Big in Japan: The Subtle Art of Eating Blowfish (Part II)

by Matthew Firestone on

This is a continuation of yesterday’s column on the Subtle Art of Eating Blowfish, and the second installment in a three-part series.

The best time to eat fugu is in the winter, when blowfish pack on the pounds to beat the chill. Needless to say, this is also when the toxicity of the blowfish reaches its peak.

Prices rise. Restaurants are packed. Emergency rooms are on stand-by.

Making sure you don’t meet your maker earlier than prescribed is the fugu chef, a man of exacting precision and immeasurable skill. With a calculated flick of the blade, the fugu chef separates the tender flesh from the poisonous internal organs.

To steal a line from a classic Simpsons episode:

‘Poison. Poison. Poison. Tasty Fish.’

Since the late 1950s, only specially-licensed chefs are allowed to serve fugu to the public. Much like brain surgery and rocket science, not just any average Joe (or in this case average Haruki) can slice up a blowfish. Indeed, an aspiring fugu chef must first serve for several years as an apprentice before they are allowed to take the certification test.

Earning your fugu license consists of three parts: a written test, a species identification test and the practical. Although most applicants breeze through the first two parts, less than two-thirds of apprentices are successful in preparing the blowfish for consumption. Thankfully, the examiners will notify the apprentice if he makes a mistake as not to lose any more students than is necessary.

(And you thought passing your calculus test was hard!)

Thankfully, the rigorous training process ensures that eating blowfish is a somewhat risk-free process. As testament, consider the fact that fugu is sometimes sold in supermarkets, so that you can enjoy eating fugu in the comfort of your own home. Then again, if you do get a bad batch, at least you can have the privilege of dying in your bed whilst surrounded by family and friends.

The high-price of fugu also prevents this deadly meal from becoming a daily staple. On average, a few strips of fugu sashimi costs upwards of ¥5000 (US$40), but can sometimes be found for as little as ¥2500 (US$20). With that said, the art of eating blowfish is somewhat more subtle than biting into a Big Mac, so trust me – spring for the better stuff. If you don’t choose to heed my advice, at least make sure that the chef’s license is prominently displayed in the restaurant.

(It should look something like this.)

Of course, even master chefs make mistakes from time to time – fictional or otherwise. In the Japanese smash hit and American cult classic Iron Chef (料理の鉄人), the last episode tragically ends when Chairman Kaga dies from fugu poisoning.

Accidents do happen.

Tune in tomorrow for the final installment in the three piece column on the subtle art of eating blowfish. At that time, I’ll share all of my favorite fugu recipes with all of you budding chefs out there in cyberspace. Bon appetite!

Check out the third and final installment of The Subtle Art of Eating Blowfish here.

** Special thanks to Flickr user itchys for their picture of the tora-fugu stamp **

Big in Japan: The Subtle Art of Eating Blowfish

by Matthew Firestone on

In the 18th century, the famous Japanese poet Yosa no Buson expressed his love for eating blowfish in this simple but elegant haiku:

I cannot see her tonight.
I have to give her up
So I will eat fugu.

Like the great poets of old and new, Buson is no different in that he yearned for a woman that was not his love. However, in the great tradition of finding comfort in food, he instead turns to fugu (??, blowfish) in order to mend his broken heart.

Indeed, there is perhaps no Japanese art as subtle and beautiful as that of eating blowfish. Some people swear by the tea ceremony. Others prefer Zen Buddhism. For me however, it’s blowfish, the deadliest of delicacies.

A famous Japanese story tells the tale of three men, who prepared a dish of fugu but were afraid to taste it out of fear of death. Driven to the point of despair, the wisest amongst them serves the dish to a beggar in order to test its potency. Later, when the men return to find that the beggar is still alive, they breathe a sigh of relief, and immediately dine on the fugu.

Like most Japanese folk tales, trickery and deceit are ultimately vanquished by wisdom and craft. This particular tale being no different, the beggar secretly hides away the stew hoping that the three men would eat it first. After seeing that they were alive and well, the wise beggar retires to the back streets, and eats his fugu with peace of mind.

This of course brings about the question: why exactly is fugu so deadly?

Blowfish packs a lethal punch in the form of tetrodotoxin, an extremely potent neurotoxin that paralyzes its victims while they are still conscious. To put things into perspective, this means that you are fully aware as your throat closes, your lungs deflate and drift slowly into death’s arms.

There is no known cure.

Of course, Japan is a country of safety and order, so thankfully the majority of deaths occur when untrained people catch and prepare the fish, accidentally poisoning themselves in the process. The most dangerous culprit is the liver, which is regarded as the tastiest morsel of the blowfish. If you’re lucky, the liver will contain only enough poison to numb the palette and raise the adrenaline. If you’re unlucky however, the liver will contain enough poison to kill you ten times over.

Of course, Japan is also a country of pride and honor, which is way blowfish liver (though illegal) is one of the most coveted of meals. In 1975, the famous Kabuki actor and ‘Living National Treasure’ Bandou Mitsugorou VIII requested four servings of liver from a fugu chef in Kyoto. Unable to refuse the request of someone of such an elevated stature, the chef served the livers to Bandou Mitsugorou VIII.

He died just minutes after – with his pride and honor intact of course.

Although illegal in Europe and all but a handful of restaurants in America, the subtle art of eating blowfish is still very much alive in modern Japan. Not surprisingly, eating fugu with a bunch of crazy companions is something that just sort of happens after spending too much time in Japan. It’s equal parts stupidity and peril, with a healthy dash of self-reflection and humility thrown in.

And yes, before you post comments regarding my culinary background, I have in fact eaten fugu, and I will most likely eat it again.

(In case you’re wondering, I did in fact survive with my nervous system intact).

Click here for Part II of the Subtle Art of Eating Blowfish.

Big in Japan: The Myth About Money (Part II)

by Matthew Firestone on

So, two days ago I wrote about the Myth of Money, namely that Japan was surprisingly more affordable than you’d imagine. Needless to say, it’s hard to convince people that Japan is actually a budget-friendly destination, especially since most of us have heard crazy stories of excessive displays of wealth, such as those infamous $500 fruit boxes.

(Truth be told, they do exist – I snapped this photo of perfect melons at a luxury grocery store in Ginza, the most exclusive shopping district in Tokyo).

Of course, unless you have a pressing business engagement, or you’re trying to impress a girl with some serious bling (melons are a girl’s best friend), you shop at the local hundred yen shop (百円屋; hyaku-en-ya) like the rest of us poor working stiffs. The rough equivalent of dollar stores in North America, your local ¥100 shop carries everything from seasonal produce and budget cuts of meat to cleaning products and pet food. They’re found in virtually every neighborhood in Tokyo including Ginza (even rich people love a good bargain), and help lower the price of urban living.

Still not convinced that Japan is affordable? You guys are one tough audience!

Well, the most important thing for foreigners to know about before considering a move to Japan is what is known as a Gaijin House (外人ハウス; gaijin-hausu). Funny thing about that word gaijin – it’s actually a derogatory word used for foreigners (literally it means outsider). Of course, that hasn’t stopped us gaijin from claiming the word for ourselves, and much to the amusement of the Japanese, the word gaijin is tossed around with an air of pride, regardless of how offensive it may be.

Essentially, a gaijin house is a shared house or apartment, similar perhaps to your college dormitory, where internationals (and a few in the know Japanese people) can rent a cheap room by the month. Gaijin houses run the gamut from hundred-year old traditional Japanese buildings with tatami mats and sliding rice-paper doors to institutional concrete prisons with flickering fluorescent lights and sheet rock walls. But, they’re nearly always affordable, great places to socialize and a quintessential part of the Japanese ex-pat experience.

(Next week, I’ll be writing a piece on apartment hunting in Tokyo, which should hopefully illuminate the process of finding a room in the world’s largest megalopolis).

Finally, Japan is affordable in that it arguably has the world’s most efficient and comprehensive public transportation system. To be fair, intercity travel in Japan is very expensive, and you can expect to pay upwards of around $250 for a two-hour roundtrip bullet train between Tokyo and Kyoto. But, it costs no more than $2-3 dollars to cross the whole of Tokyo on the subway, and you’re never more than a few minutes from a station. With that said, making head and tails of the insanely complex train system is something of a rite of passage for new arrivals.

Cheap it may be, but even Japanese get lost in grid sometimes!

Well, after two columns of raving and ranting about the myth of money, I hope that I’ve at least won a few converts out there. However, if you still don’t believe me that Japan is an affordable destination, enjoy your trip to London, and let me know how those $18 Happy Meals taste!

Big in Japan: The Beginning

by Matthew Firestone on

I guess the question at hand is simply this: where to begin?

Should I kick off my first real column talking about the 151 rules of sushi etiquette? Or should I instead pontificate on the virtues of a perfectly brewed cup of green tea? Better yet, perhaps I should offer some sort of experiential wisdom for zen seekers the world over? Well, I shall touch on all of these issues at some point in my writings, but alas not today.

On the contrary, I’d like to offer some random musings on one simple question: why Japan?

Whether you’ve lived in Japan for years and are starting to forget your English, or you’re fresh off the plane and are fighting your jet-lag with vending machine coffee, ex-pats inevitably struggle with this simple question. To complicate the matter at hand, Japanese people are fascinated with foreigners in their country, and seem to revel in asking us why we abandoned our Western trappings for a life of bento boxes and Hello Kitty chopsticks.

Truth be told, most of us over here really don’t know why we’re here, and simply rebuff these inquiries with a simple ‘nantonaku‘ or ‘why not?’ Although most Westerners would view this answer as a cop out, the Japanese are far too polite to push the issue. Japan is a land of manners and grace, and people here are extremely adept at reading between the lines and avoiding unnecessary confrontation.

Of course, I guess after several years of on and off living in Japan, I should be able to answer this question. Indeed, if I had a yen for every time my friends and family asked me why I keep coming back here, I’d be able to eat my weight in toro (fatty tuna). Sadly, I’ve yet to come up with a simple and easy answer, though I’ll do my best to try.

One of the joys of traveling is pushing your comfort zone, dealing with culture shock and learning that the world is vastly more complicated that you could have ever managed. From witnessing grinding poverty for the first time to finding yourself on the open road, all of us have a place in our mind that touches us to the core. With that said, no matter how much time I spend over here, Japan never ceases to blow my mind.

Every time I walk down the streets of Tokyo, I feel like a hyperactive ‘kid in a candy shop’ who forgot to take his Ritalin. Japan is bursting at the seams with stimuli, and every time I think I’ve figured it out or seen it all, something inevitably floors me.

Indeed, what other country in the world could bring you consumer goods such as the ‘nipple scarf,’ which keeps you warm while compensating for certain inadequacies? Or, why spend another night alone in bed when you can snuggle up to the ‘hubby pillow,’ which never snores, never complains and always stays on its side of the bed.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Japan is a weird, wacky and wonderful place. Keep tuning in to ‘Big in Japan‘ – there is plenty more to come.

Big in Japan: An Introduction

by Matthew Firestone on

This post is the first installment in a twice-weekly feature column detailing the weird, the wonderful and the wacky world that is Japan.

I suppose I should start out by telling you about me.

I spent most of my formative youth in a small town 100 kilometers south of New York City that is famous for its strip malls, drag racing and suburban discontent. My escape came in the form of a far-sighted admissions officer at Harvard who accidentally placed my application in the ‘Admit’ pile. Although the officer was later fired for his gross negligence, I on the other hand matriculated and began what was to be a short-lived career as a biological anthropologist.

My field research on the ancestral nutrition of indigenous populations in Sub-Saharan Africa was systematic, insightful and impossibly boring to read. However, people surprisingly seemed interested in reading about the exploits of a suburban-bred anthropologist, and thus began my new-found career as a freelance travel writer. For a brief but memorable spell, I worked as a writer for Let’s Go Travel Guides, authoring guides on Scotland, Costa Rica, Thailand and Japan – my introduction to the Far East.

I suppose this is when my full-fledged and possibly incurable Japanophilia started kicked in.

(Then again, I must confess that I was that strange kid who preferred California rolls and green tea ice cream to McDonald’s and Baskin Robins).

After graduating from university, I worked as a bartender in Tokyo where I learned Japanese by asking customers to scribble grammar patterns on the backs of coasters. I also learned a thing or two about the Tokyo underworld, and am fairly certain that I’ve seen too much to be allowed back in parts of Tokyo. With that said, I decided to take a break from my Japan trappings, and subsequently moved to the UK where I studied epidemiology at Cambridge.

Although grad school was a blast to say the least, job prospects were slim as I spent most of my free time traveling in the Middle East and North Africa. Fortunately, I was hired to work as a freelance travel writer for Lonely Planet soon after hitting the 50-country mark. In the past two years, I’ve authored guidebooks on Costa Rica, Botswana, Namibia, Japan, Panama and Egypt. When I’m not on the road, I spend most of my time in a six-tatami mat concrete prison of a room in Tokyo. It may not be the Ritz, but it’s home.

So, that’s me – if you’ve made it this far in the post without clicking on any of those sidebar advertisements, arigato ne – thanks so much.

Assuming I still have your attention, let me tell you a little bit about the blog. I’ll be writing to you twice a week about the weird, the wonderful and the wacky world that is Japan. From the tastiest odorogui – the Japanese art of consuming live animals – to the most bizarre cosu-pure – the Japanese pop-cultural trend of costume play – stop by ‘Big in Japan‘ and see what’s new. Whether you’re a seasoned ex-pat living in Japan, fresh off the plane and wet behind the ears or sitting in a cubicle 5,000 miles away, hopefully you’ll find something here that peaks your interest.

よろしくおねがいします。

-Matt-

*Special thanks to Flickr user Udono for their picture of the Shinjuku skyline*