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.
Grilled chicken breast cartilage (photo by 挪威 企鵝)
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.