Jack told Kate the manager would return in a few minutes. Perhaps the manager would be Asian. When the man arrived he looked like Jack. He held out his hand. His name was Arbie. He was Jack’s brother.
Jack and Arbie Kenefick were Bostonians with Irish-Italian roots. They had recently returned from a couple of decades in Japan. Their goal was to serve Japanese food in the United States in a more authentic fashion than the Japanese did. When they saw Kate, they thought she might be able to interact with American customers more easily than someone who wasn’t American. The result would be an experience closer to what a Japanese customer at a sushi bar experienced in Japan.
Arbie chatted with Kate for a few minutes.
‘Why don’t you come in the day after tomorrow and do prep,’ Arbie said. ‘We’ll see what you can do.’
Oh crap, Kate thought, they’re going to make me cut cucumbers! She was out of practice. She knew what would happen if she screwed up a cucumber roll in a job interview.
When Kate returned two days later, she hunted down prep work like a tuna hunting squid. She washed and cooked rice. She prepped crabmeat and spicy tuna mix. She quartered avocados. She stirred water into the wasabi powder. She cut cucumbers. Out of the corner of her eye she watched the guys—the other chefs, the dishwashers, even the delivery men—and did everything they did.
Arbie watched Kate. He told her to come in for a few more days. Finally, he took her aside.
‘You need practice,’ Arbie told her. ‘But you’re a hard worker. We’ll keep you.’
The head sushi chef, a strict Korean named Randy, gave Kate a simple black chef’s coat with Chinese buttons and stationed her in a corner of the sushi bar, away from the customers, where he pelted her with roll orders during lunch and dinner. She improved her cutting technique, and wrapped pink ribbons around the handles of her knives so everyone would know which were hers. She kept them sharp.
Randy and the other sushi chefs started teaching her things. Soon Randy asked for Kate’s help in decapitating fish and descaling them in the kitchen. Cutting up fish suddenly seemed important in a way that it hadn’t at the sushi academy. Kate’s customers would actually be eating these fish. She paid more attention to the work.
After a week or two, Randy gave Kate her own station at the sushi bar, where she could interact with customers. The other sushi chefs didn’t speak much English, but customers could get into real conversations with Kate, and she was fun to talk to. She would suggest things for them to try and recommend sushi that wasn’t even on the menu.
At first the customers said, ‘Wow, a girl sushi chef!’ Now they walked in and said, ‘Hey Kate, how’s it going?’
Sometimes her regular customers would buy Kate a beer. She didn’t even like beer, but those beers tasted delicious. After three weeks, the other chefs started splitting their tips with Kate. When customers settled the check and got up to leave, Arbie always asked if they’d enjoyed their meal. Sometimes Kate overheard what they said. ‘Kate is great! We’re coming back!’
One day in March, Kate took a break between lunch and dinner and hopped in the Mustang.
She cruised past all the sushi restaurants that had turned her down. She drove by her ex-boyfriend’s surf shop. Then she gunned the Mustang past Wasabi Sushi, where the Asian man had told her that girls couldn’t be sushi chefs. She shook her fist out the window and yelled, “I’ll see you in hell!”
Kate drove back to Jack and Arbie’s restaurant and took her station behind the sushi bar. At five o’clock people began streaming in. By seven the place was packed. Arbie turned down the lights. The yellow paper lanterns glowed overhead. Customers filled the sushi bar.
A gentleman strolled into the restaurant and sat in front of Kate. She engaged him in conversation while squeezing out nigiri for his dinner.
The man leaned back in his chair and watched her. He said something and smiled. Kate laughed. The sound soared across the room, like a flying fish breaking the surface of the sea.
ONE YEAR LATER
During the summer of 2006, Kate was still working as a sushi chef in San Diego. She subsequently decided to advance her chef training further by applying to the San Diego Culinary Institute. Marcos was working as a sushi chef in Colorado, and planned to attend college. In Tokyo, Takumi was working as a chef at a Korean restaurant, with the goal of continuing to expand his culinary horizons. Fie returned to Denmark, where she endured a difficult year of discrimination by Asian chefs at a sushi restaurant. Eventually, however, she was offered the position of head chef, as well as a job filming a Danish sushi-making instructional video.
In Los Angeles, Toshi reopened the California Sushi Academy at a new location near Marina del Ray, north of Hermosa Beach, and Zoran returned to the academy to teach in the fall of 2006. Jay teamed up with his friend Jeff, the restaurant consultant, to found a new consulting company called ZeroSushi, with the goal of helping restaurant owners with no prior experience in sushi enter the business.
Volume 13 of the comic book Sushi Chef Kirara’s Job was released in October 2006, with Kirara having fallen behind in the sushi-making competition. On the last page of the volume, she switches—like a kung-fu warrior—to a new sushi-making stance and announces that she is about to unleash a secret weapon.
For more on the story of sushi, and for photos of some of the people and events described in the book, please visit www.StoryofSushi.com.
Appendix
HOW TO EAT SUSHI
Many Americans walk into a sushi restaurant and opt to sit at a table because they find the sushi bar intimidating. Sitting at a table feels familiar, as does ordering from a menu. California rolls and other American-style sushi rolls are often the preferred items simply because the diner knows what to expect.
Turning one’s back on familiarity and choosing to sit at the sushi bar requires courage, but the experience is more interesting. For starters, most of the sushi that traditional chefs serve at the bar is not rolls, but nigiri—hand-squeezed rectangles of rice topped with fish. Not knowing what to expect, either with the ingredients or the order in which they are served, is part of the fun.
Americans can take solace in the knowledge that they are not alone. Many Japanese people also find the sushi bar intimidating. In 2005, a pair of Japanese comedians, known for their irreverent cultural commentary, produced a video called Sushi: The Japanese Tradition. The video has become popular on the Internet, in both the United States and Japan. “Sushi,” the narrator says, “is a snack that represents Japan.” When the narrator utters the next sentence, the astute viewer gets his first clue that something is up: “Most Japanese people eat at a sushi bar every day.” Japanese viewers find this amusing, since quite the opposite is true. Many Japanese people—especially women—seldom eat at sushi bars because they are frightened of them, just as many Westerners are.
As the video progresses, it pokes fun at the insecurities of the average Japanese person about proper behavior in a sushi bar. The video provides instructions on how to act. In the process, it plays on the obsession most Japanese people have with social etiquette.
For example, the video explains that when entering a sushi bar, a patron must place his hand on the curtain over the entrance at a point 3.2 inches from the corner, at an angle of 48 degrees, before flipping the curtain out of the way. Inside, he must demonstrate his fine manners, and his sensitivity to social obligation, by bowing to other patrons and asking if the empty seats at the bar are available. At the bar, he is instructed to pour exactly 20 cubic centimeters of soy sauce into his dish. He must address the chef only as “chief.” In addition, he must never ask the chef about himself because all sushi chefs have a secret past. Here, the chef glowers menacingly at the camera while slowly polishing the long blade of his knife.
Japanese viewers recognize all this as satire. But some have worried, in their comments on the Internet, that Westerners might take the video seriously. After all, Westerners are even less familiar with sushi-bar etiquette tha
n are the Japanese. For starters—as the video points out—there are no waiters, waitresses, or menus at a traditional sushi bar. So how do you even order?
In reality, when a customer sits down at a sushi bar in Japan, he or she generally utters one of three words to begin: “okimari,” “okonomi,” or “omakase” (the latter is pronounced oh•mah•ka•say). The ordering will proceed differently depending on which of these three approaches the customer chooses.
The first option, okimari, literally means “it’s been decided.” The customer uses this word to indicate that he has chosen to eat the shop’s standard “set meal,” a sushi sampler at a fixed price. The chef chooses the contents and serves the sushi to the customer all at once.
The second option, okonomi, literally means “as I like it.” The customer uses this word to indicate that he knows what he wants. He asks the chef for different kinds of fish, one by one, as he eats. The order in which the customer requests different types of fish is not crucial, but most sushi connoisseurs begin with leaner, lighter-tasting fish and progress toward fish with stronger flavors and higher fat content. At most sushi bars, when the customer asks for an order of a given sushi topping, the chef makes two nigiri. Japanese customers seldom eat more than two nigiri topped with any given fish, before moving on to a different topping. For most Japanese, the point of sushi is to enjoy the variety. Okonomi customers who order only high-end items such as fatty tuna, sea urchin, and rare clams can, of course, expect their bill at the end of the evening to be higher than average.
The third option, omakase, literally means “I leave it up to you.” This is an invitation to the chef to impress the customer with his finest ingredients, served in the order the chef believes will best highlight the flavors of the toppings. The chef may include other small dishes to augment the sushi. Generally, when a customer orders omakase, this indicates that he is not overly concerned about the price of the meal and is prepared to accept a certain level of expense.
Regardless of how the customer orders, some sushi experts suggest that it is the customer’s responsibility to know the price range of a particular sushi bar before walking in the door. And because the selections of fish at a high-quality sushi bar vary by the day, the customer must be willing to trust the chef’s calculation of the cost of the meal. It’s bad form to quibble.
Sometimes the customer comes out ahead. In Japan, traditional sushi chefs are famous for calculating each customer’s bill from memory. In an interview, one of Tokyo’s most respected sushi chefs, Jiro Ono, admitted that he frequently forgets to charge customers for very fatty tuna, one of the most expensive items he serves. He laughed and told his interviewer that the amount of money he’d forgotten to charge customers over the years probably added up to eight or nine thousand dollars.
In the United States, many sushi restaurants have introduced menus and clear pricing because that is what Americans expect. But while menus may make American customers more comfortable, menus can also have the effect of discouraging customers from asking the chef about the other items currently available.
There is another approach to ordering. The customer can simply ask the chef what he recommends. The satirical video Sushi: the Japanese Tradition suggests that many sushi ingredients come from endangered species that have been illegally harvested, so the chef won’t tell you about them unless you ask. At this point in the video, even most Western viewers will recognize the video as satire, as pictures of sea turtles, exotic lizards, and panda bears flash across the screen. The customers in the video say to themselves, “I know nothing,” “It’s none of my business,” “It’s the chef who’s bad,” as they swallow pieces of sushi. “Thinking these thoughts,” the narrator comments, “is the Japanese people’s way of allowing everyone to enjoy a wide variety of protected species.” The joke is funny. But considering the plight of the bluefin tuna, for example, it is actually this portion of the satire that rings most true, and not just for Japan.
Next come the mechanics of eating the sushi once it’s been ordered. A few inches above the counter at most sushi bars there is a narrow shelf, which the chef can easily reach. If a customer orders okonomi or omakase, the chef places a rectangular stand, usually made of wood, on the shelf. The stand will be empty, except for a mound of pickled ginger. (Only in the United States do chefs also add a mound of wasabi.) This rectangular stand is called a geta because it looks like a traditional Japanese wooden sandal by the same name. The customer should leave the geta on the shelf, where the chef can reach it. The chef will place orders of nigiri on the geta. If he serves nigiri with more than a small dab of sauce, he will most likely serve them on a plate, so the geta will remain clean.
Most sushi bars put out bottles of soy sauce, as well as a small dish for soy sauce for each customer. The better sushi bars augment the soy sauce with dashi broth, sake, and mirin to produce a “house” soy sauce, or nikiri. The best sushi chefs often add their own sauce or seasoning to the fish before serving it, and instruct the customer not to add extra soy sauce. Some sushi connoisseurs forgo soy sauce in any case, preferring to concentrate on the subtle flavors of the fish.
As for wasabi, chefs in Japan don’t serve extra wasabi on the side because they put what they consider the proper amount in the nigiri itself, between the topping and the rice. Generally, the chef increases the amount of wasabi with toppings that have a high fat content. Many Americans have developed the habit of stirring extra wasabi into their soy sauce. Chefs and most Japanese diners frown on this practice. It’s better for the customer to ask the chef to adjust the amount of wasabi inside the nigiri to match the customer’s preference. Americans stir the wasabi into their soy sauce to increase the level of spiciness. Ironically, however, wasabi (and the green horseradish that passes for wasabi) rapidly looses its spiciness and flavor when immersed in liquid.
A good nigiri ought to melt in the mouth, so chefs prefer not to pack the rice too firmly. Most connoisseurs pick up sushi with their fingers, since chopsticks are likely to break apart a loosely packed nigiri. Some people claim that chopsticks are preferable because the flavors of the different fish linger on their hands, preventing full appreciation of each separate topping. But most sushi bars provide each customer with a damp cloth, and wiping one’s fingers between each type of nigiri should be sufficient to keep the flavors separate. Likewise, the purpose of the pickled ginger is to cleanse the palate between different types of fish. The ginger shouldn’t be eaten as an appetizer, but it is fine to ask for more if the supply on the geta runs out.
Methods for eating nigiri with one’s hands vary from person to person. One option is as follows. The diner presses his thumb and middle finger lightly against the sides of the nigiri, at the rectangle’s midpoint. He extends his index finger along the top of the nigiri, down its length. The grip is a bit like the grip he would use on a computer mouse. Holding the nigiri lightly, he lifts it off the geta. He curls his index finger, pulling the far end of the nigiri upward and toward him with the tip of the finger. He allows the rectangle to rotate 180 degrees “head over heels,” while continuing to hold it between the thumb and middle finger, so that it is now upside down. This allows the diner to dip the fish side of the nigiri in the soy sauce, rather than the rice side. If the diner dips the rice side of a loosely packed nigiri into the soy sauce, the nigiri will disintegrate in the soy sauce dish.
Chefs who see customers using chopsticks or dipping the rice side in the soy sauce will pack the nigiri more tightly than is ideal. Even when a customer doesn’t dip the nigiri in soy sauce, many prefer to turn the nigiri upside down so that the fish touches the tongue first, but that is a matter of preference. If the customer isn’t using soy sauce, it’s perfectly acceptable to put the nigiri in the mouth fish side up.
Either way, a nigiri should always be eaten in one bite. It should also be eaten as soon as the chef serves it, so that it can be enjoyed at the proper temperature, with the rice still slightly warm. Traditional sushi rolls—with the seawee
d on the outside—should also be eaten right away, before the seaweed gets soggy. If the chef serves a platter, the rolls with seaweed on the outside should be eaten before the nigiri.
The etiquette for eating sashimi—slices of raw fish without rice—is a bit different. Sashimi should always be eaten with chopsticks. (It is bad form to rub the chopsticks together before use. The assumption that the chopsticks contain splinters is an insult to the chef.) Chefs serve a small mound of wasabi on the side with sashimi. To avoid losing the spiciness and flavor of the wasabi by mixing it with liquid, the customer should dab a bit of wasabi directly onto the slice of fish with his chopsticks, then dip a different corner of the fish in soy sauce. The garnishes that come with sashimi—usually a green perilla leaf and shredded radish—are meant to be eaten and provide digestive benefits.
Opinions among sushi experts vary as to whether to ask the sushi chef about his “secret past,” as the video jokingly says. Most believe that what makes sushi unique is the intimacy that develops between the chef and his customers. Becoming acquainted with a particular chef, and returning to his sushi bar repeatedly, is one of the best ways for a customer to broaden his horizons. The chef is likely to serve his most interesting and highest quality ingredients to his regular customers. That said, a few sushi experts argue that the customer ought to keep a respectful distance from the chef.
Either way, most experts agree on one thing. Customers who show off their sushi knowledge at the sushi bar are tiresome. Chefs appreciate customers who would rather eat sushi than talk about it.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I owe an enormous debt to Harold McGee, whose masterpiece, On Food and Cooking: The Science and Lore of the Kitchen, was my primary source for basic food science; I relied heavily on the book. For the history and culture of sushi, I relied primarily on the work of several Japanese scholars and writers, including Naomichi Ishige, Mitsuru Nakamura, Shinzo Satomi, and Masuo Yoshino.
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