If the Japanese are what they eat then they would be fish; its a rare meal in Japan that doesn't contain
some fish sauce or fish seasoning or fish base. And if you buy that the Japanese do in fact
act like their favorite food, and there is good evidence that they do - travelling by tour
bus (schools), slurping down noodles like bottom feeders inhaling kelp -
then Tokyo's Tsukiji-Shijo (Fish Market) must be seen. After all, this the largest fish market in Japan,
perhaps the world. It's where Japan's beating heart and largest city gets its daily grub. Its
no secret that the Japanese love their fish. This is where they've been getting it, since 1935.
But if you want a piece of the freshest fish in Japan, you'll have to come to Tsukiji at the
crack of dawn. Any other time of day is sacrilege, fish-feeding blasphemy, really.
The freshest sushi in the world is here, right off the boat, sliced live a few feet
from your chopsticks. If you want some, come to Tsukiji, and come early.
After a night of Tokyo's best, we arrived at Tsukiji at 4:30AM, the Monday morning just before
New Years, 2003. It was an atypical Sunday night for
this English teacher - I rarely went clubbing on a school night. The cab ran about 2500 yen from
Roppongi, and when we stepped out
of it in sleep-deprived delerium, the morning sky was beginning to break through.
At first Tsukiji was unimpressive; what was all the hype for, I wondered? But as we wound our
way down the back alleys
of the market, sounds gathered - "Sumimasen!", the clink of fish crates and "Ikaga Desu Ka!?" -
smells collected -
a raw salty sea aroma you could nearly taste - and the market began to show itself off to me.
Down two more sidestreets and we seemed to have finally pierced the center of it.
I was looking for the maguro - tuna - auction, but it was the ginger soaked octopus that
caught my attention first - it was blood red and looked evil, like what the devil might
look like if he came from the sea.
Then the sea urchins, the drying squid, the miniture white and gray fish the Japanese call iriko.
I began to wonder: "Is there anything the Japanese don't eat?" Iriko are so small and nasty
that you get the impression a starving alley cat would turn them down. Even the iriko themselves stare
at you from beady blue eyes and seem to say, "Couldn't you find something better to eat?"
The tentacles, the eyes, the fins - it was all there, but I still couldn't find the tuna auction.
I had read about the daily auction, where every day at 5AM, fanatical fish merchants buy and
sell albacore that weigh up to 900 pounds.
It is a popular tourist attraction, and because the fish are auctioned, a single fish
can cost $10,000 or more.
As we walked wide-eyed through the streets of Tsukiji -
its proper name is Tokyo Chuo Oroshiuri Ichiba (Tokyo Central Fish Market) -
it occurred to me that I had seen all of these fish before, but never in such quantities
and never all in one place. It was the world's largest convention of dead fish, and they had
convened for one purpose - to feed the famished Japanese.
Fortuitously, that very thing is done at Tsukiji too (did you expect anything less?).
Randomly located between the fish-merchant stalls are several fresh sushi restaurants, some
no more than punches in the wall and others full service diners. No matter how classy, they
all boast the freshest fish in Tokyo: straight off the boat.
We picked a good one - for all but one of us it was our first and maybe last time at Tsukiji -
and we were not let down. As soon as the automatic door guided us in, a cook slammed down his
machete and rollicked, "Irasshai!" - (Welcome!). It was perhaps the finest welcome I had ever
recieved in Japan or anywhere else; I couldn't help but thinking, "it's 5:14AM and the man should have been
sleeping."
I collected myself and wiped the dirty grin off my face; I felt like I had been inagurated into
royalty and this was my honorary meal.
We sat at the bar just inches from the machete, so you can bet I was on my best behavior.
No jokes about how red the Japanese get when they're drunk. No quips about the
diminutive Japanese. The cook's knife - er...sword - looked sharper than Einstein.
I had a hard time imagining him as anything but a modern-day samurai -
he had the weapon and the demeanor. I wouldn't have been surprised if he removed body parts
from ingrate customers. "What, you don't like this mackerel!? Off with your pinky!" and a thud
of steel on the wooden bar.
