Lost In Translation

The Japanese have a particularly wonderful and unique way of wielding the English language. I was looking through my photos from Japan and loved this one, of a sign posted outside one of the many restaurants in a shopping complex near the Tokyo Station. It’s superb. I think this ought to be the official motto of my blog.

Katsuobushi, or, My Quest for Bonito

Katsuobushi, or dried bonito, is a key ingredient in Japanese cuisine. Unfortunately, in the West we can only get it in flakes—it’s still delicious, but it’s a bit like using pre-grated Parmigiano-Reggiano instead of getting a proper chunk off of the wheel. One of my missions in Japan was to find the real thing. Hearing of my quest (and thinking that I was perhaps ever so slightly weird), my friend Tetsuo-san arranged for us to visit a shop in his neighborhood in Yokohama, Nagano Katsuobushi Ten.

To the uninitiated, katsuobushi might not even look like fish. It might be mistaken for, say, a stick. Or a rock. But no, it’s really tuna (skipjack tuna, to be precise). At a typical katsuobushi shop, you’ll see a wide variety for sale, ranging in price from around ¥1,500 a kilo to over ¥5,000. Mr. Shigekazu Ichinose (pictured), proprietor of Nagano Katsuobushi Ten, explains that this is due to different grades of fish—the best fish for making katsuobushi is young tuna that has a final water content of around ten to 15 percent; lower grades have a higher content of both water and oil. Each piece represents one-quarter of a fish, so there are two pieces from the back and two from the belly. Since the belly has a higher fat content, it produces lesser-quality katsuobushi.

The process of drying the fish requires a total of five to six months. After the fish is caught and gutted, it’s boiled to activate certain bacteria and enzymes in the flesh, then dried in the sun. The boiling and drying process is repeated several times, and then the fish is steamed together with a wood called narakunugi-sakurazai, which imparts a subtle aroma. At this point the fish is called harakabushi, which is mildly scary-looking, as you can see in this photo. Harakabushi can be eaten as is, in udon or soba, and in fact, a similar product is found in other areas along the tuna’s migratory route, such as Papua New Guinea and the Maldive Islands. Only the Japanese, however, age it further to make katsuobushi, which has a more refined and complex flavor.

To achieve this, the harakabushi is aged in high-humidity storage so that it develops a fine mold, which Ichinose-san compares to the bloomy rind on cheese. It’s periodically taken out, dried and placed back into storage, and eventually it ends up looking like the examples in this photo. Sometimes you’ll see it with more mold, and sometimes it’s sold with the mold wiped off, but Ichinose-san says that the mold on the best katsuobushi is very fine and thin. Here are two examples of top-grade katsuobushi: the piece on the right is from the back, while the piece on the left, with a shallow depression running along the length of it where it was gutted, is from the belly.

The piece that he selected for me (from the back, of course) was long and straight—apparently the straight ones are better than the curvy ones, but I don’t know whether this is because it’s easier to shave or for some other qualitative reason. To use it, I imagine that one could employ a truffle shaver or some other similar implement. However, the proper tool is called a katsuobushi-kezuriki, which I was able to purchase from his friend down the street. It’s a box fitted with a sturdy blade that looks like a carpenter’s plane—you hold the katsuobushi lengthwise and shave micro-thin slices that fall down into the drawer below. The thickness and width of the slices can be adjusted according to how much pressure you apply. Now if I can just find a bit of grand cru kombu, or dried kelp, I can become a dashi-making fiend....

Tsukiji Fish Market, Tokyo

I’ve always dreamed of visiting the Tsukiji market, and finally managed to make it happen this week. All of the stories you’ve ever heard are true. It’s as vast, as vivid, as awe-inspiring and as completely insane as everybody says it is. Just getting to the market itself is a bit hazardous, as the roadways and parking lots immediately surrounding it are awash with a motley and multitudinous assortment of wildly careening vehicles hastily transporting fish to, well, wherever they’re transporting them to. With no clear path to my goal and vehicles bearing down on me from every imaginable direction, it reminded me of nothing so much as a massive game of Frogger.

Once inside and wandering about the tightly packed stalls, however, there’s nothing to do but give in to the sheer bliss of being surrounded by some of the most highly prized fish in the world. Here are a few photos of the action.

The Magnificence That is Kyoto

I’ve spent the last three days in Kyoto, which is surely one of the most spectacular places in the world. From the meticulously tended gardens of Ginkaku-ji to the sophisticated architecture of Eikan-do, the delectable pleasures of the Nishiki market and the jewel-like storefronts of Ninen-Zaka and Sannen-zaka, this city simply takes your breath away. And that's even before you start to eat.

It seems criminal to cram everything into one blog post, but photos say much more than my prose. I loved the delicate and elegant tempura at Yoshikawa, the very personification of refinement. A perfect piece of eggplant melded seamlessly with the airy batter, while Japanese pumpkin asserted itself with an earthy flavor and texture. Kugomi, a fiddlehead fern, was about the most perfect piece of tempura I've ever had, its slight bitterness and vegetal character seeming tailor-made for this preparation. The tempura at Ten-you suffered only in comparison to the sublime Yoshikawa, but there were some excellent offerings, such as the unusual presentation of shrimp legs and the meltingly succulent anago, complete with the spine. I sampled nishin-soba, a Kyoto specialty involving dried and marinated herring, at Misoka-an Kawamichiya, a soba house that has been in business for almost 300 years; and at Aunbo, a refined and innovative eight-course menu included an amazing mackerel sashimi and several delicious variations of Kyoto tofu, as well as my new favorite spring mountain vegetable, fukinoto.

In a coincidence almost beyond belief, I ran into Anne-Claude Leflaive at Aritsugu, the legendary knife store in the Nishiki market that has supplied Kyoto’s chefs since 1560. How random is that? I don’t think she bought anything, but I, having absolutely no self-control, walked out with a shiny new carbon-steel, handcrafted deba, engraved with my name on the blade.

Aunbo, Higashiyama-Yasaka Torii mae, 525-2900
Misoka-an Kawamichiya, Fuyacho-dori Sanjo, 221-2525
Ten-you, Gokomachi Sanjo Sagaru, 212-7778
Yoshikawa, Tominokoji-dori Oike Kudaru, 221-5544

Ippudo Ramen, Ebisu, Tokyo

When I found out that I was coming to Tokyo, one of the first names that I wrote on my list of things to do was Ippudo, the famed Hakata-style ramen house. The servers here wear T-shirts that proclaim, “Your happiness of eating this ramen makes us happy,” and on my visit they must have been very happy indeed, because I was positively overflowing with happiness.

Ippudo offers two variations of their rich, creamy, pork-bone broth ramen. The classic version is called Shiromaru Moto-Aji, which is a thick, white broth with a breathtaking intensity, harmony and complexity of flavor. It’s full-bodied and pungent yet never heavy, and I slurped every last drop out of my big, white bowl. The Akamaru Shin-Aji powers it up a notch, if that’s possible, with an even richer, porkier broth, plus a spoonful of red pork fat in case you haven’t had quite enough. This is an unbridled celebration of the pig, emphasizing richness and depth of flavor, whereas the Shiromaru (while being plenty rich in its own right) seems to have a bit more clarity and complexity. Both are utterly, fabulously delicious. I liked that the noodles in the Akamaru are ever-so-slightly thicker to balance the extra richness of the broth—the sort of attention to detail that lets you know these guys are really serious about their ramen.

On the table are a number of condiments to enliven your ramen (not that it really needs any enlivening), including spicy beansprouts, pickled greens, pickled ginger, fresh garlic (accompanied by a garlic press) and freshly ground sesame seeds. You’ll see your fellow diners heaping all of this stuff into their bowls, but I’d advise moderation at first, the better to enjoy the gloriously porky goodness of the broth. The Shiromaru is only ¥750 for a huge bowl, and the Akamaru ¥850, but for ¥100 more you can get the lunchtime set, which includes light, crunchy gyoza and a bowl of plain rice. At first I imagined the rice as overkill, but I was soon glad for its inclusion, as the pork broth is so rich that you almost need the rice to give you a bit of ballast.

As of the 17th of March, Ippudo has opened a branch in Manhattan, at 65 Fourth Avenue between 9th and 10th. I’m hoping it will be as spectacular as it is in Tokyo, but I’ll have to wait a little while to find out.

Ippudo, Hiroo 1-3-13, Tokyo (on Meiji-dori in the direction of Hiroo, on the left just past the post office)

Manotsuru Hizo Koshu Daiginjo, 10 Years Old

Frankly, most sakes don’t age all that well, and the vast majority of sake is intended to be drunk within a year or so of release. There is a small category of sake, however, called koshu, that is truly ageworthy.

Sado Island boasts one of the most famous gold mines in the world (it ceased operation a couple of decades ago), and in a stroke of inspiration, a group of sake producers has appropriated one of its cool, underground tunnels for use as a cellar. It’s normally off-limits to visitors, but Mrs. Rumiko Obata took us down there for a little peek and generously treated us to a sip of her rare Manotsuru Hizo Koshu Daiginjo.

Aged for ten years, this shows unbelievably elegant aromas of white truffle, fresh porcini and bone marrow, with a graceful, subtly layered fragrance. On the palate it’s like a hit of pure umami, demonstrating a burnished, biscuity character that my friend Akiko compared to aged champagne, yet it doesn’t taste “old” at all, as the overall feel is one of vigor and vitality. Even at ten years of age this exhibits a classic Niigata character—clean, dry and light on its feet—and finishes with long, taut and complex flavor. I’ve tasted some excellent koshu before, but never anything quite like this.

Later that day, we tasted a younger version of this sake, brewed last year and tucked away in the cellar (it will also be released at ten years of age). Sake and wine often behave very differently, but in this aspect, this koshu showed exactly the same character that you might expect a young, ageworthy wine to possess, emphasizing structure over aroma and feeling closed, restrained and slightly constricted. It’s the first time I’ve ever had an opportunity to do a comparative tasting of koshu sake like that, and it’s an experience I won’t easily forget.

Onsen: Hot Springs, Fine Gastronomy and Massive Quantities of Sake

For lodging in Japan, you can’t beat staying at a traditional onsen, or hot springs resort. On the island of Sado I stayed at Hotel Azuma, an onsen with a spectacular location on the west coast overlooking the Sea of Japan. Life at Azuma is comfortable and serene, and the outstanding service and beautiful surroundings make you wish you never had to leave. I loved the impeccably appointed Japanese-style rooms, with their quiet, elegant simplicity.

The waters of Niigata are soft and invigorating, and there’s nothing like being able to take a dip in one of Azuma’s outdoor or indoor baths before sitting down to a dinner prepared by the hotel’s renowned chef. Our array of dishes was nothing short of magnificent, from a delicate yet decadent amuse-bouche of monkfish liver to a lively tempura of fukinoto, a deliciously bitter local mountain vegetable, to a miso soup prepared at the table with a cake of flying fish. I particularly enjoyed the fresh and vibrant sashimi here, presented in a dome of ice along with a gavel to crack into it with. We dined with Mrs. Rumiko Obata of the nearby Obata brewery, and her Manotsuru sakes provided the perfect foil to the sophisticated and elegant cuisine.

Today I’m at Izumiya, a resort up in the mountains of central Niigata. The change in climate is surprising: back on the beach it was sunny and mild, if not exactly warm; here the surrounding hillsides are covered in half a meter of snow. Izumiya exudes a feeling of hospitality, and even approaching it from the road at night, the warm glow of its lights appears soothing and inviting in the winter landscape. The service is impeccably first-rate and the atmosphere luxurious: if you want to pamper yourself, a weekend at Izumiya would be just the ticket.

The waters here are renowned for having a particular quality known as tsuru-tsuru, feeling slippery, almost soapy against your skin. This is actually a recent development—while Izumiya has long been famous for its hot springs and its hospitality, its waters are said to have improved even further in the aftermath of the large Niigata earthquake four years ago. Like Azuma, Izumiya is also highly regarded for its gastronomy, and dinner here was an absolute feast for the senses. Sashimi and ice made another appearance together, here an assortment including some of the best fish I have ever eaten in my life, housed dramatically in a bowl made of ice. The array of sakes presented to accompany the meal was a veritable who’s who of Niigata, including Kubota, Koshi no Kanbai, Shimeharitsuru, Kikusui and Yoshi no Gawa. I particularly liked the ultra-rare Manju Junmai Daiginjo by Kubota, with its finely silky texture and elegant notes of white pepper and spiced pear.


As I sat in the hot outdoor bath in the crisp, early morning air, enjoying the restorative waters amidst snow-covered landscapes, I felt a slight twinge of pain in the realization that no matter where I go tomorrow or what I do, my life will definitely be the poorer for not being here at Izumiya.

Hokusetsu Shuzo, Sado Island, Niigata

I visited a sake brewery for the first time in my life today: Hokusetsu Shuzo on Sado Island, in the Sea of Japan just off of the coast of Niigata, Hokusetsu is particularly famous for being the exclusive sake of the Nobu restaurants. This is Hokusetsu’s toji, Mr. Kanji Watanabe, who has been making sake here for the past ten years. Here Mr. Watanabe is showing us the koji-making process. Koji is rice that has been cultivated with aspergillus oryzae, a mold that converts the starches in the rice into sugar so that the yeasts can convert the sugar into alcohol. Up close and personal, it looks like this:



To get to that stage, the rice has to be steamed first, which is what these guys on the left are doing. Afterwards, the rice gets injected with the mold and goes into the trays below, which are organized in an automatic system that shifts the trays around, stirring the koji in each one. Making the koji is an important part of the sake-making process, and contributes a lot of character to the final product.

Nobu The Sake is a daiginjo, with high-toned, delicately fruity notes of green melon and sweet apple. The house’s regular daiginjo is thicker in texture, with darker fruit notes of cherry and plum, while the top-end daiginjo is fragrant, floral and full of elegance—it’s labeled YK35, which indicates that it’s made from Yamada Nishiki rice and Kumamoto yeast, and polished to 35 percent of the original grain.

Sado Island is full of fantastic food, sake and culture. Besides being home to all those things I said yesterday, it also features the toki (Japanese crested ibis), which is being brought back from the verge of extinction; the world-famous Kodo drummers; and the amazing Hana no Ki, a traditional inn that serves phenomenal food and that specializes in the camelia flower—it’s pretty, you can make healthy and delicious oil from it, and you can even eat it.

Niigata Prefecture

I spent a large portion of yesterday afternoon at the 2008 Sake No Jin, Niigata's annual sake festival. Niigata is the most famous sake-producing region in Japan, and hosts the largest festival: out of the prefecture's 97 kura, or breweries, 92 were in attendance this year, attracting upwards of 60,000 visitors to the two-day event.

The people of Niigata are also justifiably proud of their cuisine, and local delicacies include koshihikari table rice (considered the finest in Japan), a sweet winter strawberry called echigohime, wild salmon and nanban ebi, or northern red shrimp. Nanban means red chili pepper, and these shrimp derive their name from their bright red shells; their meat is sweet and succulent, with a silky texture. While I was plied with a vast array of incredibly delicious food today, nanban ebi certainly figured prominently. This photo is of a tremendously fragrant soup of miso and nanban ebi heads served during lunch at the renowned Sushi Marui restaurant; behind it, nanban ebi is included in an assortment of sashimi.


At a large dinner in the evening, more nanban ebi sashimi was upstaged by an even fresher option: live nanban ebi. I couldn't get a straight answer as to why the three shrimp in my bowl were only very gently twitching rather than jumping all over the place (general anesthesia? too much sake, like me?), but they made my task easier. The procedure for eating a live nanban ebi begins by twisting off the head: after that it's no more intimidating than peeling a shrimp normally. My first two passed complacently, but a third, a female full of salty-sweet roe, twitched a little as I decapitated her with my fingers. Caught up in the wanton slaughter of my food, I didn't remember to take a photo until this point, so this one is largely post-carnage.

Today it's off to Sado, a nearby island that is the home to several sake breweries, some hot springs, Charles Jenkins (an American soldier who defected to North Korea during the Korean War) and lots and lots of nanban ebi.

Eating in Tokyo: Shokkan

A rainy evening in Tokyo (I do realize that I was in Paris yesterday and in Oregon three days ago—it’s a long story). Seeing all the neon through the rain at night makes it feel especially Blade Runner-esque. At the little wine store in the Tokyo Station next to my hotel you can buy Cristal Rosé for ¥63,000, as well as a host of other elite wines. In case, you know, I get a late-night urge.

We had an absolutely splendid dinner at a small, modern kaiseki restaurant called Shokkan, in Shibuya. This is Kouei Furukawa, who possesses crazy mad knife skills. He treated us to nine subtle, thoughtfully inspired courses, each more beautiful and delicious than the next. It’s an open kitchen with 30 seats all around, like L’Atelier de Joël Robuchon, so one has the pleasure of watching them work.

I loved this delicate soup of wakame seaweed and the lightest, wispiest balls of mochi, like what polenta could only dream of becoming. Owner Ken Sato keeps a terrific wine list as well, including Egly-Ouriet, Bollinger and Dom Pérignon among his champagnes. We drank saké, of course: a rich, almost caramelly Sawaya Matsumoto Junmai from Kyoto; the cool, briskly melony Kenkon Ichi Junmai Ginjo from Miyagi; the Yamagata Masamune Junmai Ginjo, which was full in body and rich in flavor, in typical Yamagata style; and a Tengumai Tokubetsu Junmai from Ishikawa, with a silky, sleek texture and pungent, peppery green fruit aromas.


I’d give you Shokkan’s address, but it baffles me, and anyway it’s all in Japanese. You could go to their website, which is also all in Japanese, of course. It's definitely a place worth finding.