Sheesh, all that for Sushi?

Last week, I was in Tokyo attending a Tropical Cyclone Conference and sure enough, as what usually happens when you gather a bunch of meteorologists (aka weather forecasters), the weather turns bad - incessant rain and howling winds. Luckily, it only lasted a day and we did have at least two nights to explore the city.

A friend of mine, Chris, who is based in Japan and also attended the conference, asked me and a few others if we wanted to go to a sushi restaurant. Not just a typical sushi bar or restaurant that abound Tokyo but THE Fukuzushi Restaurant. I Googled it on my phone during one of the dry presentations and found out that: Fukuzushi was family-owned, very old (est. 1917), and rather expensive ("expect to spend at least 8,000 yen," one food blogger warned). The last description was what turned the others off. (Chris said they were just being cheapskates considering we were getting USD 248 per diem). For me, I got intrigued, and besides, I just got done with my presentation, I love sushi and I thought it was a good way to treat myself.

So, with directions in hand, off Chris and I went in search of this famed sushi mecca. It wasn't easy. After a dizzying subway ride and a long winding walk through the streets and back alleys of Roponggi, and just before we were ready to give up, we found the place. Not very impressive, I must say - the facade was simple, no fancy neon signs, just a well-lit glass covered menu display next to a wooden front door. But the uniqueness was noticeable after we stepped in. The maître d' gave us a warm welcome, patiently took our orders, and - get this - announced our presence to the whole restaurant! After everyone looked our way, the four chefs behind the bar, shouted in unison, "Yokuso, irashaimase!" (Welcome!)

I was, however, a little disappointed there was no available seat on the bar. It would have been nice to watch the itamae (sushi chefs) at work. As soon as we were seated in our table, we were given the traditional oshibori (hot towels) and served with small servings of salad and miso. The salad dressing was already mixed in and hinted scents of rice vinegar, not overpowering at all. The miso had bits of fish and very hot; just what we needed after walking in from the cold, it really hit the spot. After the empty bowls and plates were taken away, I had a chance to look around.

Most of the patrons were businessmen enjoying fine dining with their coworkers, clients, or partners. In one corner of the bar, two older gentlemen approached a group (after the customary announcement, of course). Immediately, everyone in the group stood up and bowed deeply to the first gentleman, who,in turn, bowed slightly (signifying more rank) and introduced the other gentleman with him. The group bowed to him as well, then everyone pulled out business cards from their wallets and handed them to him (the second older gentleman). Then they all sat down, by rank.

My gaze was unceremoniously blocked by our server who brought our first bottle of saké. Knowing a little bit of Japanese custom, (Asian, really), I poured a drink for Chris. He did the same for me and we had our first toast, "Kampai!" I am not a saké connoisseur by any means, but this was the smoothest saké I've ever had! Chris agreed and we had another toast. And what a delicious way to cleanse our palate because just as soon as we slammed our glasses down, the sashimi was served.

The sashimi was so delectable to my eyes and to my taste buds. The toro was seared very quickly over hot charcoal you can taste the woody aroma, the maguro was marinated in fine soy sauce, and the hamachi looked so fresh it was glistening. The wasabi was fresh-ground from the root you can see the pulp, you only need a speck on your soy saucer. Each slice we carefully dipped with our chopsticks in the wasabi-soy sauce and we savored every bite, letting all our senses partake of the joyful experience. If this is not nirvana, I don't know what is. After each slice we cleansed our palate with a sip of saké, the grins on our faces so wide. Does it get better? Yes.

During the next interlude, I studied the rest of the restaurant. The size was small compared to American restaurants but big for Tokyo standards. Except for a wood-carving on a red wall behind the chefs, the other walls were bare and dark-colored. A Gai-jin family of four walked in and were promptly escorted to their reserved seats at the bar. They were obviously regulars with the way they exchanged pleasantries with the staff. Are they rich expats? Diplomats? Celebrities? Why is the woman wearing sunglasses inside?

I was roused from my reverie when the second bottle of saké arrived. Chris filled our glasses and we began to take slow sips, exchanging assumptions about the new customers. Then our server brought in two cups of hot green tea. She said something to the effect that it's good to warm the stomach before the next course comes in. The green tea had a seaweed taste to it and I wasn't too crazy about it but our server looked like she was going to pounce on me if I didn't finish it so I did.

And it came. As the tray of sushi was lowered onto the table, I imagined a choir of angels singing, "Alleluia!" It was simply marvelous! We did not waste any time, I went straight for the unagi (eel). Very tasty and tender; the sauce was just right - not salty at all and just a hint of sweetness. We savored every bite, careful not to miss anything. Our chef had ingredients in some of the sushi that I've never had before. Half of them did not require wasabi sauce. Chris even closed his eyes while chewing to enhance his other senses, at one point waiting slowly, then exclaiming, "There it is!" Presumably biting on something inside the sushi that exploded with flavor. I saved the amaebi (sweet shrimp) for last and washed it down with the last of my sake.

The trays of sashimi and sushi were truly works of art. The plain white ceramic trays were canvasses for masterpieces. I know that most fine dining restaurants, including high-end sushi bars, serve their food in visually pleasing ways but the sushi and sashimi trays at Fukuzushi were like Monet and Matisse paintings. And just like Japanese art, their beauty is in their simplicity.

After a small dessert and a cup of coffee, it was time to go. After we paid our bill (no tip required, what a concept) and made our way to the door, we were again bade farewell by the chefs. And the maître d' in a sing-song fashion waved, "Jaa mata! (See you again!)

Back at the hotel, I contemplated on the experience I just had. Could I have had the same quality of sushi back in Hawaii or anywhere in the world, for that matter? The answer is yes, of course. But it's the total experience that made the difference. It's the pride that the Japanese put in their livelihood, in their culture, in their food, in everything they do. When I first checked in to my room, I noticed there were drinking glasses but none of the ubuiquitous bottled water so I called the front desk and asked. The attendant politely said, "Sir, the tap water is potable." Wow, I couldn't remember the last hotel I stayed at where the water was safe to drink! One early morning, I ventured out on the street for a walk and witnessed storekeepers doing their morning routines, including sweeping the sidewalk and gutter in front of their shops. The roads and walkways are spanking clean and I did not see a single pothole! Pride.

Now I'm back in Hawaii and my wife, Tess, and I have already made one trip to a local sushi bar. We both love sushi and we both appreciate all the little things that our chef and the wait staff do to make our dining pleasant. I know I may never have the same sushi experience like the one in Japan, again. But one lesson that I learned during that trip is that what make a dining experience memorable is that one, the food must be of top quality, two, the restaurant must treat the customer like they were royalty, and third, the customer must be willing to be pampered and at least have some knowledge on how to enjoy the food he or she is about to partake in. "Kampai!"