"Is there anything you do not eat?" he asks, and I just stare. HE is Takashi Ono, head chef of Sukiyabashi Jiro, Roppongi Hills. He is the progeny of a prodigy, mirror image of his father in the kitchen and out. He is larger than life, and he appears to tower over his sushi counter, the second son of a national treasure, and a legend in his own right. I stare. "N-n-nooo," I stammer, trying to find my voice, "We like everything."
My courage returns with my first bite of infallible Flounder, a light, wholesome splash. The tangy sting of vinegar is a punch in the face, a jolting wake-up call. My eyes water as I chew, but when the initial shock subsides I'm left with a cool, subtle notes of flounder; it seems the acidity amps up the flavor of the fish.
The Squid is next. It comes in several species, and this must be the one on steroids. I expected rubbery, slightly slimy, and slim. Instead it is shockingly soft like a steak, firmly fragrant, and thick through the middle like a bicep.
The Giant Scallop is sliced from a scallop the size of my fist, pried out of a shell the size of a small cocker spaniel. It's meaty and dense, leaner and meaner, skillfully scored with a knife to make it easier to chew.
The Lean Tuna is sleek sophistication, modern minimalist but bold. With each mastication, the tuna takes a different angle, as you taste the tun from every perspective.
The Chu-Toro combines the best of both, the bold, lean flavor interspersed with micro-globules of fat that fill every crevice of every taste bud.
The Otoro is FAT. The bacon of the tuna kingdom, it tingles as it melts, floating fat that that spreads throughout.
Gizzard Shad is quite the contrast. It shimmers black and silver, dynamic duos of firm skin and chewy flesh, brazen fishiness and juicy savor.
A Clam comes up next, and I eat it immediately, expecting to be bowled over by brine. Except there is no brine - this one is seamless, and a more neutral flavor leaves room to appreciate all the texture.
Horse Mackerel sandwiches slices of ginger, a jolting burn beneath a meaty morsel.
They are very proud of their Ikura, and they let us know immediately. Where others have failed, they have succeeded, annihilating the unpleasant fishiness in both smell and taste, and eliminating the unpleasant briny finish. Their ikura burst in delicate, viscous bubbles, and there is truly no odor - nothing reminiscent of a fish market sidewalk. As they burst one by one, there is a rapid crescendo that ends somewhat savory, with only the slightest essence of salty sea.
A huge Shrimp is served with a smile, the first of many. "I recommend you eat the tail end first... Please do not eat the tail," he instructs. Takashi had to add the second line in recent years, and there is mirth behind his guarded eyes as he recounts numerous people stuffing the hard tail-shell into their mouths, a feat as unpleasant as it is impossible. The whole bar laughs, and a wave of relaxation sweeps through the bar. Even the apprentices relax enough to crack a smile, and soon everyone is smiling thank to the tender, still-warm shrimp. The tail side is robustly sweet, and the brain side is a bit more bitter, with the texture of buttered roe.
The Geoduck, or the gooey duck is all viscous cartilage, a tender clam that's not the least bit gooey.
They say that Santa Barbara has some of the best Uni, but Hokkaido is hardly second place. The generous scoop of roe is as creamy as the best creme brulee and finishes just as sweet.
Takashi speaks fluent English, but it's his clever senior apprentice who does most of the explaining. He outlines their unique process of grilling Smoked Bonito over charcoal and grass. The junior apprentice holds up a photo on cue. But even his illustrative description doesn't set the stage for the experience you undergo. The bonito is firm around the edges, with smoky char that saturates every sense. You can smell it immediately when you start to chew, and you can practically see the smoke drifting upwards, as you feel the fire smolder.
The Hard Shell Clam is harder and sweeter, smooth and gooey with soy.
I don't even like Mackerel, even I can't resist the moist, silvery sheen. The vinegar marinade eases in with the rice, a far less jarring experience than most.
The smaller Scallops are slide-down sweet, less gamey-meat, a smooth mouthful of tender morsels.
I've had a lot of Sea Eel, but this is something else entirely. It's as creamy as the uni, and every tiny sliver-shred falls apart when it floats upon the tongue, so melty you could spread it like pate.
We paid extra for a Mantis Shrimp, plump little spawn-prawn of shrimp with the texture of lobster and the flavor of crab, full of hard orange roe.
Worth it for the mantis shrimp, and even more worth it for the Abalone. The feather-light, soft-as-down slice is still warm on the tongue, and it releases a cascade of fragrance.
We finish with Tamago, a cake of egg, sugary fluff all the way through. They achieve the texture with shrimp and mountain potato and not a single grain of flour.
And just like that, the meal is done. I am left sipping, clutching my green tea, contemplating the life-altering experience that will forever change the way I see my sushi.
My appreciation for Japanese culture comes to a head here, as I savor the shokunin, a breathtakingly beautiful concept of their culture. It signifies the art of getting lost in one's profession. It is an endless quest to master of one's craft, a boundless sense of purpose, breaching the boundaries of better, refusing to accept the words, "I can't".
And words do not begin to describe the sushi shokunin experience. It is as if sushi were a solar system, and every planet aligned upon my palate. It still tastes like sushi; no more, no less, and I've had my share of the good stuff. But this is like being satisfied with a simple portrait, only to accidentally stumble upon the Sistine Chapel. It is not a single delicious plate, but rather, the perspective of an entire life.
People always ask if I"ended up" in Roppongi because I couldn't get a reservation in Ginza. The answer will always be no. Jiro may be a legend well-established, but Takashi is far more interesting. The Roppongi location is his own creation, and he dares to be different. He defies the rigid and frigid atmosphere of Ginza, creating a more relaxed, more informative eating environment. He embraces the foreign customers, explaining his work in fluent English and chiding me to eat faster in Chinese. I do not regret bypassing Ginza, and it was the greatest privilege to dine in Roppongi. I was constantly and consistently awestruck by Takashi Ono, and I can only hope he didn't judge me too.
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