The Japanese Food Report

Yukari Sakamoto's Tokyo Guide - And Her Summer Somen!

2010-08-24T10:48:03Z

Chef, educator and food journalist Yukari Sakamoto has just published a new book: Food Sake Tokyo, a fabulous guide to the city's eats. Go Yukari! I first met Yukari a few years ago; I've always learned a ton when she lectures on Japanese food. Her book reflects her deep, deep knowledge -- what I love about it is the incredible, broad and extensive details she shares, from the phrase for "juicy meat" to a detailed rundown of the stores in Kappabashi, the city's restaurant supply district, to a listing of "antenna shops" (read the book to find out what that means!) to wonderful culinary itineraries. I am so impressed by how much work Yukari has put into this book. If you're into food and heading to Tokyo, this is your guide.

When I emailed Yukari to tell her how much I liked her book, I asked if she wouldn't mind sharing a recipe or two for us here on the JFR. Yukari graciously sent me a few. First up: Summer somen noodles with a quick, homemade dipping sauce (tsuyu). What a super easy yet deeply umami-rich tsuyu. Mmmm. Here's the recipe:

]]> (Serves 4)

3 cups dashi (use this method, or buy dashi packs at the store)
3/4 cups soy sauce
1/4 cup mirin
1 tablespoon sugar
3 cups katsuobushi
4 servings dried somen
Shredded nori (optional)
Thinly sliced fresh shiso leaves (optional)
Wasabi (optional)
Thinly sliced scallion (optional)
Ground roasted sesame (optional)

To make the somen dipping sauce: Combine the dashi, soy sauce, mirin, sugar and katsuobushi in a saucepan and bring to a boil over medium high heat. Strain the liquid through a cheesecloth or fine-mesh sieve. When the liquid comes to room temperature, transfer to the fridge to cool thoroughly.

Cook the somen following the instructions on the package. Somen is usally sold divided into individual serving portions, so you know how much to cook. Rinse the somen in cold running water. You can also throw a few ice cubes on the noodles to cool them further. Be careful not to overcook; somen is thin like vermicelli.

Serve the somen with the dipping sauce on the side. Garnish the noodles with the optional nori or shiso, and garnish the dipping sauce with the optional wasabi, scallion and/or ground sesame, to taste. Enjoy these refreshing noodles on a roasty summer day!

(Thanks, Yukari!)

Original Teriyaki

2010-08-17T00:05:56Z

Okay, time for teriyaki, but I mean the real thing, not the ho-hum dish we typically see here in America, the one with a gummy, starch-thickened sauce that drowns chicken or fish. The "teri" in teriyaki means "glossy," and that's the secret of this thing -- you coat an ingredient with a light, thin glaze to give it incredible sweet-savory flavor and a lovely, shiny sheen. Wonderful. The sugar and mirin in the sauce, by the way, are what create that gloss. Teriyaki is a delicious method for preparing chicken, fish or beef; fast and easy, too. (Yep, great for family cooking!) Start by preparing a teriyaki sauce, which you can make ahead of time and keep in the fridge for at least a month. (I bumped into Hiroko of Sakaya in the subway this morning and she reminded me that the teriyaki sauce flavors mingle and improve over time, too -- thanks, neighbor!) Then choose your main ingredient: boneless chicken leg, chicken breast, salmon fillet or steak, swordfish, mahi mahi, beef steak or even artichoke hearts.

The way to cook teriyaki is first to brown your ingredient on both sides in a hot skillet, then brush on the glaze, flipping and brushing on more glaze as you cook, until the ingredient is done. You can easily cook teriyaki on a charcoal or gas grill, too. So to prepare, say, swordfish steak teriyaki (like in the picture above), preheat a skillet over medium high heat. Add a little oil to coat the pan. When the oil is hot, lay the fish in the skillet and sear both sides, about 2 minutes. Now lightly brush the swordfish with teriyaki sauce, and grill for about 1 minute. Carefully flip the fish, and lightly brush more teriyaki sauce on the other side. Grill for another minute. Repeat the flipping and glazing routine for about another 1 to 2 minutes on each side (depending on how thick the steak), and you're done. Serve with a steaming bowl of rice.

Now, what about the teriyaki sauce? Glad you asked.

]]> There are a bunch of methods to prepare this glaze. The way I like to do it is combine soy sauce, mirin, sake, sugar, garlic and ginger in a saucepan and simmer down until half the liquid evaporates. The result is a fragrant, intensely flavored, syrupy liquid, with an undercurrent of garlic and ginger. You can also prepare this sauce without the garlic or ginger, or just use either/or. Here's the recipe:

(Makes about 1/2 a cup)

1/2 cup shoyu (Japanese dark soy sauce)
1/4 cup mirin
1/4 cup sake
3 tablespoons unrefined cane sugar (which imparts a nice molassesy flavor)
1 or 2 cloves of garlic, crushed (optional)
1/2 inch piece of ginger sliced thickly (optional)

Combine all the ingredients in a saucepan and bring to a boil over medium heat. Reduce the heat to low and simmer for about 20 minutes until the liquid reduces by about half (make sure the surface is bubbling lightly). It's okay if the sauce gets foamy towards the end; just remove from heat for a moment to check how much liquid has cooked off. Once the teriyaki sauce is ready, remove and discard the garlic and/or ginger, if you're using, so it doesn't overpower. Allow the sauce to come to room temperature, and use. Store leftover sauce in a tightly sealed container in the fridge.

Cooking at Hyotei: The Photos

2010-08-09T21:04:21Z

An extraordinary invitation prompted my trip to Japan this past June: A chance to spend a month training in the kitchen of Hyotei, the hallowed 400-year-old ryotei in Kyoto. Hyotei is no ordinary restaurant. Located along a historic pilgrim's route to Nanzen-ji Temple, it started out as a teahouse where travelers could rest, refresh and change their woven reed sandals before entering the temple's hallowed grounds, just up the road. Today, the original thatched-roof teahouse and genkan, or entranceway, still stand from four centuries ago -- and the direct descendents of the founders, the Takahashi family, still welcome guests 16 generations later. Hyotei defines the intrinsically Japanese notions of omotenashi, tea, and kaiseki ryori; to spend a month in the midst of the extended Takahashi family (that's what the restaurant felt like - a big family), was a profoundly seminal experience. It was also an incredibly moving one; I'm humbled by the welcome, kindness and warmth everyone there bestowed on me.

I've been thinking about how to write about this experience for weeks now. I could fill a book with what I saw and learned -- wait, there's an idea -- and I'm still unraveling everything in my mind. So right now, I thought to share a bunch of photos I took during my training to give you a glimpse inside this traditional kitchen. Cooks don't just work at Hyotei; they embrace a life of total commitment and focus -- they typically spend a decade training, and live in the restaurant's dorm. All the food was important, from the sublime dishes served to guests to the daily makanai, or staff meals. Ingredients were delivered every morning in tiny, absolutely fresh quantities by a steady stream of vendors, some whose companies have been supplying Hyotei for generations. And -- I love this -- the restaurant's signature dish was a simple soft-boiled egg, accented with a drop of soy sauce. An egg. The simplicity, velvety yolk, perfect eggy flavor of that egg, harvested by an elderly farmer in tiny farm in northern Kyoto, and carefully sliced in half and composed on in a stunning presentation says it all about Hyotei, and Japanese cooking. (My deepest thanks to the Takahashi family.) Here are the photos:

Fresh Edamame

2010-08-03T03:25:22Z

If you haven't ever tried edamame picked fresh from the vine, please scour your local farmers market, just in case someone's selling them. I happened to drop by the Union Square market in NYC and came across a pile -- and grabbed 'em fast. Edamame are young soybeans in the pod, usually sold precooked and frozen (like the kind you typically get in restaurants). The fresh ones aren't nearly as perfect looking, and smaller in size. But the flavor and texture - so sublimely beany and firm and vital feeling as you bite into them. Preparing fresh edamame is a snap:

Bring a big pot of salted water to a boil over high heat (you want plenty of water). Snip the stalk ends off the beans, which will allow the salt water to penetrate. When the water is rolling and boiling, add the edamame. Don't reduce heat, and cook quickly, about 2 minutes or so. (Taste to make sure they're cooked through, and have lost their green edge.) Transfer to a colander and shock them under cold running water. When they're cool to the touch, add them to a mixing bowl and sprinkle in salt to taste. Mix together well, pile in a mound on a serving platter, sprinkle a little salt over them and serve. Eat the beans, toss the shells.

Oh, and a word about salt: The salt in the picture above is arajio, that is, natural Japanese sea salt. This coarse salt is still wet with brine, so it's loaded with incredible oceany and mineral flavors. It's absolutely fantastic; I love this salt. It's quite potent, so be careful not to over-salt. You can find arajio in Japanese markets; it's a bargain compared to fancy gourmet salts, to boot.

Turnips (Lightly) Pickled Three Ways

2010-08-02T02:45:28Z

Turnips, daikon, beets and radishes aren't only about the tasty bulbous root -- the leaves are just as important. I'm always a little amazed (incredulous) to see these delicious greens trimmed at my local New York City farmers market, at a shopper's request. C'mon. In Japanese cooking, where the credo motainai, don't waste, reigns, the leaves are integral. But why, you ask, the leafy soliloquy? Well, my wife and I planted a bunch of lovely kabu (Japanese turnips) this spring which we're now happily harvesting (along with a bounty of crunchy Japanese cukes -- but our eggplant seeds never sprouted, too bad!). So we're cooking a ton of kabu, leaves, roots and all. Kabu miso soup is fantastic (simmer the stems and sliced root in dashi until tender, along with thinly sliced abura age (deep fried tofu), add the chopped leaves to just cook through, kill the fire, dissolve miso of choice (Hatcho is amazing with kabu, but so is a nice rustic red miso), and serve). And so are lightly cured kabu pickles. Here are three easy, super-fast methods:

]]> Yuzu Kosho/Lemon Kabu Pickles
2 kabu, leaves and roots
1/2 tablespoon salt
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1/4 teaspoon yuzu kosho

Thinly slice the kabu root, and chop the stems and leaves into bite-sized pieces. Mix together with the salt, lemon juice and yuzu kosho. Yuzu kosho, in case you don't know, is one of my favorite Japanese ingredients, an incredibly aromatic mingling of fiery chilies and tangy yuzu citrus peel. I can't live without it. If you want more heat, add more yuzu kosho (I went easy). Also, taste and adjust proportions for all ingredients depending on the size of your kabu. (Use your judgment, which I know is fine!) Let the kabu sit for at least an hour, then serve (overnight in the fridge cures it further).

Shio Kombu Kabu Pickles
2 kabu, leaves and roots
2 pinches shio kombu
1 teaspoon sugar
1 tablespoon vinegar

Thinly slice the kabu root, and chop the stems and leaves into bite-sized pieces. Shio kombu is dried slivers of salted kombu, an intensely umami-rich condiment (great to mix with steaming rice, too). Mix together all the ingredients. If you want a bigger umami blast add more kombu. Also, taste and adjust proportions for all ingredients depending on the size of your kabu. (Use your judgment, which I know is fine!) Let the kabu sit for at least an hour, then serve (overnight in the fridge cures it further).

Shio Kombu-Shoyu-Mirin Kabu Pickles
2 kabu, leaves and roots
1/2 Japanese cucumber, sliced as thinly as possible (optional) 2 pinches shio kombu
3 drips (!) shoyu (Japanese soy sauce)
1 teaspoon mirin

Thinly slice the kabu root, and chop the stems and leaves into bite-sized pieces. Mix together all the ingredients. Taste and adjust proportions for all ingredients depending on the size of your kabu. (Use your judgment, which I know is fine!) The idea here, by the way, isn't to overwhelm with shoyu. But if the three trips don't seem do to the trick, drip in a little bit more, I won't tell anyone... Let the kabu sit for at least an hour, then serve (overnight in the fridge cures it further).

Cold ramen noodles from "A Cook's Journey to Japan"

2010-07-25T14:25:24Z

Paging through a review copy of A Cook's Journey to Japan, a charming new cookbook filled with homestyle faves, I landed on the hiyashi chukka recipe, cold ramen noodles with sesame vinaigrette. Man, that looked good. While training in a Kyoto kitchen last month, during Japan's hot 'n humid rainy season, these refreshing, tangy noodles were always a delight served as makanai, or staff meal. Easy and fast to prepare, too. When I emailed author Sarah Marx Feldner and asked her to suggest a recipe to cook, guess which one she suggested? Yep, and here's what she wrote:

"I love this recipe because it brings back great memories of Japan. I first ate it as an ekiben [bento boxes sold on trains] while traveling along the Shimanto Gawa in Shikoku. And I enjoyed it once again one sweltering summer afternoon with my "Japanese family" in Iwaki, shortly before heading home to The States. It's a great summer dish because the dressing can be prepared well ahead of time. And the toppings are super flexible -- so it's a perfect recipe for highlighting your farmer's market finds."

Amen, Sarah. With this dish you pile a variety of toppings over cold ramen, then pour a sesame vinaigrette. Get creative with the toppings: mix and match crunchy, raw veggies, thin-sliced omelet (a must), and other ingredients -- just like I did. Here's the recipe for my adaptation of this fantastic dish:

]]> (serves 4)

For the dressing, from Sarah's book:
1/2 cup rice wine vinegar
1/4 cup soy sauce
1 tablespoon sugar
1 teaspoon sesame oil
2 tablespoons ground toasted sesame seeds

8 ounces fresh ramen noodles (sold at Asian markets)
2 eggs, beaten
Vegetable oil
1/2 pound medium shrimp, boiled and peeled
1 cucumber, cut into matchsticks (use an uber-crunchy Japanese or Persian cuke, if possible)
1/2 yellow squash, cut into matchsticks
1 beautiful, perfectly ripe large tomato (like a beefsteak), cut into thin wedges

To make the dressing, combine all the ingredients in a mixing bowl and whisk until smooth. Taste it. If it seems too vinegary to you, add a little more sugar (I use cane sugar at home which isn't as sweet as regular sugar, so I added an extra teaspoon). Also, if you really like sesame seeds (like yours truly), you can add an extra teaspoon or so. Set aside

Bring a large pot of water to boil over high heat (do not add salt). When the water is boiling, add the ramen noodles and cook for about 2 minutes until they're toothsome (pull one out, run under cold water and taste it to tell). Don't overcook. Drain into a colander and rinse under cold water. Set aside.

Use a piece of paper towel to wipe a thin film of vegetable oil the bottom skillet. Heat the skillet over medium heat. When it's ready, pour just enough egg to make a paper-thin layer. As soon as the egg is set, flip, and set aside. Repeat with the remaining egg, wiping the skillet bottom with more oil between omelets. Make sure your skillet is hot, so the egg won't stick. When you have a stack of paper-thin omelets, cut it in quarters, line the quarters up, then slice the omelet as thin as possible to make eggy threads (see page 32 of Sarah's book for a detailed description of this technique with process shots).

Now you're ready to assemble: Pile a mound of noodles in the center of a dish, and artfully arrange the toppings over them. Generously pour the dressing over the toppings and noodles, and you're ready to chow down!

Shout out to my wife, who suggested the shrimp -- great idea, honey. As we sat down for dinner, she also thought that chiffonaded shiso leaves would also be a nice touch. Yep, we'll have to go that next time.

(Thank you Sarah for sending me your book!)

Old-School Tokyo Shopping Street

2010-07-03T22:26:53Z

The intense, caramel aroma of freshly roasted hojicha tea is what first stopped me in my tracks on Amazakeyokocho Street. I was working on a cycling story last year when I rode down this old shopping street. I popped into the tea shop, where the storekeeper offered me a taste (delicious), and looked around. The tea shop was next door to the tofu shop. Up the street, a huge line of shoppers waited patiently for taiyaki. Next to the taiyaki shop stood another sweets shop, then a shop selling bamboo brooms and kitchenware, run by an ancient woman. One traditional shop after the other. When I checked my handy map, I couldn't believe this incredible street was just an eight minute subway ride from the glitz and bustle of the Ginza. I read that this area escaped damage during the war, so many of the original buildings are still intact. If you're in Tokyo, you shouldn't miss the Amazakeyokocho. Stroll down the street and nosh. That's what I just did, during a brief few hours in the city. (Take the Hibiya line to the Ningyocho Station, check the station map (with English) for Amazakeyokocho, easy to find.) Here are some pictures:

Dining in Kyoto

2010-06-27T12:39:39Z

I've been in Kyoto for almost a month now, and while most of my dining has been makani -- restaurant staff meals -- I've had a couple of chances to squeeze in some great dinners (details on my restaurant training soon). I've also learned about a bunch of other restaurant here, so I want to share this information. One of these days I'll be back in Kyoto with more time to dine, and get to try them all!

My favorite discovery this trip, thanks to my pal Nemo Glassman, has been Heikichi Negiya, or the "Heikichi Onion Shop." It's located in an historic two-story machiya, or traditional merchant's house, along the Takasegawa canal. And yes, the star attraction here is the onion, a nice, big, round onion, one that has been slowly, carefully--meticulously--grilled over binchotan charcoal for an hour or so, and served with a little miso on the side. Everything that Japanese cooking is about can be found in this perfect, sweet, delicate, luscious, fragrant, tender onion. The taisho, or owner, Chef Tsubaki, is a wonderful, outgoing guy who runs a relaxed, friendly place. Besides his onion, he serves a huge menu featuring Kyoto heirloom veggies, and has some of the best sake I've ever tried. When you go there, do what I did, and tell the taisho "omakase"-- chef's choice -- and let him serve you. This goes for the sake, too. You have to check out the Onion Shop. (Phone 075-342-4430, near the intersection of Shijo and Kawaramachi.) By the way, they also serve phenomenal ramen at lunch.

Nemo, who runs fantastic cultural programs at Origin Japan (that anyone visiting Kyoto should not miss), also recommends:

Giro giro, located in another machiya on the same canal
Yoshikawa Tempura, Nemo says "try to get a private room looking out at the garden, one of my favorite spots in Kyoto."
Isoya, young, hip crowd, great food
Honke Owariya, serving soba for 18 generations

Here are some other places I've heard about or seen in Japanese magazines but haven't tried -- yet:

Yoshiya on the Pontocho (a historic, narrow lane astride the Kamo River, where geisha houses have been converted into restaurants), Japanese kappo ryori--fine counter dining
Masuda on the Pontocho, obanzai cuisine (Kyoto's traditional home cooking)
Takara ramen on the Pontocho, shoyu ramen with chicken stock is supposed to be fantastic (the cooks at my restaurant swear by it -- good sign!)
Kawakami, a traditional, historic ryotei in the Gion that serves classic kaiseki cuisine
Usui, obanzai cuisine (075-351-1529)
Fumido, yakiton, that is, grilled pork (075-212-5135)
Inaseya, yakitori and hormo (intestines) (075-255-7250)

Dig up info these places online. And, hey, do you have any places to recommend in Kyoto? C'mon spill the azuki beans! Please leave your picks in the comments!

Finally, here are some photos from my meal at Heikichi:

Kyoto Tempura Kaiseki

2010-06-06T22:00:46Z

A few years ago I got a glimpse at the high art of tempura cooking while visiting Kyoto at an elegant restaurant called Tenyu, and I never forgot it. (See this blog post, too.) Mrs. Sachiyo Imai introduced me. Besides being Miss Kyoto in 1953 and a master of the Japanese classic arts (plus a mean piano player), Mrs. Imai is a noted Kyoto food scholar, author, and television and radio host, and an all-around amazing person (read about her in the 2008 Saveur 100, and my post). Now that I'm back in Kyoto, Mrs. Imai and I headed to Tenyu again, along with a friend named Nemo, who was kind enough to translate.

The tiny restaurant has a only a U-shaped dining counter, with the chef working in the center. I watched the chef add oil to a specialized tempura pot, which he explained is made from copper and steel. He uses only cottonseed oil, which I found surprising. I've read that tempura chef often use a combination of oils, including sesame oil, to impart flavor to ingredients. "This is Kyoto style," he answered, explaining that he aims for a lighter, more delicate kind of tempura. I watched him mix the tempura batter--barely, so not to stretch the glutens in the flour, to keep the tempura crispy rather than chewy. The chef serves tempura in courses, one ingredient at a time. He started with shrimp, cooking it seconds and serving himself. We ate it with salt and sansho. The shrimp was delicate, tender and sashimi inside, encased in a crispy, light crust. Mrs. Imai pointed to the paper lining my plate. "No oil," she said. She was right. For an ingredient that was just deep fried, there no oil dripping off. The chef explained that he adjusts the batter to match the moisture of each ingredient, and switches tempura pots during cooking to keep the oil clean. We also tasted asparagus, kisu, a type of whiting, hamo eel, Kamo eggplant and Fushimi togarashi, a local pepper. Incredible. What amazed me, too, is how hot the ingredients became inside, even though they were so quickly deep fried--and just perfectly cooked through. Check out the photos and video. (Tenyu, telephone (075) 212-7778, Gokomachi Sanjo Sagaru)

Osaka One-Bite Gyoza

2010-05-29T22:49:23Z

My friends know about me and gyoza. I can't resist these fried-then-steamed dumplings stuffed with pork, napa cabbage and garlic chives, so when we rolled into Osaka, we headed directly to a half-century old joint called Tenpei Gyoza, which claims to be the originator of the city's signature hitokuchi gyoza, one-bite gyoza. The place was 20-seats small, with a rather abridged menu on the wall that read, "gyoza, pickles, beer." What more do you need? An ornery grandma manned the door, while a woman behind a dining counter spooned filling into flour skins and folded dumpling after dumpling. I watched the cook next to her prepare my batch. He lay a dozen gyoza on a hot griddle contraption. When they began to sizzle, he picked up an aluminum kettle and poured water over the dumplings. As steam lifted into the air, he covered the griddle and waited. Five minutes or so later, they were ready.

Make a dipping sauce with one part soy sauce to two parts vinegar, the waiter advised. I added a drop of rayu (chili oil), too, to add some zing. I dipped my first dumpling into the sauce, and one bite later it was gone. What was it like? Crunchy skin, light and juicy insides, with fantastic fragrance and flavor from the garlic chives. In other words, a perfect gyoza. Click here for Tenpei's Japanese website (I love it that they have a website, and it seems, a blog) and check out some photos:

Nagoya Cochin Chicken

2010-05-28T01:44:42Z

Back in Japan now and just rolled into the lovely city of Nagoya. First order of business: Nagoya Cochin chicken. Cochin is this town's signature variety of jidori, or free-range, heirloom-breed chicken. From what I read while researching my and my pal Tadashi's latest cookbook (handed in the manuscript a week ago -- woohoo!! -- thanks again to all our volunteer recipe testers), chicken played a number of roles in ancient Japan, as cock-a-doodle-doing timekeepers, fighting birds, and spiritual creatures. But their import as food diminished when the emperor banned eating them around the year 700 or so (if I recall correctly - I don't have my notes with me). By the 17th century, though, chicken recipes began appearing in cookbooks -- I mean, how long can long can you resist a juicy drumstick? -- and today, if I got this right, jidori must have at least 50% ancient Japanese chicken in them. There are a number of jidori breeds, but Cochin is about the most famous, and in Nagoya, numerous restaurants focus on just this bird.

To learn more, my friend here in Nagoya took me to a restaurant called Hioki, where the chef, Mr. Hioki, specializes in Cochin. Chef Hioki was kind enough to invite us into his kitchen. As we watched him work, he explained that he buys his chickens every morning from a tiny-scale breeder who slaughters them on the spot, so they're perfectly fresh. (He gets his eggs from another local farmer, who apparently wouldn't sell them to him for months until he was satisfied that Chef Hioko was worthy.) The Cochin bird was bigger by half than a typical American broiler. The color of the raw meat struck me: the leg was deeply ruddy like duck, the breast meat was a pale, almost translucent peach color, and the fat, a bright lemon-yellow. So this is what chicken should look like. As Chef Hioki deftly stripped the meat off the bones, I wondered how he was going to prepare it.

The most fundamental way to enjoy Cochin, the chef explained, is raw. With an ingredient this pristine, this perfect, you can revel in its natural essence, like you would with great fish. Chef Hioki prepared a plate of chicken sashimi with meat from the neck, breast, tenderloin, and leg, adding slices of heart, gizzard, liver and the cockscomb. He served us the sashimi with two condiments alongside, soy sauce and grated ginger for the white meat, and sesame oil and salt for the dark meat. We tasted this incredible chicken; each part had its own singular texture and flavor. The gizzard was crunchy, the liver delicate and tender. The leg meat was fantastic, so rich and chickeny. Besides the sashimi, the chef also served us chicken simmered in sakekasu (the lees of sake), grilled wings with just a little salt (amazing!), grilled skin (amazing!), and tsukune, chicken meat balls (amazing!), which we dipped into luscious raw egg. The chef also treated us to a selection of great sake at his stylish restaurant, including a local brand also called Cochin, which was beautifully wrapped in old newspaper. Wow. If you pass through Nagoya, Hioki is located at 3-20-17 Nishiki, Naka-ku (tel 052-973-3660). Here are some photos:

Video: The Japanese Approach to Fish

2010-05-14T03:21:50Z

What makes the Japanese way of preparing fish so special? I tackled this question with Chef Chikara Sono of Kyo Ya restaurant at a workshop we did last fall at Saveur magazine. I just got my hands, at long last, on a video clip from that fascinating evening, and I thought to share it with you. In it, I talk about the three key aspects of the Japanese approach to fish. After I spoke, by the way, Chef Sono went ahead and butchered a live fish using a traditional technique called ikejime. Unfortunately the video of that was unusable -- I'll get that on tape someday! Here's the video...

Konro Grilling

2010-04-27T03:28:15Z

How bad did I want a Japanese konro grill? Let's just say I had a picture of one tacked up on the refrigerator of my Manhattan apartment for at least five years in the hope, the hope, that someday that I'd have a backyard or rooftop where to use it. So when my wife and I scored a garden apartment in Brooklyn last year, I knew I'd buy one come spring. What I didn't expect was that my friend Saori Kawano, the founder of Korin Trading and the nonprofit Gohan Society, already had one set aside for me and my wife as our wedding gift. Whoa. Saori is a trailblazing entrepreneur who built the largest independent Japanese restaurant supply company in America; aside from being exceedingly kind and gracious, add "mind reader" to her prodigious talents!

So on Friday, Saori handed me the konro and a box of binchotan, called a car service to haul everything to Brooklyn, and moments later I was rolling across Roebling's bridge. An hour later I was setting up my grill. My konro is a rectangular grill about two feet long. The firebox is made from porous ceramics. It's narrow, so I can hang skewers over the fire without burning my hands. It has two wire grates but these are removable, and that's the beauty of this thing: Without grates, and by skewering your ingredients, you can grill in three dimensions -- that is, move the ingredients around on an angle to cook evenly. Last year when I apprenticed in the kitchen of Ryugin in Tokyo, I watched a masterful chef named Seki-san grill fish, meat, duck, chicken, fighting cock and veggies this way, angling the foods over the blazing fire. I wanted to try this myself, and now I had my chance.

The first thing I did was light the binchotan charcoal. The top grade of this traditional oak charcoal is naturally shaped like the branches that it's made from, and is so hard it clinks like glass when you whack pieces together. I used a lesser grade, but one that works great, too. It takes about an hour to get the charcoal going, which I did on my stove (with the doors open). Once the fire was going, I marinated shiitake mushrooms with a 50/50 mixture of olive oil and soy sauce; brushed parboiled fingerling potatoes with sesame oil, and seasoned with salt; brushed another batch of parboiled fingerlings with vegetable oil and sprinkled shichimi togarashi over them (Saori's suggestion, terrific); ditto for pearl onions; and got my shell steaks ready (also known as New York strip -- my favorite steak). For the steak, I took a page out of my pal, coauthor and grilling fanatic Tadashi Ono's playbook: dunk in 2 parts soy sauce to 1 part olive oil, plus grated garlic and black pepper -- Tadashi's all-purpose, go-to meat marinade (which we're featuring in our upcoming grilling book!). I skewered everything with metal skewers (tanegushi) and was ready for action.

I grilled by feel, touching the foods, angling them like Seki-san did, watching carefully. I was amazed by the intensely concentrated heat produced by the binchotan, which burns smokeless and odorless, and how the ceramic firebox held that heat and spread it throughout the rectangular grill -- so even though I was just grilling in one corner, I was able to indirect grill without coals, too, and also keep my cooked foods hot at the farthest reaches of the konro. The food tasted uh-mazing. My darling wife was smiling (and not just because we recently adopted an adorable puppy). Can't wait to grill with my konro again: Thank you, Saori-san! Check out the pictures below-including a photo of our pup, Ben (part Rottweiler, part Chow, part monster, totally sweet):

4-27 UPDATE: Today I got a few inquiries about where to buy this incredible grill. Click here to check out Korin's konro.

All About Salmon

2010-04-21T12:25:56Z

I was curious to see the reaction of fellow commuters as I stepped onto a Brooklyn-bound subway holding a clear plastic bag filled with 20 pounds of salmon parts. No one seemed to notice. Figures -- another reason why I love my hometown. But why was I holding that bag? On Monday I had the privilege to join the latest session of Mastering Fish the Japanese Way, a multi-part, hands-on seminar for chefs sponsored by the Gohan Society, a nonprofit group dedicated to educating culinary professionals about Japanese gastronomy. (Chefs out there interested in Japanese cuisine -- you need to know about the Gohan Society.) The remarkable Chef Toshio Suzuki walked us through how to prepare salmon, a fish as important in Japan as it is in America.

Chef Suzuki kicked off the seminar by demonstrating how to break a salmon using a technique called sanmai oroshi. He showed us how to split open the head, explaining how you cook with it, and virtually every other part of the fish. He passed around salmon dishes he prepared, including miso-marinated salmon, gills air-dried for 3 days then deep fried, squid with salmon kidney, fried cubes of skin, and more. (See the images below.) Not much raw salmon, though, because all salmon eaten raw (sashimi, sushi) must first be frozen first to kill internal parasites.

When we changed into our chefs coats and moved to a kitchen, Chef Suzuki and colleagues helped us learn how to break our own salmon into cookable parts. I left the seminar armed with a ton of new knowledge, and a gracious gift from the Gohan Society, the bag of fish. (Thank you, Gohan Society!)

So what can I share about preparing salmon from the seminar?

Yuan yaki is a traditional marinade made from soy sauce, sake, and mirin in equal parts (1:1:1). Marinate salmon fillet for 1 hour in yuan yaki, then grill or broil. Simple and delicious.
Miso zuke is miso-marinated salmon. The way I suggest to do this is to mix white savory miso with enough mirin to form it into a paste, and then pack the salmon fillets in it (first salt the salmon fillets overnight). After three days, take out the salmon, wipe off the miso, and grill or broil. The miso cures and transforms the fish, incredible.
Salted salmon. Before preparing salmon, first season it with salt and let it sit at room temperature for one hour to expel excess water and become denser. Do this if you're going to freeze the fish, too.
Salmon head. When I got back from the seminar I fired up my grill, and roasted the parts of the head (which I salted first) for me, my wife and a friend. Man, was that good! The bones and cartilage and collagen and God know what else inside the head imparted such incredible, tender, juicy flavor. If all you've ever eaten is salmon fillet, get yourself a head and grill it now (sans the gills, though).

Check out these pictures:

Oyakodon: Chicken and Eggs Over Rice

2010-04-14T01:17:54Z

Here is Chef Isao Yamada's incredibly tasty version of a Japanese comfort food classic: Okayodon. Oyako means "parent and child," a reference to the eggs and chicken in this simple rice dish. What you do is cook chicken and onions in umami-rich uma dashi, that is, dashi spiked with mirin and soy sauce in a 4:1:1 ratio (you'll hear more about this extremely versatile flavoring liquid in future posts). Then you swirl in eggs, pour over rice, and presto, satisfying lunch! Yamada-san's twist is swirling in the eggs -- and plopping in whole egg yolks, too, which he gently sets. The result is even more eggy richness over the rice, and an even more delicious dish. Here's how my man Yamada-san prepared the dish for 4 servings:

]]> 1 cup dashi
1/4 cup mirin
1/4 cup soy sauce
1 chicken leg, boned and skinned, and cut into bite-sized pieces
1 cup thinly sliced negi (can substitute with 1 cup thinly sliced onion or scallion)
2 eggs, beaten
4 egg yolks
2 cups cooked steaming rice, divided into 4 bowls
Shansho

Make the umadashi: Add the dashi and mirin to a small saucepan and bring it to a boil over medium heat. Add the soy sauce. When the liquid boils again, remove from heat and let the umadashi come to room temperature.

Pour about 1/3 cup of umadashi into a skillet (depending on the size of your skillet, you can add more umadashi if you need to). Add the chicken and negi (or onion), and bring to a boil over high heat. Reduce the heat so the liquid in the skillet simmers. No need to stir.

As soon as the chicken turns white, and cooked, swirl in the beaten eggs, this way: Hold the bowl with the eggs in one hand, and a pair of chopsticks in the other hand that are pointing vertically straight down towards the skillet. Pour the eggs down the chopsticks to they trickle into the skillet; while you're doing this, move both hands in a circular motion to swirl in the eggs evenly.

Spoon the egg yolks into four corners of the skillet, making sure they don't break. Cover the skillet and cook for about 3 minutes until the yolks set. Now break the yolks. The oyaku don will be runny and liquidy when it's done; that's the way you want it. Use a large spoon to pour the oyaku don over the rice, making sure to slide a yolk on top of each bowl of rice. Accent with shansho, to taste. Go to town.

(Thanks, Yamada-san!)