Most of the time the peeps just order off the menu and don’t bother to politely ask the chef what they might recommend.

I always get a thrill when gaijin first sit their butts down at a real good sushi bar counter and see what I’ve been enjoying for years. Picture that if you can and email me your sketch. I would give a stack of shishitos to have a plate like that again. The trees were radish sprouts rooted by real wasabi paste, surrounded by a beach of uni with tobiko tourists and nori rafts. One dish I’ve never forgotten was served on a turquoise, ocean-blue plate that delivered the edible tropical island of my dreams. That’s why you can always find me at the sushi bar downing and drowning in my nigiri. The taste of fresh uni, or sea urchin, something I often refer to as the “cream of the ocean,” or the flavor of nato, fermented soybean? Sublime! And watching all that goes into the cutting and plating these are arts many don’t focus on. There are so many treats that are grilled, sautéed, marinated, poached or broiled to perfection – the sky’s the limit. Note: Japanese cuisine is not just about raw fish. I knew I was in good care when the oftentimes drunk Japanese businessmen sitting nearby would politely mention to the chef over my shoulder, “How come this ‘gaijin’ (non-Japanese folk) rates those special pickled baby eels?” or “Why does he get the fried river crabs even after he got the grilled flying fish?” Well, slipping the chef great tips and some hashish always helped out. I will to this day swear to the aphrodisiac quality of that treat. So, no omakase for me.Īoto-san introduced me to what he called his “fugu-sake,” a rare delight created by incorporating a poison blowfish element into a top-shelf hot sake. Though I do steer clear of jellyfish as I’m highly allergic to it, and once spent time in a hospital because of it. When I finally met Aoto-san, a true upcoming star, he taught me what to ask for and to really appreciate the creative “sushi culture” in New York – and that sitting at the bar and asking a top chef to craft mouthfuls of holiness is the way to go. Not like nowadays, when anyone can say they are a “sushi chef” – to those Quick Draw MacGraws I say, eat me! Years making only rice, years slicing select fish to bring out its true natural flavor. Yes, I say “master” chef because it takes years to navigate that traditional male-dominated hierarchy and become a top skilled sashimi craftsperson. They were often surprised to see me slide into an empty seat facing a “master chef” at the sushi bar, rather than sit at a table.Īll the ingredients you need to do Nelson proud. I learned all sorts of sushi etiquette as I narrowed my aim to the places filled with local Japanese businessmen. I was in my 20s and loved watching the chefs prepare their culinary art. Back in the day I used to hit Manhattan’s mid-east 50s, an area akin to downtown Tokyo saturated with small, walk-down sushi bars that were open late and packed with fun times. I’ve been a devotee for more than 45 years. The recipe I’m sharing is his, and with it I honor his memory and the joy he so often sparked. He was well respected and had the power to hand-wave a departing Carnival Cruise ship back to the loading ramp so we were all able to leave the Bahamas and get home safe and sound to Miami. Nelson was the king of parties and the good life. This month’s column is a remembrance of sorts to a dynamic friend from days gone by, Nelson D., one of the most congenial of men who left us too soon.

Fugu blow fish