Recipes & Articles
256 entries from the Japanese Food Report archive
During his stay in New York, Saveur's editor-in-chief Jim Oseland graciously invited Atsushi to demonstrate his cooking at the magazine's test kitchen, and prepare lunch for the editorial staff. Atsushi planned a wonderful menu, incorporating dishes we had cooked plus new ones. After last minute sprints to the farmers market and Sunrise Mart, the Japanese food store in lower Manhattan, we arrived at the magazine laden with supplies, and Atsushi set to work.
At Saveur, Atsushi demonstrated a fundamental notion of Japanese cooking through this utterly simple dish, composed of Japanese cucumbers, a good konbu-katsuobushi dashi and myoga for garnish.
On Mondays and Fridays at the Union Square farmers market, a farmer of Korean descent named Yuno sells lovingly grown Asian vegetables, the only one there who offers these varieties. Atsushi was thrilled to find at her stand fushimi togarashi, heirloom Kyoto peppers, and snapped up a bunch.
Here's another dish that makes use of the invaluable otoshibuta. Atsushi and I picked up a small whole sea bass from the farmers market, so fresh its eyes were crystal clear and gills bright red. We cleaned and scaled it and decided to simmer it whole, something I've wanted to learn how to do.
This dish, like the konbu dashi soup with clams, once agan demonstrates the power of konbu, which infuses water with an irresistible savoriness or umami to serve as a flavor foundation for other ingredients. In this case, Atsushi prepared a simple soup with egg and scallion that was fast to prepare and extremely tasty.
A simple soup that evokes the ideas of mottainai and the power of konbu: Atsushi collected turnip peels and scrap pieces of carrot from preparing other dishes and added them to a pot of water with a piece of konbu in it. He turned on the heat and cooked it until the konbu gave off a pleasing aroma, then strained the liquid. In the meantime, Atsushi sliced a handful of snow peas on the diagonal.
At the farmers market, Atsushi and I spotted local Long Island Sound flounder, in peak season right now. I asked him how to prepare this delicately fish and he suggested poaching it in sake and salt, a simple method to subtly and elegantly express its flavors. We picked up a bunch, iced them down, and brought them over to Chef Tadashi Ono's house to prepare for his family (hey, I wan't the only enjoying Atsushi's cooking!).
For our dinner with Atsushi, Kyoto native that he is, Chef Ono found a Kyoto variety of eggplant called kamo nasu. Kamo nasu are squat and round, about four inches or so long, eggplant that traditionally were native to Kyoto, which is a city that's also its own agricultural district.
For our dinner with Chef Ono's family, Atsushi and I picked up beautiful shishito pepper at the farmers market, a bright green Japanese pepper about an inch to two inches long that looks like a hot green chili but has a mild flavor (except for every once in a while, when you bite into a fiery one!). Chef Ono evidently also heard the shishito siren call, and picked up a bunch, too.
Atsushi and I hit the Union Square farmers market a few times during his stay. On Saturday and Wednesdays fishermen from Long Island's North Fork sell pristine seafood. On one of those mornings we spotted a majestic whole bonito on ice. We quickly snapped it up.
Let's talk about how to make a dashi before we get to this simple, delicious soup. Everything I've read about preparing konbu-katsuobushi dashi (kelp and dried, shaved bonito) says to first add the konbu to a pot of water and bring it to just a boil, then to remove the konbu before the water starts to really boil. Atsushi took a totally different approach.
When Atsushi and I visited New York's Union Square farmers market together we found lovely okra as well as fresh carrots and white Japanese turnips (kabu). I asked Atsushi to prepare a simple dish to bring out their natural, peak-of-season flavors, so he decided to simmer them in dashi, and add a touch of usukuchi shoyu to give the vegetables a little saltiness.