Technique

Master Japanese chefs shared amazing techniques, recipes, ingredients, know-how, theory and more during the two and half days of the CIA's Japan:Flavors of Culture. Here is a trio of methods I came across that I loved, and jotted down in my notebook:

Monkfish are huge, ugly and incredibly tasty. I first came face to face with one in Akita Prefecture last year (more on that below). Today I got to watch Chef Masaharu Morimoto of Iron Chef fame dramatically offer this fish as the sacrificial lamb of his demonstration at the annual StarChefs Congress.

For the past two weeks, I've had a visitor from Japan stay over at my apartment here in New York, a terrific guy named Atsushi Nakahigashi. All of 22-years-old, he's already an accomplished professional bass fisherman -- and an accomplished chef. Since the age of 14 or so, Atsushi's been working at his father's legendary restaurant in Kyoto, Sojiki Nakahigashi. His dad, Mr. Hisao Nakahigashi, is one of my absolute culinary heroes, a wonderful man who I've had the privilege to get to know and write about. Atsushi's his dad's talented protégé, and since he was here in New York... I put him to work in my kitchen! Actually, Atsushi, wise, thoughtful and mature way, way beyond his years, graciously offered to teach me a few things about Japanese cooking. It's been a seminal couple of weeks.

Here's a method for steaming fish that Chef Tadashi Ono explained to me the other day at Matsuri. I had brought a beautiful, freshly caught whole sea bass to the restaurant from the Union Square farmers market, and Chef Ono graciously showed me how to clean and portion it the Japanese way. (I'm going to soon post a video on the subject, which is fascinating.)

When I visited a traditional donabe maker in Iga last fall (see my post), I brought home a specialized rice donabe, an earthenware vessel designed specifically to cook rice on the stove top -- in other words, a traditional pot adapted for modern lives. But I haven't used it much, to be honest. Until now...

During the staff meal break the other night at Matsuri, I noticed Chef Ryuji cleaning a pile of fiddlehead ferns. Ryo is the Chef du Cuisine at the restaurant. I love watching him in action -- this man knows how to cook. During the break I can usually find Ryo by himself behind the line, working on something in the remaining quiet moments before service -- and its attendant frenzy -- begins.

Train your eye to the top right hand corner of this amazing dinner. Overlook the thick slices of super fresh hamachi. Skip past the delicious udon noodles with oysters and fish cake. Forget the kiriboshi daikon, air-dried strips of daikon. Focus on the mixed rice -- we'll get to it in a minute.

This hotpot hails from the far northern island of Hokkaido, a snowy, remote region famous for its salmon, crab, cattle and potatoes (an influence of nearby Russia), among other ingredients. It's called ishikari nabe in Japanese, in honor of Hokkaido's Ishikari River.

"There are no rules for making nabe," said Chef Ono, as we got to talking about Japanese hotpot cooking to me the other night at Matsuri restaurant. I've been fascinated by this homey soul food, as readers of the Report know (see posts here and here), and wanted to learn more -- and understand what hotpots say about Japanese cuisine as a whole.

After I wrote about nabe, or home-style hotpot cooking, last month, I asked a friend in Japan to research the many regional varieties of this social and comforting soul food. She just sent me a list of twenty styles of nabe, dishes prepared with salmon, tuna, octopus, pork, chicken, root vegetables, even wild boar and snapping turtle. These hotpots all reflect local foods, customs and geography, and their histories and lore are absolutely fascinating: One traces back to the cooking of Japanese pirates, another originated with bear hunters. There's a nabe invented by sake makers living inside breweries during production season and one that's supposed to be eaten in the dark (yikes!). There's even a nabe invented in 2005 to commemorate the merger of three cities. Like I said, fascinating.

Watching a cook named Adam swiftly and deftly portion a duck the other night at Matsuri, I posited, out loud, that the beautiful, gleaming carcass -- all that was left after Adam's handiwork - would make for an excellent soup stock. Chef Ono heard me and walked over. "Those duck bones would make a great soba tsuyu," he said -- soup for soba noodles. "Take a carcass home and try it." And so I did.

I became interested in sakekasu (or sake kasu) at Matsuri, the restaurant where I volunteer as a cook. Chef Ono prepares his delicious version of glazed black cod by first marinating the fish for several days in a mixture that includes sakekasu. I wondered about the effect of this ingredient. But before I get into this, let me pause for a quick definition: