The sushi master was poetry in motion. His razor-sharp knife sliced a cucumber with precision.
Next, he gently wet his right hand in a bowl of water and scooped a bit of rice from a pan, working it on his palms to get it into form. Then delicately, he placed a cucumber slice on the fingers of his left hand, dabbed it with a bit of wasabi and immediately put the rice block on it. Using both hands he artistically shaped the combination into a perfect oblong.
The master continued to be a picture of concentration and poise as he went about completing his task – and I couldn't tear my eyes away from his performance.
When he finally arranged the sushi on a dainty ceramic platter and humbly served it to me, I almost stood up and applauded. He bowed and discreetly waited for my reaction. It was my first experience of sushi and I hadn't imagined a combination of rice and cucumber – almost-oxymoronic – with a hint of wasabi and soy sauce could taste so sublime.
I realised the magic of sushi lay in its minimalism.
Not Just ‘Raw Fish’
If you think sushi is synonymous with raw fish, hold on. In icy cold Sapporo, the capital of Hokkaido (Japan’s northern island famed for its marine fare), I had a remarkable dining experience at a sushi bar. The added honour was having the taisho (master) himself preparing the sushi for me on hearing my preferences of no meat or fish. He used ingredients such as fiddlehead fern, avocado, apple, gourd, tofu and yam to create an evening of exciting tastes. It was gastronomy in the true sense; umami ruled and the palate relished every bit of it.
Sapporo was snow covered – and having spent the day getting wet while exploring the city, I was keen on a sushi night at a cosy place.
Clad in layers, I marched across to Sai Kaku, a sushi bar recommended by locals and gladly quite close to my hotel in Susukino area.
As I stepped in, a lyrical “Irasshaimase!” filled the air. It means ‘welcome’ and I heard it across Japan the moment I entered a store or restaurant. Some visitors say it’s a greeting on auto-pilot; I felt it reflected warmth.
Sai Kaku was a traditional sushi restaurant with a long counter where customers enjoyed a dining experience seated opposite chefs. As I discovered, in such an arrangement you build a rapport with the chef – and once he knows your choices, you leave it to him to come up with the best for you.
Other sushi restaurant designs include the conventional sunken kotatsu type of seating for a very private affair or then kaiten-zushi, the conveyor belt style, which is usually buzzing like a pub. Generally, sushi bars have no menu or price list, as the day's fare is based on the rate and availability of the fish.
The Art of Eating Sushi and Drinking Sake, With Friends
Think sushi and one pictures the makizushi (rice and filling wrapped in nori or seaweed sheet and cut into 6 or 8 pieces). That, I was told, was a “very Western representation of sushi”!
There are a number of variations – of which I tasted the nigiri (topping on rice), futomaki (long nori roll with multiple filling) and inari (fried tofu and rice). Finely sliced pickled ginger was the palate cleanser, while Sapporo beer or sake made for perfect accompaniments. Sushi basically means vinegared rice; and essentially the success of sushi is dependent on the taste, temperature and firmness of the rice.
According to custom, it’s impolite if the sushi is not had immediately on being served – and though chopsticks are provided, using the fingers is more than acceptable.
Dining beside me were amiable Watanabe and Fukuda, two colleagues who had come here straight after work, “the way it is meant to be at a sushi place”.
“When we step in here, we bring the day to a close with sushi, sake and miso,” Watanabe told me as the steward came around to refill sake in his glass which stood inside a masu – the traditional square wooden cup. He kept pouring till sake cascaded out of the glass and filled the masu till the brim. I was perplexed and Watanbe smiled as he said, “We call this act of overflowing, sosogi-koboshi. It is a gesture of gratitude from the host or restaurant and their way of wishing you times of abundance.”
I felt there was suspense too: will it tip over or not! Watanbe laughed and said,
In Japan, we are taught to pause and appreciate the moment. The overflowing sake lets you do that. At that instant it makes us focus on the act of kindness and celebrate life.
I realised, unknowingly, I had done precisely that when I watched the taisho prepare sushi for me. He had made me pause and savour the moment.
(Brinda Suri is an independent journalist, often at large in the world trotting bylanes, hiking in the hills and almost-always getting drawn to the delectable aroma of good food. Her bags usually bring back sugar and spice and all things nice. She tweets as @brinda_suri.)
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