TR AVE L LEFT: Tokyo’s Tsukuji market is one of the world’s largest fish markets, with more than 2000 tonnes of fish and seafood passing through its doors each day. Below: Thick tentacles of red octopus are coiled for display; local restaurateurs assemble to inspect samples cut from fresh tuna loins; trays of gleaming shellfish are sourced from the coast of Japan.
TO KYO
tantalising
TOKYO
From fascinating displays at the Tsukiji fish markets to neighbourhoods filled with artisan producers, hidden restaurants and craftspeople plying the trade of centuries-long traditional cuisine, Nicola Edmonds takes in the sights and flavours of Japan’s capital. Story and photography — NICOLA ED M OND S
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s the vapours waft from the small lacquer bowls set out for my breakfast, a sharp February breeze creases the white plum blossom beside my balcony. In this quiet ryokan, a traditional Japanese form of accommodation, the cool, smooth pebbles that pave the hallways were laid to mimic the waters of a stream in the moonlight. It’s a meditative introduction to Tokyo, which comes as no surprise in a country whose traditional cuisine is designated an Intangible Cultural Heritage by Unesco. My own appreciation of this cuisine begins with a visit to the Tsukiji fish markets. Though
the early morning tuna auctions are closed to the public, fish, seafood, fruit and vegetables are sold from surrounding warehouses, from 9am. These outer markets are a fascinating parcel of Dickensian gloom and grit, which appear to be mostly kept in hand by the baleful surveillance of vendors. According to my guide, Amy Sato, there are tentacles of Mafia presence throughout the market and its trade. Nevertheless, the sights are sumptuous. A tray of crabs already clad in breadcrumb coating, wave their claws at me. There are palm-sized oysters, and scarlet wafers of tuna loin are sliced with the care and precision of a surgeon. In one corner, are three large wooden
barrels, seething with eels – from tiny infants to full-grown adults. Later Amy walks me across to Shutoku-2, her favourite of the various restaurants and food venders that encircle the markets. As we settle in to the warm embrace of a tiny space and listen to the silky croon of an old Frank Sinatra refrain, it’s easy to forget the world of 2017. Here we find Kenichi Natori, who comes from a long line of professional comedians (an esteemed occupation in Japan). Natori broke with tradition to become a sushi chef when he was 14, but the family flair for entertainment is still apparent as he deploys a magician-like flourish to enfold and merge raw fish and rice.
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CLOCKWISE, FROM TOP LEFT: Market customers are deferred to small cramped booths beside each stall; Hidamari is a favourite ramen venue for Yanaka Street locals; sushi chef Kenichi Natori. Opposite page, clockwise from top left: Tsukuji’s atmospheric markets are scheduled for closure and transfer to a new site in Toyuso; cuttlefish bathe in their own ink at the Tsukuji markets; stallholders’ tools; a bartender adds fresh edamame pods to the grill outside the popular bar Sakan Maru Honten.
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Our 12-course lunch ranges from fillets of squid, grilled individually on a tiny brazier beside the table, and topped with silky-sweet morsels of sea urchin, to a surprisingly delicious slurp of milt, or tumescent fish genitalia, according to the blushing translation by my guide. Natori says the key ingredient is the freshness of his fish and shellfish. There are no sauces, only garnishes: a dusting of freshly zested lime, horseradish or a few grains of chilli. The chef tells us that he has more than 50 years’ experience in his trade, adding with a smile, “Even in my wheelchair I will work! This is my treasure and my play”. A short walk from the markets, the modern and well-dressed windows of Mitsukoshi belie its heritage as Japan’s first department store. It is not only glamorous, but also one of the best department stores in which to experience Tokyo’s famed depachika (basement food hall). The vendors vie for the prize of most tantalising array; their culinary arrangements are architectural works of art. Gravity-defying platters of salads, soba and ramen; delicate tempura; coolers brimming with gleaming seaweed, fish and meat; bento boxes that look too good to eat. The chocolate store concession is enclosed in a clear glass cube. Only two to three customers are admitted at one time. For a more retro shopping experience, the Yanasen area of Tokyo is a few subway stops to the north and includes the neighbourhoods of Yanaka, Nezu and Sendagi. Filled with artisan food producers, tiny restaurants and craftspeople, it provides a friendly, slower pace. In Yanaka, in a small shop with a side window level with the pavement, a young man
Our 12-course lunch ranges from fillets of squid, grilled individually on a tiny brazier beside the table, and topped with silky-sweet morsels of sea urchin, to a surprisingly delicious slurp of milt, or tumescent fish genitalia...
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The vendors vie for the prize of most tantalising array; their culinary arrangements are architectural works of art. Gravity-defying platters of salads, soba and ramen; delicate tempura; coolers brimming with gleaming seaweed, fish and meat...
makes senbai – round biscuits of cooked white rice – in a large wood-fired oven. The goldenbrown crackers are arrayed in glass jars at the shop-front, with flavours ranging the saltysweet gamut from miso with black sesame seed, to a bittersweet coating of matcha tea. Further down the avenue is Fujiya, a 90-year-old family-run fishmonger. While we deliberate over the choice of sashimi for a street-side picnic, the proprietor proudly points out his son’s certificate: a special licence to handle and sell the infamous fugu (pufferfish) – a fish so poisonous that a slight slip in preparation can prove fatal. The beautifully boxed fillets sell for around $250 per fish. For soba noodles, I visit Yoshibo Rin, in Nezu. Each morning Muraki Yu To prepares noodles for the day’s custom. The young chef grinds the flour by hand in a small stone mill, using whole
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buckwheat groats. It’s a meticulous task to bind the gluten-free dough to a sliceable consistency and then gently disentangle the strands. My noodles are served cool, on a woven cane platter; lightly oiled and unadorned. This style is known as zaru-soba. There is a tiny dish containing a smear of shaved horseradish and a little jug of hot and concentrated broth. The simple serving accentuates the texture and nutty flavours. I’m envious of my fellow diners’ ability to master the art of the discreet slurp but soon realise there’s only one way for a pair of chopsticks to convey both noodle and broth to mouth simultaneously. There is no need for any discretion at the boisterous Sakana Maru Honten, one of Tokyo’s countless izakaya bars. This is the bar where New Zealand’s sake entrepreneur, of Queenstown’s Zenkuro Sake, David Joll, hung
out with colleagues when he was a “salaryman” (a popular moniker for salaried workers serving the city’s bureaucratic corporations) at the end of the day. He’s back again for a sake master course – one of 20 students chosen worldwide. Sardined into a corner of the crowded watering-hole, set among a soot-clad jumble of inns below the Yurakucho train tracks, we sip the cool, clear liquid in tiny white cups, accompanied by an assortment of gourmet snacks including fungi, sashimi horse-mackerel and fried chicken. David says Japanese people enjoy sake with their food, both as a palate cleanser and for the healthful digestive properties that are released from the rice grain during the brewing process. He says that learning about sake has taken over his life. “It really takes you deep into Japanese culture.” To consolidate all I’ve seen, heard and tasted, I join a cooking class hosted by Elizabeth Andoh. The American-born academic and food writer attributes the beginnings of her 50-year devotion to Japanese cuisine to her first bad noodle experience, soon after arriving in the city. Curious to find out how a simple meal could go so wrong, she attended the Yanagihara School of Classical Japanese Cuisine, subsequently establishing her own teaching and writing career. Elizabeth is a patient and generous tutor and keen to help me improve my shoddy left-handed skills during the daikon-slicing exercise. As she guides us through recipes for teriyaki and broth-style fish preparations, she explains the philosophy relating to each step. Washoku, Japan’s officially recognised cuisine, translates as “the harmony of food”, she says. The philosophy pivots around three central tenants of colour, flavour and method. “It’s a framework that underpins a way of life.”
For soba noodles, I visit Yoshibo Rin, in Nezu. Each morning Muraki Yu To prepares noodles for the day’s custom. The young chef grinds the flour by hand in a small stone mill, using whole buckwheat groats.
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Soba noodles are prepared daily at Yoshibo Rin; Homeikan ryokan provides a serene and traditional retreat in the quiet backstreets of Nezu. This page, clockwise from top left: A warren of bustling bars and food stalls cluster beneath the Yurakucho train tracks; breakfast is delivered by Homeikan’s maids on two-tiered trays; a display of kazaridaru, decorated sake barrels, in the grounds of the Meiji shrine.
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