THE JAPANESE GOURMET

Wairarapa Times-Age, 22 August 1939, Page 6

THE JAPANESE GOURMET

SECRETS OF CULINARY ART. RAW FISH WITH A DIFFERENCE. Though the Japanese manage to live on a diet that consists largely of bean soup, rice, and fish, this is not a limited diet for a people who will tell you food preparation is an*art (writes Helen Mears). Since they have so few raw materials, they dignify and enrich what they have by the use of elaborate names, by serving their meals with great formality, and by decorating every dish with some scrap of green seaweed, or maple leaf, or by juxtaposing certain colours and textures to create a pleasant design or to achieve a semblance'of complexity. Japanese waters are generously supplied with fish. There are said to be some 3,000 varieties in the seas near Japan, and of these some 120 different species are sold in the markets. These provide a spectacle filled with colour, with the rose-coloured tentacles of an octopus, the opalescence of a blue mackerel, and the silver of the small aji. Not frequently a dinner will consist entirely of fish, cooked in different ways, and each garnished with some different colour or texture. To a foreigner the most delicious are the gigantic prawns that the Japanese dip in a wheat-flour batter and fry in deep fat, or the tremendous rose-coloured crabs, whose bulging eyes are the high spot of a Japanese dinner, but which offer as well a flesh as sweet and tender as some idealised lobster. The Sashimi. But a Japanese for real celebration will choose sashimi. Sashimi is raw fish, but raw fish with a difference. To watch a Japanese slice the raw fish for sashimi is to watch an artist. The Japanese will tell you that if the fish is not sliced properly in relation to the grain of the flesh it will be tough and inedible. Prepared properly, it is indeed a delectable food, cool and delicate, it seems to dissolve as it enters the mouth. Tokio is dotted with the minute shops that serve sashimi. Let us go to one of them for dinner. To the left as you enter is a raised platform, covered with a matting strip, and furnished with three low tables. To the right is a narrow counter, with compartments for the fish, and high stools on which the customer can perch while waiting to lake an order out. Many restaurants wifi send to these special shops when some gourmet desires a fish delicacy. A narrow aisle separates the counter from the platform, and leads to the back of the shop to another raised platform where the proprietor’s domestic affairs are conducted in full view -of the customers, who seem thereby to be included in the family along with wife and children, whose activities you caff observe while you eat your supper. Formal Welcome. You arc formally welcomed by them all. The proprietor advances, bowing; his wife and small daughter, kneeling beside the charcoal brazier, bow from their knees; the young son advances to take your shoes. There is a terrific todo while cushions are brought, while you remove your shoes, while you curl up ort your cushion on the platform before the low table. The son arranges and re-arranges your shoes on the floor below until they are exactly right, heel by heel, and toe by toe. Tea is brought at once, in small, handleless cups. You ask for sashimi. There is some discussion—what kind of sashimi do the foreigners prefer? We decide upon sushi, a great delicacy. Beaming his approval, the proprietor hurls a great slab of red fish upon the counter, and begins to slice with rapid, precise movements —each sliver, tissuethin and exact. The fish ready, he arranges minute balls of cold boiled rice that has been cooked in vinegar, and with one sleek motion wraps each rice ball in a sliver of fish. Placed on a red lacquer tray, garnished with sprays of green seaweed, the dish is ready. This is a great moment. Will the foreigners use chopsticks? Sayo dogozaimasu . . . yes, certainly. The

family gathers, watching with some anxiety—the mother holds her kettle suspended, the small daughter gapes, the son stands as though to rush to our assistance. Interested Onlookers.

Though accustomed to chopsticks, the diners find this gallery disconcerting—moreover, the tiny balls are slippery. Seize them with the chopsticks and dip into the mixture of soybean sauce and radish, and lift to the mouth —the suspense is intolerable. ‘‘Sa!” Their relief escapes in a long explosion of breath. The hurdle taken, the family continue their own affairs while you finish your sushi without an audience, lopping it off with a juicy pear. Dinner over, fresh tea provides excuse to linger for a chat. In no time the proprietor and his family discover that your country is America, and will wish to know what America thinks of Japan . . . what you .yourself think of their country. You will exchange courtesies. They will admire Henry Ford, of whom every Japanese seems to have heard favourably; you will praise the food or the theatre or the beauty of the country. Your host will answer to the best of his ability your many questions. It is only if you speak of militarism in China that you break the spell. Then he will pause, his friendly garrulity will become formal courtesy, and he will be sorry, but that is a subject about which he has no opinion. Self-conscious as though you had com- , milled a breach of good manners, you will slip on your shoes. The family formally bows, and as you go out to the cacophony of Tokio you think regretfully how difficult it is today for individuals to meet as human beings rather than as members of some system.