. The fish would ferment between layers of cooked rice. The rice would be then discarded giving the fish a characteristic sour taste. With the elaboration of better forms of transportation and refrigeration, Edo period food stalls replaced fermented fish with raw fish served on vinegary rice called edo-mae sushi. Continue reading →
Although one might think it’s suited to the Western palate, okonomiyaki, a dish emblematic of the Osaka region, has never gained the same popularity abroad as ramen. Okonomiyaki is popular in Japan in every sense of the term and its various iterations can be found just about everywhere in Japan. Okonomiyaki which translates as “grill it the way you like it”, seems more a reflection of Western individualism than of Japanese homogeneity. Unsurprisingly, its history, preparation and regional style are far from being clearly defined. Where does it come from? How do you make the dish? What are the different types of local variations?