G
aijin is the Japanese term for people like me.
I used to cringe when I heard it. It took years
to overcome the shame of it. But these days I don’t
mind it so much. Partly because it doesn’t really
apply to me anymore. Mostly because I’ve come to accept it.
Gaijin means “foreigner” or “outsider”, but it really implies
something more like “intruder”. Put more stereotypically, a gaijin
is a white guy, clumsily bumbling through Japan, leaving a wake
of social miscues and broken dishes behind him. It’s a term
that’s meant to be derogatory – sometimes playfully, other
times with menace. And even though I’ve lived in Japan for
the better part of three decades, speak Japanese fluently, have
opened two successful ramen shops in Tokyo, and am raising
three half-Japanese kids, I’m still a gaijin. I can’t help it, just
like I can’t help being head over heels in love with Japan.
I’ve spent most of my adulthood in Japan, and it continues to
exert the same irresistible force on me. We live in New York now,
where I own two ramen restaurants, and my family has a pleasant
suburban American life, but we still think about Japan constantly.
Like most professional chefs, I consider Japanese food to
be the pinnacle of cuisine. It’s what we want to eat all the
time. We make pilgrimages to Japan to witness traditional
Japanese cuisine and marvel at the way Japanese cooks absorb
and incorporate foreign influence. The Japanese own sushi,
ramen, soba, udon, tempura, yakitori, kaiseki, kappo, and
izakaya, but they also bake amazing pastries and produce some
of the world’s finest French and Italian dining. At restaurants
and bars, you’re as likely to drink a striking, hard-to-find naturalwine as an ultra-refined sake. The high end of dining in
Japan is as evolved and thrilling as anywhere on earth, while
the stuff you can buy at convenience stores, food courts and
mom-and-pop shops is probably the best on the planet.
But, in general, I find that Japanese food often gets treated
with over-the-top reverence in English-language books, especially
by my fellow gaijin, and I think that actually does the cuisine
a disservice. Japanese food is not all precious, high-flying stuff.
A Japanese life encompasses the same range of situations as an
American one. There are busy weeknights and weekends when
you feel ambitious, picky kids, special occasions, dreary winters,
sweltering summers, picnics, potlucks, parties and hangovers.
And there’s food for every occasion.
These recipes are not a manual for making perfect sushi or
a memoir of a great summer in Kyoto. They’re a reflection of a
lifetime spent as an outsider looking admiringly at Japan, trying
my damnedest to soak up everything I can in order to improve
myself as a chef, a husband, a father, a friend – hell, as a person.
I’m sharing them with you because I know beyond a shadow
of a doubt that my life is better for what I’ve learned from
Japan. Even if you’ve never given the place much thought, so
long as you’re open-minded, I think I can prove that to you.
The recipes in this book are mostly drawn from what I cook
at home, along with a couple of favourites from my restaurants.
It’s not a comprehensive guide to Japanese food, but rather a
story of my specific experience of it. Most of the recipes will
be within reach once you place one online order or make one
trip to an Asian market. It’s worth it.Tofu Coney Island
SERVES 4“When we were developing our first menu at Ivan Ramen, I toyed
with a recipe for pork chilli,” says Ivan Orkin. “I added mushrooms
and realised that we could lose the meat altogether and not miss i
t. We spooned it over crisp fried tofu – it was delicious but still not
quite finished. Someone found a bottle of French’s mustard in the
fridge and we added chopped onions to complete the resemblance
to a Coney Island chilli dog. I’m happy to continue that legacy as
a Jewish guy from Long Island by way of Japan. Pictured p133.400 gm firm tofu, cut into
2.5cm cubes
¼ cup cornflour
¼ cup potato starch
Vegetable oil,
for deep-frying
2 cups miso mushroom chilli
(see recipe at right), warmed
American yellow mustard,
to serve
Finely diced onion, to serve1 Lay tofu on paper towels.
Combine cornflour and potato
starch in a bowl. Heat 10cmoil in a deep saucepan over
medium heat to 175°C. Set
a wire rack on an oven tray
or line it with paper towels.
2 Working in batches, dredge
tofu in cornflour mixture, shake
o excess and deep-fry until
crisp and lightly browned on all
sides (3 minutes). Remove tofu
with a slotted spoon, and drain
on rack or paper towels. Season
lightly with salt flakes.
3 Arrange tofu on a plate and
top with chilli. Finish with lots
of mustard and plenty of onion.450 gm button mushrooms,
trimmed
¾ cup vegetable oil
1 onion, diced
2 tbsp minced or grated ginger
1 tbsp minced garlic
½ cup tomato sauce
¼ cup pickled garlic liquid
(see recipe p138; make this
without katsuobushi to
keep this recipe vegan)
¼ cup red miso paste
3 tbsp sake
3 tbsp mirin
100 gm shimeji or oyster
mushrooms, trimmed
1 tbsp plus 1 tsp lemon
juice1 Pulse button mushrooms in
a food processor until they are
uniformly broken up into 3mm
pieces. (You can chop them
by hand if you don’t want to
bust out the food processor.)2 Heat a large skillet or
casserole over low heat and
add oil. Give the oil a moment
to heat up, then add onion
and 1 tsp salt flakes and cook,
stirring regularly, until the
onion is softened and golden
(30 minutes). Add ginger and
garlic and stir until softened
and fragrant (3 minutes).
3 Add button mushrooms, turn
heat up to medium, and cook,
stirring occasionally, until
mushrooms have yielded their
liquid and mixture has become
more or less dry (15 minutes).
4 Stir in tomato sauce, pickled
garlic liquid, miso, sake and
mirin and bring to a simmer.
Cook for 7 minutes, then add
shimeji mushrooms and lemon
juice and cook until mushrooms
are tender (5 minutes). Serve on
tofu (see recipe at left). Chilli will
keep refrigerated for a week. Miso mushroom chilli
MAKES 4 CUPS134 GOURMET TRAVELLER