Fish tales.

• Nearest station: Tsukiji-shijō (Ōedo Line, click here for a route planner)
• Open: Before dawn to ~1 p.m.
• Closed: National holidays, Sundays, some Wednesdays. Click here for 2008 opening days [red dot = closed; blue triangle = temporary opening day].

Background:

Tsukiji Market (築地市場, Tsukiji-shijō) is the world’s largest seafood market. It was founded by Tokugawa Ieyasu (the first Tokugawa shōgun) as a distribution point to feed the growing city of Edo.

The market is world renowned for its tuna auctions. Beside the fish, there is also a fresh fruit and veg area. It would seem, however, that maguro are a bigger draw than matsutake.

Like any place of business, there is a flow of trade. Deliveries from around the world are unloaded and put up for auction. Middlemen make their purchases from seven wholesalers. The produce is then taken to the market stalls, where it is prepared for general purchase.

Similar to practices all over the world, restaurants and chefs have close links with their suppliers. Networking, often facilitated by the kohai-sempai system (junior-senior) or chef associations, means that supplier-restaurant relationships are often long-standing affairs.

The inner market is the licensed wholesale area; the outer market contains stalls selling kitchenware, utensils (such as knives) and various other goods as well as foodstuffs, both wholesale and retail.

Visit:

Set your alarm clock or turn up after a night on the town. Tsukiji is also a good place to visit if you’re struggling with jet lag.

The tuna auctions are one of the main draws for visitors. If you arrive before dawn (~4 to 5 a.m.), you might be able to sneak into the tuna auctions. Most people arrive a little later, with the first trains (~6 a.m. onwards). It is still possible to view the tuna as they are laid out on the warehouse floor, being marked up for delivery. Between 8 a.m. and 10 a.m. visitor numbers peak, but the market is less frantic with business.

Follow the signs out of the station and take two lefts. You’ll see the main entrance to the market, full of trucks unloading and carrying away produce. Tsukiji is a working market so keep your wits about you and watch out for the little carts.

Walk a little further and you’ll hit the market itself, an arc of aquatic wonders: tuna, sea cucumbers, turtles, eels, geoducks. If it lives in the water and you can eat it, you’ll probably find it here.

Tsukiji’s other big attraction is the sushi. There are a plethora of sushi restaurants in and around the market. Daiwa Sushi (大和寿司) is perhaps the most famous. The market staff will suggest it if you ask them for a recommendation.

When it comes to ordering, I strongly suggest you avoid the convenience and comfort of a set menu unless you are on a tight budget. This will not only allow to cater to your tastes and experiment, but more importantly give you access to better quality food and service. Budget around ¥5000 for an assortment of 10 pieces of nigiri sushi (握り寿司) and a bottle of warm sake.

If you are pressed for time, hate waiting or dislike crowded places, the other, much quieter restaurants in the same block will surely also satisfy your cravings. They will most likely result in a more relaxed meal as well. Alternatives can be found outside the market, but quality can vary. Oft mentioned alternatives (which the author has not visited) are Sushidai (寿司大), near Daiwa Sushi, and Sushizanmai (すしざんまい), part of a kaitenzushi (conveyor belt sushi) chain, thus more reasonably priced.

As Tsukiji is a famous tourist spot, a fair number of places will either have an English menu, one with pictures or staff with rudimentary English skills. Also, at the counter most, though not necessarily all, of the types of food on offer will be on display. Point.

Tsukiji Market is an insitution, top on the list of things many visitors to Tokyo wish to experience and with good reason. The atmosphere and food are magnificent. You will most likely have some of the best sushi of your life. Should you need one, it also gives you the perfect excuse to have a drink with breakfast.

Tips & Advice:

• Dress sensibly. Pools of water, fish guts and other slakings abound.
• Unfortunately, this is also not a very child-friendly excursion. Take kids who are crazy about sea-life to an aquarium (or Okinawa) instead.
• Tired of waiting for sushi? You will often be seated faster if dining alone. Perfect for the solo traveller. If you are in a group, decide beforehand whether you are willing to split up, then grab at the opportunities as they are presented.
• Even kaitenzushi looking a little pricey? Look for a restaurant that serves chirashi sushi (ちらし寿司) – a rice bowl with scattered cuts of fish and seafood on top. Not as elegant as nigiri sushi, but a hearty, tasty, cheaper alternative.

My Way:

I arrive around 7 a.m. and head straight for the market. The policeman in his koban by the entrance watches the tourists hurry by under the grey skies.

I almost immediately lose my bearings. I’m always a little disorientated when I first hit the market. The noise and bustle is a shock to the system at this time in the morning.

I make it to the tuna warehouse. The fish are lined up like so many statues at a temple. I narrowly avoid death by heavy lifter as I snap away with my camera.

Wandering back into the inner market, I watch men cutting up tuna with band saws and three foot long knives. At one of the stalls an Englishman is purchasing a slab. I ask him whether he runs a restaurant in Tokyo. No, comes the reply, as he drops the paper wrapped, crimson tuna into a wicker basket. He’s going to smuggle the fish back to Cornwall.

I stop to marvel at an old man deboning unagi (eel). When my friend Ichi the Chef brought me here, he explained to me that to work with such skill and speed required years of practice. Eels are notoriously difficult to handle.

I try to figure out the way back towards the main gate and find Daiwa Sushi. Just as I’m losing faith in my usually homing pigeon level sense of direction, I emerge into the pale morning light blinking.

Crossing roads more deadly (but probably cleaner) than those of Naples, I queue for sushi. I try an underhand tactic, exploiting other visitors’ lack of Japanese to make the wait shorter. The hard-boiled waitress gives me short shrift.

I adopt a new tactic: play by waitress’s rules. She’s scary.

I squeeze right up to the Chinese guy in front of me after the queue is ordered to take up less space. His group are using English to isolate their aged mother. They start speaking in Cantonese, with similar intent, suggesting their mother take the next available place for one person.

Inside the restaurant I immediately order a bottle of warm nihonshu. I ask for a bigger bottle. There aren’t any. Politely declining the chef’s offer of a set menu, I set about ordering à la carte.

My good friend the geoduck (mirugai) is absent. Fortunately, everything else I love is available. The ama-ebi (sweet shrimp), aji (horse mackerel) and awabi (abalone) are all excellent.

I order anago (conger eel) and ō-toro (fatty tuna belly) to finish. It is convention to end with anago (a speciality of this restaurant). I ignore this, pop the conger into my mouth first, then close with the ō-toro. A slice of heaven.

. . .

Video soundtrack by EeL.

Little doll I can’t forget. Bring happiness and everything.

Imagine life without the Spice Girls. You’re enjoying it, aren’t you?

Welcome to the world of the Japanese idol, for the large part still blissfully untouched by the ersatz feminism and sublime marketing strategy that was Girl Power.

Whatever you think of the 90’s girl group phenomenon, it produced alumni with strong enough personalities and the independence to graduate to a wide variety of roles, away from their teen sensation roots and rapacious managers. For example: rich, famous footballer’s wife; rich, has-been rocker’s wife; rich, former-cutting-edge-comedian-turned-children’s-entertainer’s paternity suit.

Wait. Let’s start again.

When the Japanese idol phenomenon began in the 70s, girls were tightly controlled by their (male) management companies. Every aspect of their lives was scripted, which was easy because fans could only really find out about their idols through magazine articles in ‘onside’ publications.

Over the years such control has been relaxed. If an idol says her favourite fruit is melon, it probably is. Some idols seem to revel in their chosen métier, having made a career out of their quirks. Yet the legacy of the manipulative manager continues. It often surfaces in dramatisations of idol life, such as in Densha Otoko and Perfect Blue.

Of course, suppressing one’s personality is part and parcel of performing. Rod Stewart spends his time away from the tedium of sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll with his model railway sets. On stage, you have to give people what they want (even if they don’t know what that is). Your audience, after all, pays the bills.

An idol’s most devoted fans are aidoru otaku (idol geeks – we will look at otaku subculture in greater depth in a later post). Becoming popular with otaku is one, though by no means the only, way of achieving success. Perfume (see last post) took this route, starting off as Akiba Idols.

For otaku (and to a lesser extent the greater idol-loving demographic), idols should be:

• Cute.
• Pretty.
• Young.
• Fresh-faced & innocent (even the ones not wearing any clothes).
• Docile and implicitly subservient.
• ‘Feminine’, especially in voice, language and action. This results in a high-pitched squeak combined with the politest Japanese and anime/videogame/manga character poses/costumes.

Otaku sum up these characteristics in one word: moe (萌え, もえ, pronounced mo-é, literally ‘budding’).

Yet for all the provocative clothing idols wear and pinup cachet, idols often project relatively desexualised personas. There is a ‘little sister’ effect.

The age ranges of fan and idol usually match up to place the fan in the role of ‘older brother’ (兄さん, にいさん, niisan) to the idol’s ‘little sister’ (妹, いもうと, imōto). Remember that Japanese porn you ‘stumbled upon’ one day? The one where the protagonists were meant to be family? Make (a little more) sense now?

Mr. Otaku is placed in a role of supposed power and stewardship over his idol – a relationship dynamic he is probably unable to form in real life. It is combined with his sexual urges.

And therein lies the crux. For the most part, idols provide an outlet for their fan’s emotions. For female fans, they might present a paragon of femininity to be emulated (as in the case of Ebihara Yuri).

Idols offer, as so many Japanese leisure pursuits do, an insulated world away from the pressures of everyday life. It is an arena which whole-heartedly welcomes those who are willing to accept and play by its rules and idiosyncrasies. For those who are not, it can seem a strange and foreign place.

However, idols and their companies are first and foremost a business. Like all entertainers, if an idol can make the jump into the mainstream, the rewards are much greater.

It is a delicate process. An idol runs the risk of losing her core fans by trying to popularise her act. At the same time she may flounder in the wider seas of J-pop.

Perfume have managed this successfully. Miss Élysées went to see them this weekend. She was dismayed and a little distressed to find herself in a crowd of sweaty male geeks. I like to think that the otaku probably found her – a real woman – even scarier.

. . .

Part I here.

. . .

Kill Yr. Idols

Hallelujahgobble! Hallelujahgobble! Hallelujahgobble!

Two years without a meat pie can do funny things to a man.

He begins to have dreams and visions. He fantasises. He forgets when he thinks he remembers. And then, as the juices flow in his mouth once more… then, the pie is legend.

Many countries and regions are fiercely proud of their food. Some foods take on almost mythical status, with their virtues extolled by zealous devotees.

The French and cheeses, the Italians and pasta, the Japanese and ramen. With the English, it can be pies.

Before heading to Japan I had been very partial to a pie. Steak & kidney, chicken & mushroom and pork pies, to be precise.

Like many people in foreign lands, occasionally I would have pangs of longing for things from the place I had left. Once an acquaintance brought me back a Fray Bentos tinned pie from her trip to London after hearing my lament.

People who have lived in Japan will tell you that apartments do not come equipped with ovens as standard. A cruel twist.

I tried using an electric toaster. I tried using a fish grill. It was an abject failure. The pie turned out little better than dog food.

[I had never actually come face to face with a Fray Bentos pie before. I suspect they aren’t much better even when oven cooked. They also smell foul.]

Soon after returning to England I got my hands on a rather large Melton Mowbray pork pie. These pies are a special regional product, protected under European law just like Parma ham and Roquefort.

The chopped, particulate pork in Melton Mowbray pies is fresh, and thus takes on a greyish colour when cooked; the meat in most other pork pies is cured, so pinkish, and smooth textured as it is usually minced. Melton Mowbray pies are also baked free standing, resulting in bowed sides, and the meat seasoned liberally with salt and pepper and encased in jelly.

I unwrapped the wax paper, trembling with anticipation. A thin film of oil coated my fingers. My knife made a satisfying crunch as it broke the pastry, before it sunk into the dense meat.

After two bites I had eaten enough. Though good in its own right, it could not live up to my fantasy pie. It was a disappointment.

My tastes and appetites had changed. It was like returning to an old lover, only to realise that you would never recapture those first, magical sparks.

What could I do? I took another bite, just to make sure…

. . .

Goodbye Pork Pie

More pie

<object width=”425″ height=”355″><param name=”movie” value=”http://www.youtube.com/v/9Ej3BdMpgZw&hl=en”></param><param name=”wmode” value=”transparent”></param><embed src=”http://www.youtube.com/v/9Ej3BdMpgZw&hl=en” type=”application/x-shockwave-flash” wmode=”transparent” width=”425″ height=”355″></embed></object>

It’s around that time of the year again. Birds are singing. Flowers are blooming. And the fat men are booming.

The 2008 Summer Grand Sumo Tournament in Tokyo is gearing up for its opening day later this month (11th May – 25th May). Go if you have the chance.

Here’s a look back at the 2006 event:

More on my first time (at the sumo) after the jump.

I had watched some sumo on TV, but had found it rather boring. In the flesh things were completely different.

I arrived early to buy tickets on the day. There is usually an allocation of 350 of these tickets, reasonably priced at ¥2100 for an adult and ¥200 for a child (aged 4 to 15).

The first matches were between the lowest ranked wrestlers. For the virgin sumo goer, these rounds provide a chance to ease yourself into the action.

As the day progressed and we moved up the divisions (based on success rather than weight), the pre-match rituals became more intriguing. Wrestlers took more time psyching themselves up, ratcheting up the tension. By this time I was placing bets with my companion.

Bouts were short and sharp. The best were explosive displays, filled with techniques my uncultured eye had no chance of picking up; the worst, all handbags and wobbling flesh. Couldn’t lose really.

My favourite moment came in a bout of mismatched sizes. One huge sumo against a small, agile fellow. Think monkey vs. hippo.

The wrestlers squared up. Monkey was raring to go. You could see the barely controlled aggression twitching in his lithe frame (well, as lithe as sumo wrestlers get). Hippo, in comparison, seemed sluggish.

Monkey pounced. He scrambled forward blindly, head down. At which point, Hippo took one step to the side and unceremoniously swatted Monkey to the ground. The referee pointed his fan towards Hippo, as if any needed confirmation of the winner.

Though the stadium was relatively empty there was still a decent atmosphere. Indeed, I enjoyed the space. There were enough people to make some noise, but at the same time I was able to move around to watch the action from different angles.

Around the arena there were several food, drink and souvenir concessions. Many spectators brought their own bento to feast on, something I recommend.

Having arrived without provisions, I bought a hot dog from a stall vaguely wondering whether an ultra-nationalist might take offence at the Americanness of it. Then again, the world has changed.

Sumo wrestlers are an increasingly international bunch. Europeans, such as the Bulgarian Kotoōshū, have achieved fame and distinction, while the current yokozuna (grand champion), Asashōryū, is Mongolian.

If after the wrestling you feel inspired to follow the way of the sumo, the best and easiest thing for you do is to eat. Settle down to some chankonabe, the stew that the wrestlers shovel down in vast quantities. Tasty, tasty.

. . .

2008 Grand Sumo Tournament ticket info here.

. . .

300 Pounds of Heavenly Joy

LOVE PAPER? 

Love Takeo & Winged Wheel.

It’s business time. Pull out your card. What’s it say?

If you’ve read or seen American Psycho, you may be familiar with Patrick Bateman’s business card obsession. He would have had a hard time controlling his raging urges if he’d ever made it to Tokyo.

Glancing through the Wallpaper* city guide on the 7th floor of Shibuya’s Tower Records, I spotted their recommendation for a stationery shop. I had been looking for this [NSFW] when my mind wandered.

Jotting down the address, I planned to visit at a later date. I had taken up bookbinding a few months previously. Inspiration had come from the design and craftsmanship of Japanese books and paper. A serendipitous jaunt through Tokyu Hands had landed me a starter kit and tools.

Now I needed more materials. Specifically washi (和紙), fibrous Japanese paper usually made from kozo (mulberry), gampi or mitsumata. Washi is often designed exquisite aesthetic sensibilities and has a great tactile appeal. Yet at the same time it is structurally tough and hard-wearing.

Winged Wheel, located in the quiet backstreets of Omotesandō (表参道), is a superlative stationery boutique. The store provides a bespoke service. While I was there several young, well-heeled Tokyoites were choosing name cards and party invitations from the selection of gorgeous designs and papers. If you’re in need of a quick fix, they also carry ready-to-buy sets.

The staff were extremely helpful. They spoke a little English too. I’m sure it would be easy to place an order without any knowledge of Japanese.

Orders can also be made by e-mail. Goods are shipped overseas via the efficient EMS service.

I, however, was on the look out for large sheets of washi for making books. When they found out they didn’t have what I wanted, the staff kindly suggested I try the nearby branch of a paper specialist in Aoyama.

Takeo (竹尾) is the dog’s. If you have any love for top quality design, let alone paper, you owe yourself a visit. Take some time to relax on a sofa with the reams and reams of sample sheets. Fill in an order form once you’ve made your choices and hand it over.

The staff at Takeo seemed somewhat colder than the lovely lasses at Winged Wheel. Maybe they were just wary of my wide-eyed wonder at it all. Maybe they familiar with American Psycho.

The Aoyama store also sold some neat, minimal notebooks and journals. They would make great presents for the writer or paper fetishist in your life.

If you only have a casual interest in washi, then a trip to Tokyu Hands (Shinjuku, 7F or Shibuya, 6A) would probably be sufficient. Both branches of the famous ‘creative life store’ sell washi in varies forms and sizes, including origami packs with instructions. At time of writing they also carried home bookbinding starter kits.

I’ll leave a more in depth look at the magnificent Tokyu Hands for a later post.

. . .

See The Directory [English or 日本語] for addresses, maps and contact details.

. . .

THIS IS NOT AN EXIT

TOKYO. I am leaving you.