Stalking Sushi - Part II

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

We had finally arrived at Sushi Dai. However, I was forced to quell my notions of diving headfirst into ebi (shrimp), maguro (tuna) and unagi (eel) as we lined up outside, peering into the cozy sushi bar.

So we waited. And waited.

There were only four people ahead of us, but another eight quickly filed in behind. The menu was taped to the glass door, written first in Japanese, then in English. There were only two options.

Option A: 12 pieces of nigiri (seafood on rice), assorted rolls, side dishes, miso soup: Y3,900 (U.S. $40)
Option B: 7 pieces of nigiri, assorted rolls, side dishes, miso soup: Y2,500 (U.S. $28)

For the better part of an hour, we stood under the awning, avoiding the drizzle, until we were seated with the four ahead of us. Even in this rough and tumble part of town, the service was rendered with the utmost courtesy. Pretty words were spoken as large ceramic cups of the greenest of green teas (think pond scum) were set before us.

I was so excited, I could barely sit still, and I surrendered all attempt at not looking like a tourist and semi-shamelessly photographed my food. I drew the line at shooting the three industrious chefs (their knives were sharp and their wrists quick), but did sneak in a little video.

The sushi was flying, each piece arriving solo in a staged culinary journey though Japanese waters. First there was a slice of marbled, pink and white fatty tuna, the thought of which still makes me salivate. Simultaneously delicate in flavor and rich in texture, the fish consumed me more than I consumed it.

The tour continued with sea urchin, clam, snapper ("Big eyes," the chef told me with a wink.), Japanese salmon, knife fish, mackerel, sea bass, shrimp, a beautifully braided, silver gizzard shad and a sea eel so fresh that rigor mortis had yet to set in, and the delicious morsel fell apart in my mouth.

The chef coached us.

"No [soy] sauce," he indicated with certain slices of fish.

I willfully committed sushi sacrilege and was slapped on the wrist for every infraction.

"No separation," Chef said as I ate my fish alone, leaving the rice for later.

"Sushi only one bite," he said as I sloppily ate my nigiri in two bites.

In my defense: Why should I cram a huge piece of sushi down my throat and barely taste it when two bites will allow me to savor the flavor so much better?

Still, he smiled and laughed at us, the only foreigners in the little restaurant. It was mid-afternoon, and yet the line outside continued to grow, so we gladly paid up for what had been a king of meals and walked out into the gray day giddy with seafood-stuffed bellies.

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