Sukiyabashi Jiro - Roppongi, Tokyo, Japan

"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.

Omoide Yokocho - Shinjuku, Tokyo, Japan

I've learned a lot from Tokyo, important life lessons and the like. One of the more important lessons is letting go of stranger danger. Everywhere you go in Tokyo, you'll inevitably share something with someone you've never met. Whether it's two couples casually ignoring each other's conversations at a table for four or awkward elbow bumping at a beer and/or noodle bar, your personal space is not sacred.

It's a tight fit at the bar of all izakaya, but you can't even have a beer gut to sit at this counter. A large Asahi makes the two inches between you and the nearest salary man seem like four, but you can still smell each other's breath.

But not to worry, food is the ultimate social lubricant, and you learn to converse without worrying about other people hearing because well, no one at this counter has any idea what I'm saying. Combine a Set of skewers with a Special Set of skewers, and I don't have much to say anyway.

Small slices of bilious intensity comprise a skewer of chicken liver. Chicken gizzard's chewy texture provides a contextual contrast. The chicken wings require a little bony dissection, but the flame-scorched flavor goes all the way through the juicy pieces. Chicken breast is boring, but they keep the pieces small enough so the limited flavor won't make you don't fall asleep. Chicken skin is still my favorite, thin, dissolving strips zig-zagging up a toothpick trellis. The chicken meatball is dense yet light, meat marbled with savory fillers. Fatty pork bursts intensely, draping its gristle over slices of scallion.

Steak tastes like steak, and chicken cartilage crunches under a bland piece of breast.

Roasted Garlic loses some of the pungency and softens into a sweeter chew. Shishitos are slightly bitter and finish with a hint of hot.

A couple beers and a dozen skewers later, I've lost all semblance of shyness. Thanks Tokyo, I've learned so much from you: how to be comfortable when uncomfortably close and how to squeeze into very small spaces.

Uchi - Toshima, Tokyo, Japan

I haven't had breakfast yet, but I'm itching for some Uchi. I've heard good things, and I had to work to find it, wading through some pretty suburban-looking streets.

First good sign: I really have to work for a bowl of noodles. The prepaid ticket machine is harder than it looks, and the owner, who speaks not a word of English (second good sign) pantomimes me through quite the ordeal... Which I have to go through twice.

The ticket takes longer than the ramen. It appears almost instantly, and the broth is thick and dark. The pork bone is rich, and the marrow-y warmth cuts deep. A hint of seafood lightens each deep slurp, and the noodles are as thick as a bonsai branch.

You'd think that's plenty for under $10, but surprise, there's a rice bowl, too. Ramen is so filling, how could anyone have ramen AND take down a bowl of rice? Oh but there are seductive little scraps of chashu on the rice, and it's the softest, meltiest chashu I've ever had... wait, who just ate all my rice?

Unagi & Beer - Toshima, Tokyo, Japan

Second dinner. I think Japan is turning me into a hobbit. But hey, I've done 20,000 steps in one day if my Fitbit is to be believed so I'll consider those calories earned! Yes... Yes, I wore my Fitbit to Japan. More on that addiction later.

The addiction of choice here is food. Amazing, perfect, can't-imagine-anything-better food. A gorgeous lid of an exquisite lacquered box smolders like charcoal from a hearth. Thick, premium fillets of grilled freshwater eel are brushed with a deep, sweet sauce, and the flesh slips like silk. The sauce sinks into the rice beneath, and each steamy spoonful lets the flavor linger.

Unagi & Beer is small, and I dare say it's a well-kept secret. it's so local that even Yelp hasn't got wind of it yet. If all second dinners taste this good, I'll never eat just once again.

Oragasoba Shinshu, Isetan – Shinjuku, Tokyo, Japan

A lighter lunch later, we were famished by 4. No patience for the Isetan food court so we sat down for some soba.

Buckwheat Soba is the best, and we had it zaru. Grated yam, tororo, thickens the lighter mirin-dashi-soy with a starchy-mochi coating.

There’s also a bird’s nest of small shrimp in a tub of barely-there tempura, punctuated with sharper slices of scallion. The whole mess is just so-so.

Sobayu softens the zaru broth at the end, a surprisingly savory mix of what’s left with a wholesome buckwheat soba-juice. Still, I only somewhat satisfied – these soba noodles were a little too stiff. It’s still hard to say no to soba; it’s just that Torrance’s Ichimi-An is so much better.