School of Fish

STUDYING THE JAPANESE ART

OF SEA

TOKYO, THE LARGEST FISH

MARKET IN THE WORLD

PLAYBOY

GOURMAND

t's 5:15 a.m. in central Tokyo, still dark out­side, and I'm standing at the gates of Tsukiji. I've

traveled thousands of miles to get here. Tsukiji is the largest fish market in the

world. It's also a veritable Sorbonne of seafood, a foodie mecca where the ocean's secrets reveal themselves. Every day about 2,200 tons of sea creatures, plucked from depths all over the globe, are sold here—$5 billion worth over the course of a year. If it comes from the sea and can be eaten, you will find it in Tsukiji. The only place to get it fresher is on the boat when the fishermen pull it in.

My guide is Lloyd Nakano. Lloyd runs the swanky Seiyo Ginza hotel a few blocks away and is an expert on and a reg­ular customer of Tsukiji. He's about 50, and he's constantly smiling. He has the gait of a man who could drink you under the table before he goes out drinking. With Lloyd leading the way, we head into the jonaishijo—the "inner market."

"Get your ass moving!" he yells in English. "Don't give me any shit about being jet-lagged. There's a mean old bastard

with a sword waiting for you."

Inside, the market looks like a series of airplane hangars. Some 65,000 people work here. Men are carving fish with sam­urai swords, stopping to light another Marlboro or knock back

a shot of sake. Hundreds of forklifts are moving at top speed. Eels jump out of barrels. Snapping turtles hiss. I see clams and oysters so large they look as if they've been created in a secret laboratory by the Willy Wonka of seafood. Dozens of the deadly fugu fish, whose liver can paralyze or kill an eater if not perfectly prepared by a chef, swim inside a tank, eyeing me insidiously. Animals so bizarre they require comparison to other foods (sea cucumber, sea pineapple) await the cleaver. A few stalls down a chain-smoking teenager tends to a pile of blood-red whale meat.

We walk through a room the size of a high school gym­nasium where bluefin tuna lie arranged in rows. The size of each is staggering; most are four to five feet in length, and some are as large as eight. Their tails have been severed and shoved into their mouths. Another cut six inches above the tail reveals the meat, which is examined for color, texture, fat and oil content. From this incision the men who will bid

FISH SAUCE

Some refer to sake as rice wine, but it's actually closer to beer because it's brewed from grain. Hot sake is always made with the cheap stuff, while finer bottles are served chilled or at room temperature. Here are four categories every swiller should know about. —Scott Alexander

Junmai tends to be earthy and rustic. Think of it as a ram­bunctious red wine, and pair it with rich, flavorful, even spicy dishes and grilled food. When drink­ing junmai, we're fans of Tentaka Kuni (Hawk in the Heavens) with its strong backbone and hints of cherry and strawberry.

Junmai ginjo is more floral, even tropical at times. With its subtle fla­vors it tends to work best with lighter foods such as fish and salad. Try Yuki No Bosha for its earthy, mush­room flavor up front backed by a mel­low, well-rounded finish with a play­ful sweetness and notes of honeydew.

Nigori is a differ­ent animal from the other types of sake listed here. It's unfil-tered, which gives it a cloudy appearance and a far sweeter flavor. It comple­ments spicy foods such as curries and also works after des­sert. Ohyama (Big Mountain) is on the dry side for a nigori and has a cool hint of effervescence.

Junmai daiginjo is the most refined and delicate of the sake family. It's made from rice with 50 percent of its mass polished away; just the heart of the grain is used. Masumi Yumedono (Mansion of Dreams) is almost supernatu-rally well-balanced, with accents of acid­ity that perfectly cut and define its ethe­real sweetness.

money for these fish determine what they're worth.

Lloyd pulls me into a stall where a bluefin tuna that just sold for $8,000 is lying on a wooden table. Over the fish stands a man with a sword straight out of Kill Bill. Here is the mean old bastard Lloyd was talking about. He is bitching to Lloyd in Jap­anese and shooting me dirty looks. Three others hold the fish steady while the ornery man lays the blade down the back, slicing clear to the center. "The best!" he shouts, hand­ing me a piece. It's hard to argue with an angry man holding a sword. But no need: The tuna is the freshest, most delicate fish I have ever tasted, dis­appearing on my tongue as it reaches my body temperature.

Tokyo's fish market has been thriv­ing since the 16th century, the age of the shoguns, when Tokyo was called Edo. Only in the past half-century, how­ever, with the ease of airplane travel, has Tsukiji grown into the epicenter of the global fish trade. Go to any fish market in America and there's a good chance much of what you see has come through Tsukiji. And as surely as you can get the freshest fish in the world here, you can find master chefs who know how to dress it up.

We end up in the stalls along the outskirts of the market, where crowds are gathered outside a series of tiny sushi bars, waiting for breakfast.

"Lonely Planet places," Lloyd says, pointing with disdain. "They are bullshit. We go to see Shina."

When we walk into Shina's 12-seat sushi bar, called Ryuzushi, the first thing she says is "You want beer!" It's not yet eight a.m. The old woman hosts the hardest of the hard-core market

workers for breakfast. No bacon and eggs here. Six large bottles of Sap­poro land on our table, as well as two bottles of premium sake. Just as fast, the sushi master is delivering piece after piece directly onto the counter. Three types of tuna start us off, all patted with a dab of fresh wasabi root ground on a piece of sharkskin. Scal­lops, shrimp, mackerel, eel, octopus and giant clams come in waves, all of it straight from the market.

In Japan people eat sushi with their hands (it was originally a street food) and sashimi with chopsticks. They don't add wasabi to sushi (the chef will have already layered it in), nor do they use as much soy sauce as Americans do. They will add wasabi to sashimi but only freshly

ground wasabi, not the paste you get in America, which is a powder mixed with water.

After breakfast I step outside for air and am nearly run over by a fork-lift making its final nine a.m. delivery. The market will soon close so it can be cleaned.

"You had enough for today?" Lloyd asks with a firm slap on the back. "There's a great ramen stand around the corner."

"I think that'll do."

"Fine," he says. "But tomorrow we eat turtle-blood soup."

On our walk back to the hotel Lloyd describes a scene of a large snapping turtle being provoked with a stick. When the turtle snaps its jaws onto the wood, its throat is slit and the draining blood is gathered to make a soup that provides those who drink it with numerous powers, among them the sexual stamina of a young lion. You better believe I'll be back for soup.

MISO BLACK COD AND SPINACH GOMA-AE

Classic Japanese recipes courtesy of Tadashi Ono of Matsuri restaurant in New York City. (Serves four.)

MISO BLACK COD

4 eight oz. pieces of black cod

2tsp. salt

4 tbsp. white miso paste

ltbsp. mirin

Serving of rice of your choice

SprinkLe black cod with salt and let sit in refrig­erator overnight. Dry fish with a paper towel. Mix miso paste and mirin. Put miso mixture all over black cod and cover with plas­tic wrap. Let sit for one more night. Scrape miso off black cod. Under a preheated broiler at 500 degrees Fahrenheit, cook black cod until it's brown, about eight minutes.

SPINACH GOMA-AE

2 quarts water ltbsp.salt

8 cups raw spinach, cleaned, drained and tightly packed 2 tsp. sugar

tbsp. soy sauce

tbsp. toasted ground white

sesame seeds

Bring water and salt to a boil over high heat. Add spinach and boil for about one minute. Transfer spin­ach to a colander and rinse in cold running water to stop leaves from cook­ing. Once it's cool, gently squeeze spinach to expel excess water. Set aside. Combine sugar, soy sauce and ground sesame in a Large bowl, mixing well. Add spinach and toss to combine with dressing.

TUNA AND AVOCADO CUBES

Recipe courtesy of Izakaya: The Japanese Pub Cookbook.

(Serves four.) ta

1 ripe avocado

lA tsp. lemon juice

8 oz. sushi-grade tuna loin

2 tbsp. soy sauce

1 tbsp. sake

Minced garlic to taste

1 tsp. dark sesame oil

Chopped scallions for garnish

Cut avocado into half-inch cubes and dress with lemon juice. Cut tuna into half-inch cubes. Mix all the dressing ingredients together, then gently toss the tuna and avo­cado in the dressing so they retain their form. Top with chopped scallions and serve. Note: How to pick out your tuna? For starters, find a fish shop you trust, and get to know the owner. If he wants you to come back, he'll give you the good stuff. "Look for fillets that are shiny and firm," says chef Tadashi Ono of New York's Matsuri. "If you are buying tuna, it has to be a bright ruby color—no gray, no darkness. If it's old it acquires a kind of rainbow-like look on the cut surface."

For a fuLL guide to ethical seafood choices, video of the Tsukiji market and more, go to playboy.com/fishmarket.