Stalking Sushi - Part I

This is the third of my posts about my six-day trip in Japan.

We peered into the tiny sushi bar where 12 people sat shoulder to shoulder, like sardines in a tin.

In the dingy alley of the wholesale fish market, a line of diners waited to get into the hatbox-sized restaurant. It was 2 in the afternoon. All the faces in line were Japanese.

And anyone who knows how to hunt authentic haunts knows to follow the locals and choose the place where patrons will happily wait an hour to get a seat at the counter, even at non-peak hours.

Oh yeah, we were at the right place. But I confess we had a little help finding this hole in the wall.

The Tsukiji Metropolitan Central Wholesale Market, touted as the biggest wholesale fish and seafood market in the world, roars to life at about 3 a.m. when the first fishermen roll in with their catches. It's in full swing by 5 a.m. when licensed buyers from restaurants, processing plants and large retailers come to the market to participate in the live auction. Indeed, the seafood from Tsukiji will reach the four corners of the globe. By 8 a.m. the activity is winding down, and by the time Kat and I arrived at 1:30 p.m., the market was a wasteland of cardboard boxes, Styrofoam containers and rubber-boot clad men engaged in clean up.

We'd heard this is the place to be for sushi, but we were wandering in the wrong area and quickly losing patience with the quest for food. (OK, I admit, I was losing patience. Kat rarely loses patience.) So, Kat pantomimed the gobbling of raw fish to an obliging fisherman who quickly led us to the right area.

"The best?" he asked.

We nodded fervently, but he motioned that it wouldn't be cheap. (Cultural note: I've noticed in Korea and Japan, the American "OK" sign, made with the thumb and forefinger forming an "o" and the other three fingers extended, means "money.")

"That's OK," we clamored.

In some other countries, I'd be worried this man was being paid a commission for his recommendation, but he pointed at the restaurant and disappeared so quickly that I dispelled the notion. We barely had time to bow our thanks and spit out some "arrigatos."

Oh, I was primed to dine.

Check out my photos, "Tokyo, Metropolitan Mecca," on my Facebook page.