Kaiseki only..
This is a catching-up of my Intermediate Guide to Fine Dining in Japan, with a focus only on kaiseki (multi-course haute cuisine) and the availability of produce in (late) spring and (early) summer. Any more questions, do feel free to ask. Corrections are also welcomed (>^_^)><(^o^<)
(There will be another post about sushi… when I have more time).
Ayu + Hamo + Late Spring/Early Summer Produce
I did two trips to Japan (Tokyo and Kyoto) in early May and early June. Season-wise, these two months are the transitional period between spring and summer. It is noteworthy that in late spring and early summer the weather in Japan (Tokyo/Kyoto) is becoming hot and humid. Also, from the second week of June (until mid-July), the rainy season settles itself in. It can be frustratingly wet. The cooking is tuned to this awareness of temperature. Say, the summer dashi is lighter than the winter dashi. There are more cold and refreshing elements.
Depending on the areas you are in, because of this climate, you may see a contrast of luscious greenery and dry-looking landscape. This image of nature also transpires into the aesthetics of cooking and presentation. Personally, the cuisine I encountered during these two trips focuses on green-ness, abundance and is quite joyful (as opposed to my last year trip in November that the mood was more mature). I have to warn, though, that a lot of wild shoots and vegetables that are the essential part of late spring/early summer cooking contribute inherent bitterness in the cuisine. I have also been told that the aesthetics of taste in spring and summer (in Japan) is bitterness, and it’s.. well.. pretty much in all my meals.
In my early post about (fine) food-traveling in Japan, I advise framing a trip according to the seasonal availability of produce that you think you’ll like. This is because the Japanese value the concept of shun 旬 – of only using ingredients at their seasonal peak to create meals that synchronize with time, place and aesthetics of taste — and, especially that shun 旬 is the heart of kaiseki, you really do not want to end up consuming ingredients that you dislike and pay a hefty sum for them.
Talking about spring and summer produce, there are two food items in Japan that become the symbols of this particular time of year. The first is ayu – ambiguously translated into sweetfish. Ayu can only be found in Japanese rivers. They have a particularly clean and refreshing cucumber-like taste (because the rivers they dwell are unpolluted). (Also think Japanese cucumber taste, not UK Tesco). When ayu are small or medium-sized, they can be eaten whole. The taste of Ayu matures and becomes stronger and more bitter as autumn approaches. Ayu are usually served grilled with salt and accompanied by tadesu – a dipping sauce made from the leaves of water pepper (tade) and vinegar. The tade leaves grow naturally along the rivers that ayu swim.
The second is hamo or conger eel. Kaiseki originates from Kyoto and the city enjoys a very long history with hamo. Because of its land-locked location, not many seawater fish could arrive in Kyoto alive or fresh in the old days, and hamo are perhaps the only kind. That said, hamo aren’t easy to prepare. They have hundreds of small bones that cannot be removed. After filleting the fish, kaiseki chefs use a particular kind of chopping knife to quickly and finely cut through the flesh of hamo, breaking all the small bones. This method of cutting is called honekiri or bone-cutting. If you happen to dine at a kappo-kaiseki restaurant, try listen to the sound that half resembles chopping and rustling. In a meal, hamo is usually prepared as a soup course, and after being honekiri-ed, the hamo fillet curls open in the soup very beautifully like a flower. Given the different methods the ayu and the hamo are prepared, you are likely to have both of these fish at the same meal.
(Click here to see what ayu look like and here for hamo).
The section below lists all main seasonal ingredients that I came across in kaiseki meals during my two most recent trips to Japan. I am not saying that it represents the best time for produce but my trips happened to take place around that time.
Vegetable/Fruit – Peas. Fava beans (soramame). White and green asparagus. Sweet potato (imo). Wild mountain vegetable (sansai), including fiddlehead fern (warabi), mugwort (yomogi) and sansho flowers. Water plants (junsai). Water pepper (tade). Round eggplant (kamonasu). Stalks of taro.
Fish/Shellfish – Young bonito (katsuo). Sweetfish (ayu). Trout. Carp. Sea bass. Variations of flounder (karei). Conger eel (hamo). Sea eel (anago). Small prawns (sakura-ebi). Abalone (awabi). Sea urchin (uni). Large purple cockle (torigai).
Meat – Beef
My meals in Kyoto and Tokyo
Arashiyama Kitcho
Michelin: 3 stars Tabelog: 4.38
(Private room)
Kitcho is situated in the breathtaking suburb of Arashiyama (20 min or so by train from Kyoto), a favourite tourist’s destination in Japan since its feudal time. The restaurant prides itself in offering their customers “once in a lifetime” experience, and given the price tag, you I probably don’t want to go there twice
(;*´Д`)ﾉ £££ $$$$$
The style of kaiseki at Kitcho falls in the category of yusoku ryori or courtly banquet. The traditional house which serves as the restaurant is spacious and meticulously kept. The interior design of the room is tasteful but luxurious. There is a handsome chigaidana shelf unit, a couple of wonderful embroidery, a mirroring lacquered table, a handful of vintage ornaments, and a private garden. (Yeah.. that). The waitress, in a kimono of course, can speak English competently. A menu translated in English is also presented at the beginning of the meal. (Generally, Kitcho is more pompous than Kikunoi Honten, which was another more courtly style kaiseki restaurant that I visited).
As you would expect from a courtly style meal, it was lavish. The merit, though, was not in the taste but much more in the procession of polychromatic porcelain and crafty presentation. The hassun course, for example, was inspired by fireflies in June. The first serving arrived as a firefly trap containing delights, such as hamo bites. The second serving was a curvy hill of cracked ice studded with crystal cups (containing assorted vinegar-ed fish and simmered vegetables) flickering candles and quivering gold leaves. The cooking, however, was a mixed bag, and the ingredients were just *good quality* (not life-changing). I found the majority of the dishes too strongly flavored and lacking in subtlety (as if having foreigners’ taste bud in mind).
The whole photo album is here.
Miyamasou
Michelin: 2 stars Tabelog: 4.42
(Private room + kappo-kaiseki)
Miyamasou is a ryokan located in the very serene and green mountain in the northern region of Kyoto. It long serves as a resting place for Buddhist visitors on their way to the 9th-century Bujoji Temple. It takes an hour’s drive to get there. In my opinion, the whole experience is heavenly.
The kitchen at Miyamasou is now being run by chef Hisato, the third generation of the highly revered Nakahigashi family. He embraces a style of cuisine that is best explained to the people outside Japan as locavorism. However, the actual approach – picking wild herbs from the mountain, growing vegetables, fishing from the river, and also using the water from the mountain to cook – is more complex than our perception of modern-day foraging and encompasses the century-old shojin-ryori (a culinary practice of Zen monks) and the appreciation of wabi-sabi (transient beauty and existence). This *locavorism* is, therefore, in itself the respect that the kitchen pays to the surrounding nature. In other words, nature gives life. One should treat, cook and eat with respect. White local fish (I forgot the name) was crusted with its own broken scale and fried. The acidic condiment contained pearl-sized pears that can only be found in the mountain. I also came across rare river fish amago, grilled and served with the juice of seasonal citrus fruit.
The whole photo album is here. If you want to know more, you can find an insightful article (much better than my writing) on Miyamasou in Fool Magazine #3.
Ogata
Michelin: 2 stars Tabelog: 4.41
(Private room + kappo-kaiseki)
Ogata is, arguably, my second most extraordinary meal of this year. (Arguably = I argue with myself). It’s a kaiseki restaurant that is much influenced by the wabi-sabi thought process. The interior – a traditional but noticeably rectangular tea house with a cutting-edge see-through glass motif – highlights the ambivalence of approaches. A cross between something modern but also ancient. There is a kappo counter, at which diners sit and eat, though the chef(s) is rarely present. (Generally, in a kappo restaurant, chefs are present and cook at the counter). Instead, I was left to observe a procenium arch platform where an empty antique Japanese vase was juxtaposed with a western-style flowery painting).
As for the meal, the ingredients are of wonderful quality; the cooking skills are beyond belief; and the sequence is faultless. Each dish is prepared relying on its essential ingredients and presents humility somewhat. No excess. No pomp. Hamo was scorched, poached and served hidden underneath silky, grainy porridge. The subtlety of the fish found great synergy with the palely sweet rice. The frugal zesting of tsudachi lent the dish a citric aroma to mingle with the perfume of rice. Greenling sashimi (I forgot the name in Japanese) was smoked only at the skin side. The smokiness lingered but did not overwhelm the delicate fish. Kamo-nasu was carefully grilled and I was encouraged to rub the charred skin off with my fingers. The spongy flesh exploded with the eggplant’s natural sweet juice. The rice course of gyudon (beef and raw egg yolk on rice) was the best dish I ate this year. (I don’t think I can describe it better than this).
The whole photo album is here.
Matsukawa
Michelin: no star Tabelog: 4.49
(Private room + kappo-kaiseki)
Matsukawa is an introduction-only restaurant that in my opinion serves the best of best food. The skills of the chef are unrivaled and the produce he selects is out of this world.
The spring menu was pure, occasionally with a hint of refreshing bitterness. (That said, I prefer the autumn menu(s) I had last year at Matsukawa). Hamo soup was a thing of marvel. The finely scorched, ume-spiked eel blossomed like a flower in soup and was matched well against the tsudachi perfume and soft guava-like eggplant. The broth itself was so clear, as if the ingredients levitated in the void. Beef was seared (and manipulated in a few other ways that I can’t identify) for outside roughness and toppled with sancho flowers. Tender, but with enough texture to prolong the act of chewing. I was blown away by the slippery and elastic soba served chilled with crunchy junsai buds. The bonito-scented dashi had a pleasant texture (more concentrated than water) and boast depth. I also still find the mizuyokan at Matsukawa the best in the world.
The whole photo album is here. You can also find my previous write-up of Matsukawa here.
Ginza Okamoto
Michelin: 2 stars Tabelog: 4.26
(Kappo-kaiseki)
(Chef) Okamoto is trained from Wakuden (same as Ogata above) and has a similarly wabi-sabi approach to kaiseki. And, like Ogata, there are culturally complex touches throughout the meal. The techniques centering on the play on the traditional are wonderful. The taste profile is quite strong (and therefore more relatable to “western” palate or the palate of any strong-tasting cuisine). The approach, in my opinion, is to deconstruct kaiseki inventively. Modern without being fusion. The porcelain is simple but unique.
The overall meal was satisfactory. Tai was scorched in a way that becomes reminiscent of hamo. It was fried and served in a rich broth spiked with garlicky chives. I enjoyed my smooth and lightly chewy soba with sticky yam and toasted buckwheat grain. I had 2 main issues, though. First is the way the chef reconstructs the traditional kaiseki. I can see only part of the reconstruction but don’t have the experience to understand the complexity of it fully. Second is the fact that the portion per dish is too big to an extent that it familiarizes your taste to that dish, as opposed to teasing you with that taste and making you crave for more. Say, five ayu is generous but ideally three would be just the right amount for me. The same applied to an unbalanced serving of beef shabu-shabu with sansho flowers, leaving an intrusive mercurial taste in my mouth. (Note that sansho is very much similar to Szechuan peppercorn). The rice course (trout with peas and bamboo shoots) was not remarkable.
The whole photo album is here.
Den Jimbocho
Michelin: 2 stars Tabelog: 4.55
(Private room + kappo-kaiseki)
Den Jimbocho should be on the must-visit list of all food enthusiasts visiting Tokyo. The food is delicious, exciting and soul-warming. Zaiyu Hasegawa, the chef proprietor of Den, subverts the prestigious rigidity of kaiseki with an informal tasting menu that marries joviality with orgasmic taste, and premium ingredients with fun-filled spectacle.
Instead of creating a high-brow cuisine, Hasegawa opts for modern everyday foodstuff for inspiration. DFC (AKA Dentucky Fried Chicken) was served in Den’s own KFC mock-up paper box. The chicken wing was stuffed with zingy, sticky Japanese rice that had been infused with pine nuts and goji berries and deep-fried to greaseless perfection. He also deconstructs the traditional way of eating ayu. The whole medium-size fish was butterflied, grilled and served on mildly sweetened toast with its own liver pâté. The contrast between the fish’s refreshingly sweet flesh and charcoal aroma was alluring. The coy bitterness from the aerated liver pâté was thoughtful and reminiscent of the taste of the true Japanese tradition. Beef (marinated and cooked at low temperature) was served with a sticky melange of fiddlehead fern, bamboo shoots and flowers and herbs from Mount Fuji. The bitterness here was mild and an enjoyable contrast to the beef. The marbling beef fat also jellified a little, contributing a firmer and more crunchy texture. The concluding rice course at Den is always grand comfort. Below was pillowy rice with a sea of hotaru-ika. As Hasegawa folded the rice, these little squid monsters squirted out ink and in effect became the natural seasoning of the course
<コ:彡 ＜コ：ミ <コ:彡 ヘ(￣ω￣ヘ)
＜コ：ミ <コ:彡
The whole photo album is here and here. You can also find my previous write-up of Den Jimbocho here.
Tsuchiya Soba
Michelin: no star Tabelog: 4.14
(Private room + kappo-kaiseki)
Tsuchiya isn’t a kaiseki restaurant but a soba restaurant (buckwheat noodle restaurant) that does a soba kaiseki menu. Located in Higashimurayama, a quiet suburb of Tokyo, the restaurant is operated in a very atmospheric 100-yr-old++ house. The walls are built traditionally on a mud and woven bamboo structure. The wooden floor board squeaks (as I tiptoed to the loo). The lighting warms to the eyes and creates, what seems to me, a lasting glow of sunset. The aroma of bonito coupling with soy permeates the place. (Kinda similar but stronger smelling than when you walk into Koya Bar). The middle-aged owner chef and his wife are passionate and charming.
The approach to soba kaiseki is interesting. Ingredients that are related to a soba meal – buckwheat, wheat, tsuyu sauce, etc. – become the recurring features in every dish. These are paired with seasonal ingredients and served in beautiful earthenware/porcelain. (The porcelain here is also quite visual and doesn’t require much cultural intellect to understand). It’s like a tease before you reach the conclusion of the meal, which is soba.
The sequence of the kaiseki is also very interesting. There are not only dishes that are complex and inventive (usually rich-tasting) but also those stubbornly and deliciously simple (more mildly tasting). As the meal progresses, the inventiveness is tuned down and culminates in a delightfully simple-looking soba on occasionally emerald-y green earthenware. I liked tofu with white sesame sauce and tsuyu jelly, which had a strong flavor but was finely juxtaposed with the minty and floral quality of shiso flower. Tamago-yaki released a wonderful aroma of sake and dashi. It wobbled immensely. The soba course was prepared from 100% buckwheat – pleasurably rough to the tongue and snapping easily as I chewed. The climax, however, was the fragrant, starchy, umami-ed soba-cha (leftover tsuyu sauce and soba-boiling water).
The whole photo album is here.
If you’d like to read more of my thoughts on autumn produce and kaiseki, have a look at this blog post here.