Sushi. Maligned by people who've eaten it, as well as people who haven't. Venerated by those same groups. Contradictions are the heart of this Japanese rice dish; one that comes from long tradition, yet feels ultra-modern. A food that's light and easy to eat, but surprisingly filling. One that needs very little or no cooking, yet requires years of training to prepare well. I do believe sushi is one of the hardest to understand, most frequently misunderstood, culinary adventures.
There's a range of sushi available in Los Angeles, from the $12 (Dh44.13) assorted box in a supermarket, to $350 per person omakase, or chef's choice, served at a tiny appointment-only restaurant that uses gold flakes as well as ingredients such as foie gras and kobe beef.
Raw fish is but an aspect of sushi, but the one that non-eaters, understandably, focus on the most. But quality sashimi-grade fish doesn't smell or taste fishy — not even slightly. Oily fish, such as mackerel, might have a stronger flavour, but on the whole, uncooked fish tastes light, fresh and clean.
In a way, it's the lack of strong flavours that makes sushi hard to navigate. This is why I think (and sushi aficionados will gut me for this) a good introduction is conveyor-belt restaurants that serve Americanised sushi. These feature lots of cooked items, such as crispy salmon skin rolls, with familiar ingredients such as carrots, avocado and mayonnaise. Raw dishes are often "safe", such as salmon sashimi, which is pleasantly buttery.
When you seek traditional sushi though, you'll find that restaurants become more sniffy, even regimented. "We do not serve spicy tuna rolls or California rolls", intones a sign at one of LA's more famous places. Or there's another that has large ‘no mobile phone' signs and a stern chef who barely talks to anybody, even his staff. When I was there, the only time he looked up at his customers was when somebody's phone beeped, and he watched sharply for disrespect to the food.
Warning
As would-be patrons enter, they are warned by the waitress that it's omakase only, and that there's a minimum charge. If seated at the counter, the chef gruffly asks if there are any dietary restrictions or preferences, and then begins preparing and serving as many as 20 dishes, one tiny plate at a time.
The result was more performance than meal. It was almost clinical to me — an intellectual series of dishes arranged around an obscure theme. In some ways, sushi stands for food; a short fixed-syllable poem on a plate. Don't think it wasn't good though. With one exception, I loved each of those 20 dishes. Some were a pared-down binary of flavour, a piece of fish and a wipe of soy sauce resting on body temperature rice. Others combined beautiful textures and more complex flavours, such as sea-urchin roe with thin pieces of squid in a ponzu sauce. Or steamed monkfish liver topping a seaweed and rice roll.
However, I'm more gourmand than gourmet and didn't respond as warmly to the meal as a whole. I like a certain heartiness to my food. In the words of a food-loving friend, I want my stomach to be "smiling" at the end of a meal, not nodding its head and discussing leitmotif on the way out. To me, eating traditional omakase sushi is like the rock fan going to the philharmonic, or the action-film buff watching an art movie. If the fan is open-minded, the experience can be precious and beautiful, but the infrequency of the indulgence is a large part of its attraction.
- Gautam Raja is a journalist based in the US.
