Along the picturesque and rocky coast of Southern Japan, previously the haunt of pirate clans and mythical creatures, fish- as you would expect- make up a substantial part of the locals’ diet. From the large, headliners of the fish world like tuna, black cod, bream and salmon, to the smaller mackerel, sardines and anchovies, they are all consumed with delight- one species peculiar to Japanese waters however is perhaps the smallest fish you’re ever likely to eat- the miniscule Shirasu.
Shirasu are juvenile katakuchi iwashi, a type of sardine. Tiny, pearlescent fish barely a centimetre in length with a blushing pink spot on their belly, boiled in salted water and then semi-dried to preserve them and enhance their flavour. Some of the most memorable meals we’ve had the fortune of eating on Shikoku or Kyūshū have been served with a mound of these delicate slivers gracing the tray, or perched atop a bowl of food, looking to the uninitiated like a tiny portion of rice until you get close enough to see their minute, perfectly preserved features. The shirasu bring a clean, white fish flavour and a hit of saltiness to any dish that you add them to- stirred into sunomono salads, packed into an onigiri, mixed with grated daikon and served over rice or eaten as a bar snack with a cold beer. Our favourite way to eat them though is in a dish we were served at a motsu restaurant, an appetiser that the chef placed in front of us while we were deciding what to order with the assistance of some particularly boisterous local diners. A small handmade bowl containing only two or three mouthfuls of food, a few lengths of finely sliced konnyaku, doused in a mixture of bonito-infused soy sauce and kabosu juice, a tangle of the little fish and a thoughtfully placed garnish. The smoky, sour and salty dressing working wonders on the slippery, springy konnyaku which acted as the perfect textural contrast to the miniature fish. Such a simple presentation of a handful of ingredients spelled out the essence of Japanese cuisine to me way more than any other dish has before or after and has remained as one of my favourite dishes ever since.
(Shirasu are available frozen in many of the larger oriental supermarkets, a close second if you can’t get them however are chirimen jako, which are the same fish but fully dehydrated. Soak them in some cold water for an hour and you’ll end up with a similar, though slightly less clean-tasting treat.)
Theatre and diner interaction play a huge part in Japanese dining, the artistry of the tea ceremony, the DIY grilling over a hibachi when you eat yakiniku, the almost exclusively Northern dish of wanko soba where attendants deftly fling mouthfuls of noodles into your bowl as you eat, and our favourite- shabu shabu. Named after the onomatopoeic sound of people doing laundry, flapping sheets and clothing around in a pot of bubbling water, a shabu shabu meal sees diners sat around a steaming pot of stock, individually dipping in wafer thin slices of raw meat and vegetables until cooked, then quickly anointing them with a sour ponzu dipping sauce and greedily gobbling them down before repeating the act with the next morsel. It is one of the most entertaining, communal and theatrical of Japanese meals, but- because of the huge amounts of steam generated by the hotpot (or more correctly, hotpots, since you’re likely to be eating shabu shabu in a restaurant specialising in the dish)- only really suited to winter dining.
What happens then in the warmer, more humid months if people crave the flavours of shabu shabu but not the hour or two huddled around a pot of steaming pork and beef broth which would be so welcome later in the year? Reishabu is the answer- a selection of Japanese leaves topped with the poached pork that would be the feature of the hotpot, along with daikon, grapes, and a citrussy dipping sauce to refresh and revitalise you on even the hottest of days. You get all the flavours of shabu shabu, just in a lighter, cooler, balanced salad, and if you don’t dress the leaves with the ponzu until you’re ready to eat it, this makes a fantastic picnic lunch.
Not to be confused with hambāgā- the French fry accompanied, grilled beef burger served in a bun the world over- hambāgu is a much lighter, juicier confection; a blend of pork and beef mince, caramelised onions and spices, shaped into an oval patty before being fried and simmered in one of a variety of different sauces. It could be described as Japan’s take on the Salisbury steak and depending on which type of hambāgu you order in a restaurant, your patty could be smothered in a rich, thick Worcestershire style sauce, a French-inspired red wine reduction, a beef and mushroom ‘loco moco’ gravy (nearly always partnered with a runny fried egg) or dressed in the wafu oroshi style with a zesty, tangy ponzu sauce and a heap of spicy grated daikon. This final version is about as refreshing and light a burger as you’ll ever find; juicy from the addition of fatty pork mince, tender from the milk-soaked panko breadcrumbs and packed with bright summery flavours courtesy of the citrus dressing and the herbal notes that the shiso leaves bring. Serve the hambāgu with a steaming bowl of rice and some light vegetable side dishes to make the perfect home-style dish for a late dinner on a sunny evening, or use cooled cooked patties with the sauce and daikon oroshi on the side as the feature components in an obento lunch.
Raw fish in the form of sashimi is quite often the first thing a foreigner thinks of when you mention Japanese food, but perhaps less well known is gyuu tataki, a lightly cooked piece of beef fillet that while seared on the outside remains completely raw in the centre. We’ve paired our beef with a couple of citrussy accompaniments, firstly a home-made take on yuzukosho (we’ve used the word ‘modoki’ in the title, which means pseudo or mock) and then with a ponzu style dipping sauce made of lime juice and soy sauce.
Yuzukosho is a fantastically strong, fiery condiment used mainly with hotpot dishes and sashimi, made from fermented citrus fruit and green chilli peppers. Yuzu- the traditional fruit used in the seasoning- is unfortunately for us very hard to come by in England, so we have combined a number of different fruits to craft a flavour reminiscent of the complex aroma the original has. This zesty paste brings together sour, bitter, floral, salty and spicy flavours which all balance the beef’s natural earthiness and when used as an appetiser at the start of a meal really awakens your palate.