Sushi starts its journey to your table at the Tokyo Fish Market. In the way too early hours of the morning the market kicks off with literally hundreds of stalls selling every conceivable (and some not quiet so appealing) creature from the depths. Wandering around blurry eyed at 6am it’s a kinetic mix of wholesalers, restaurateurs and thousands of fish. Twisting passageways snake through the dawn-lit warehouse. Stacks of ice filled boxes overflowing with fish caught the day previous form a ramshackle town grid. Flamboyant haggling over the price of salmon, eel and most notably tuna fills the air. The mix of acrid stale cigarette smoke and rotting fish hangs in my nose as I try to keep my feet dry amongst the puddles nesting in the dips of the cobblestone. Tuna the size of beef hind quarters are dragged in and brought to the stalls to be filleted. Like a samurai, the fish monger produces a knife that look more like a sword then a kitchen utensil. It takes 3 people to hold the carcass steady as the razor sharp 4 foot blade slices through the 200kg tuna.
Getting lost amongst the rows the stalls begin to run together, the same wares arranged in the same ways it’s a wonder how a chef would choose the correct one. Until another nameless corner produces a different looking stall. Well lit, larger and sparsely populated with fish. Only a few massive pieces of meat sit on the crushed ice. Cuts the size of a Christmas hams are displayed with pride. But this was no fish; this stall sold the only mammal in the whole market. The gentle giant of the sea – yes, they were selling whale meat. It was shocking and sad to see – I was expecting to find it somewhere in the market, but I expected it to be hidden away in a corner with a black-market aroma to the dealings. But this was front row center, complete with a cartoon whale on the sign and a poster indicating which species were on offer. They were selling this protected species with panache, pride and the stench of smugness. For years Japan has been whaling for what it calls, “scientific research purposes.” Well I’ve seen it with my own eyes and that claim of science is utter bullshit. This whale meat was bound for a Tokyo restaurant table and any claims of research, science or the betterment of man are as believable as the tooth fairy. Though I thoroughly loved my time in Japan, just the sight of whale up for sale was deplorable, enraging and sickening.
Beyond the ethical bombshells the market was a fascinating way to start the day. It makes dinner a whole lot more interesting when you saw the fish you’re eating that morning on ice. And what meals they were – I was lucky enough to have a few unbelievable eating experiences in Tokyo. My good friend Matt Firestone lives in Tokyo and was kind enough to show me the ropes during my visit. Matt is legend, a grad of Harvard & Cambridge he now writes for Lonely Planet. When he’s not jetting off to Jordan or the Congo to write he calls Tokyo home – a New Jersey boy by birth he’s lived in the land of the rising sun for 6 years. He speaks the language, knows the culture and has a real passion for the place. You couldn’t ask for a better guide. With Matt I went to one of the best sushi restaurants in town (and in Tokyo, that’s saying al lot!). We dined on the most delicate (raw) fish, cut with precision right in front of us. It was divine and one of the best dining experiences of my life – and I’ve eaten a lot of meals, usually up to three every day.
One night Matt gave me an insight into the weird of the wonderful at dinner. Though we skipped the raw horse meat sashimi we did go for the dried pig intestine. Lets just say, give it a miss, you’re really not missing all that much other then a good story. Then came the salted fish on a stick – corn-dog style. Again not the best thing ever, but getting better. Next course was fried prawns, heads and shells included. delicious, once you got around the, “I’m crunching the head now” bit. Okonomeaki (a cabbage omelette), sushi, noodles and rice all followed and raised the bar to the second best Japanese meal of my life. Real write home about sort of stuff.
The only real way to gather the courage to eat pig intestine (especially as a vegetarian) is to have a few drinks. Japanese beer was out of this world good – and I’m not much of a beer guy. Light and flavourful but with a creamy head that held form like good Irish Guinness. Soon we hit the hard stuff – plum wine was the first go. Sickly sweet, it removes the enamel from your teeth and goes down smooth enough to get you dancing on the table before the main course. Sochu followed – some sort of rice derived spirit it has the flavour of furniture polish cut with a little bit of naphthalene for flavour. It tasted like I was drinking strychnine and was begging for a nip of tequila to get the nasty taste out of my mouth. The variety we were drinking was affectionately described as Okinawan Moonshine, never a good sign. Things get a bit hazy from there, but I’ve been told I had a good time.
Some of the food in Tokyo was outstanding, some was so beyond my comfort zone I would never have conceived eating it and some of it turned my stomach if only for ethical reasons. It a delicious place – and I’m already hanging out for my second course
Bon appetite,
Scott
No comments:
Post a Comment