1 post tagged “lauryl”
Since arriving in Japan, I have attempted to experience various types of foods, but astonishingly, I had not had what most people think of in regards to Japanese cuisine--sushi. Sure, I've had my fill of California rolls or spicy tuna, and I even tried what I thought was sushi (and it was, just not as I think of it) while we were delayed overnight in Osaka. When I ordered udon noodles and sushi at the airport, what I received was nothing like the seaweed-wrapped rolls I had become familiar with; instead it was a sweet tofu wrapper encasing a triangle-shaped bed of sticky rice, making the conglomeration appear to be a minature football. Later, I learned that this is known as Inari sushi after the Inari shrine region (see my previous post about visiting that shrine).
Still, without the fish or seafood and the obligatory seaweed wrapper, I felt as if I had not experienced true sushi. When family back home asked if I had found my fill of the delectable treat, I would stammer that I had not even tried any "true" Japanese sushi. Determined as I was to end this failure on my part, I was met with resistance by the Hub due to a severe allergy to all things of the sea; with resolve in mind, I began asking around and found that like me, my friend Lauryl had not tried sushi due to a balking husband. We made plans to end the emberrassing streak by visiting what is commonly known here as a sushi-go-round.
Doubtless, some of you are wondering about the name of such a restraunt, but I can find no term more self-explanatory than this one. As literally as I can put it, you seat yourself at a diner-style bar that winds itself around to enclose a Japanese man (in our case) intent upon fixing new items. Helping myself to a very welcome oshibori (a wet towel used to cleanse the hands), I regarded intently the set-up; directly in front of me was a black box hosting a large quantity of hashi (chopsticks). Sitting next to this was a bottle of soy sauce, small packets of ginger (used to cleanse the palate), and smaller packets of wasabi. On the opposite side of the hashi case was a spout with a button to press and a black cannister which appeared to house instant green tea. Unsure, Lauryl asked the gentlemen next to her who advised her to use one scoop (which he reiterated several times!) of the tea to one cup of the hot water.
Now, on to the self-explanatory part.
Known to us (Americans, that is; I have no clue if the Japanese use this term as well) as a sushi-go-round, the bar I spoke of has a minature, but long, conveyor belt that runs directly in front of the customers and encases the employee inside. As it winds around, different colored plates filled with tastes of food parade with the aspiration of being selected and enjoyed (the various plates and sushi: raw prawn, salmon, I think, and the unknown but most expensive fish. Absolutely nothing was as expected; instead of the sushi rolls we had become accustomed to in the United States, our selections were not rolls at all, but instead a sticky rice cake with a piece of meat on top. No wrapper, no roll, and oftimes not even fish or seafood (I now know that this type of sushi is called nigiri zushi; the rolls we expected is maki zushi)! We watched the procession for one full turn before I hesitantly grabbed what appeared to be a grilled chicken with onions and mayo. On my small plate were two pieces, so I dutifully passed one over to Lauryl, scraped the onions off of mine, and bit in, savoring the tangy sauce of the chicken on top of the slightly sweet sticky rice.
Emboldened by our first favorable attempt, we began grabbing various other plates: shrimp, salmon (we think), but we passed on the uncooked, whole squids whose tentacles stretched out to hang off the plate. After the chicken, Lauryl fixed herself a nice combination of wasabi and soy sauce in a little plate picked up from above our heads, dipped her shrimp sushi in, and then came up coughing immediately afterwards. Laughing, I explained that from what I'd read, most Japanese sushi comes with a thin layer of wasabi already spread over the rice, accounting for the sudden loss of breath on her part. Carefully, we lifted our future meats and removed much of the wasabi before nibbling.
We watched as the men beside us filled out little slips of paper, handed them to the sushi man on the inside (that sounds so like a black market sushi contact...heh), and received custom selections. Anxious to try but unable to write what we wanted in kanji, Lauryl caught the employee's attention with a soft "Sumimasen!" and asked for tempura for ni (two). Only a moment later, an older woman came from the back with plates of hot, fried veggies and fish and offered them to us. So good, but Lauryl still wanted her traditional rolls. Noticing the hanging banners proclaiming the options and the prices, she sumimasen'ed again and pointed to a glossy picture. Shortly, the 'captured" sushi man inside the belt proferred what she had requested.
After being pleasantly filled, we stood, signalling our finish of the meal. Again, the older lady came from the back with a handheld electronic order pad, counted our plates and noted the colors (the various colors of the plates signify the price of the sushi), leading us to the front where we happily forked over our yen and left.
Sushi mission accomplished!
Still, without the fish or seafood and the obligatory seaweed wrapper, I felt as if I had not experienced true sushi. When family back home asked if I had found my fill of the delectable treat, I would stammer that I had not even tried any "true" Japanese sushi. Determined as I was to end this failure on my part, I was met with resistance by the Hub due to a severe allergy to all things of the sea; with resolve in mind, I began asking around and found that like me, my friend Lauryl had not tried sushi due to a balking husband. We made plans to end the emberrassing streak by visiting what is commonly known here as a sushi-go-round.
Doubtless, some of you are wondering about the name of such a restraunt, but I can find no term more self-explanatory than this one. As literally as I can put it, you seat yourself at a diner-style bar that winds itself around to enclose a Japanese man (in our case) intent upon fixing new items. Helping myself to a very welcome oshibori (a wet towel used to cleanse the hands), I regarded intently the set-up; directly in front of me was a black box hosting a large quantity of hashi (chopsticks). Sitting next to this was a bottle of soy sauce, small packets of ginger (used to cleanse the palate), and smaller packets of wasabi. On the opposite side of the hashi case was a spout with a button to press and a black cannister which appeared to house instant green tea. Unsure, Lauryl asked the gentlemen next to her who advised her to use one scoop (which he reiterated several times!) of the tea to one cup of the hot water.
Now, on to the self-explanatory part.
Known to us (Americans, that is; I have no clue if the Japanese use this term as well) as a sushi-go-round, the bar I spoke of has a minature, but long, conveyor belt that runs directly in front of the customers and encases the employee inside. As it winds around, different colored plates filled with tastes of food parade with the aspiration of being selected and enjoyed (the various plates and sushi: raw prawn, salmon, I think, and the unknown but most expensive fish. Absolutely nothing was as expected; instead of the sushi rolls we had become accustomed to in the United States, our selections were not rolls at all, but instead a sticky rice cake with a piece of meat on top. No wrapper, no roll, and oftimes not even fish or seafood (I now know that this type of sushi is called nigiri zushi; the rolls we expected is maki zushi)! We watched the procession for one full turn before I hesitantly grabbed what appeared to be a grilled chicken with onions and mayo. On my small plate were two pieces, so I dutifully passed one over to Lauryl, scraped the onions off of mine, and bit in, savoring the tangy sauce of the chicken on top of the slightly sweet sticky rice.
Emboldened by our first favorable attempt, we began grabbing various other plates: shrimp, salmon (we think), but we passed on the uncooked, whole squids whose tentacles stretched out to hang off the plate. After the chicken, Lauryl fixed herself a nice combination of wasabi and soy sauce in a little plate picked up from above our heads, dipped her shrimp sushi in, and then came up coughing immediately afterwards. Laughing, I explained that from what I'd read, most Japanese sushi comes with a thin layer of wasabi already spread over the rice, accounting for the sudden loss of breath on her part. Carefully, we lifted our future meats and removed much of the wasabi before nibbling.
We watched as the men beside us filled out little slips of paper, handed them to the sushi man on the inside (that sounds so like a black market sushi contact...heh), and received custom selections. Anxious to try but unable to write what we wanted in kanji, Lauryl caught the employee's attention with a soft "Sumimasen!" and asked for tempura for ni (two). Only a moment later, an older woman came from the back with plates of hot, fried veggies and fish and offered them to us. So good, but Lauryl still wanted her traditional rolls. Noticing the hanging banners proclaiming the options and the prices, she sumimasen'ed again and pointed to a glossy picture. Shortly, the 'captured" sushi man inside the belt proferred what she had requested.
After being pleasantly filled, we stood, signalling our finish of the meal. Again, the older lady came from the back with a handheld electronic order pad, counted our plates and noted the colors (the various colors of the plates signify the price of the sushi), leading us to the front where we happily forked over our yen and left.
Sushi mission accomplished!
