omakase

A receptacle for the respectable

I ordered a shot of George T. Stagg’s fiery Hazmat III in Shot Bar

Bourbon, a tiny subterranean bourbon paradise in Ginza, and the
bartender served it in a wine glass. I asked why. “For the flavor,” he
said, and to demonstrate, he tipped my drink into a shot glass. The
bourbon lost its aroma and half of its taste. It wasn’t a subtle
change; it was a character-killing transformation.

That’s how I became obsessed with glass shapes. I began asking

bartenders to explain their choice of vessel, and found that many
could. When I drank at home, I’d pour from shot glass to snifter to
old-fashioned to Burgundy, then bore people stiff with my findings.

I went to Riedel, the 250-year-old Austrian glassmaker that pioneered

grape-varietal specific glassware, and asked whether their 140-strong
suite of stemware was grounded in science or a desire to sell us 20
glasses when we really only need two.

“When you drink, you never think about how it goes in, how much
goes in and where it goes in your mouth,” says Wolfgang Angyal,
president and CEO of Riedel Japan. “We know where to put the
tastes. A glass delivers the drink to our senses, and its shape deter-
mines the bouquet, taste, balance and finish.”

So far, so much corporate spiel, so I asked Angyal to prove it. I under-

stood that tulip glasses release flavors, bulbous glasses keep them in,
A pinot noir in a chardonnay glass also tasted acidic, washing across
and I wouldn’t want to drink a Bordeaux from a sake chokkobut when
the tongue and losing the velvety jam flavor that has made everyone
your catalog lists a piece of glassware specifically for Gruner Veltliner
so fond of pinots ever since they saw “Sideways.”
or nebbiolo wines, haven’t you gone too far?
So Angyal proved his point. If you’re forking out for wine, storing it
Angyal poured me a pair of chardonnays, one in a sauvignon blanc
well, perhaps decanting it, why not use a glass that highlights all the
glass, the other in its namesake glass. It wouldn’t take wine critic
right bits?
Robert Parker to tell the difference. In the wide-mouthed chardonnay
glass, the drink was fruity and well balanced, with a center palate. In
The Riedel man is biased, of course, and so am I — “any glass will
the sauvignon blanc glass it was all oak, with a bitter finish.
do” isn’t much of a story — so I roped in a pair of impartial controls.
Tei and Milton both have long resumes in the food and drink indus-
We used the same glasses with a sauvignon blanc, and this time the
try, and both know a pinot from a merlot. I told them they would be
chardonnay glass delivered a puckering, acidic drink, like sucking a
tasting pairs of beers and trying to identify the “premium” brands. In
lemon.
reality they would be drinking identical beers from different glasses.
The tasting took place in Popeye, the Japanese craft-beer bar in
Tokyo’s Ryogoku district. Owner Tatsu Aoki assured me the experi-
ment would work. Each day before opening, he and his staff taste five
beers in each of five glasses and record the results in the bar’s log book.
He says the variation is astounding.

“They say there are 230 flavors in a beer, everything we smell in every-
day life,” says Aoki. “From iron to medical ointments, human odors
and the smell of a morning, it’s all in beer and we have to manipulate
it with temperature and glass shape.”

Our scribe necks some chardonnay while listening to Angyal.

He gave my test subjects a pair of Hakusekikan Hurricanes, barley
wines from Gifu Prefecture boasting a thundering 15 percent alcohol.
“Very soft and flowery. The front of the mouth tingles,” said Milton of
Hurricane 1. “Smells like porter, goes right to the back of the throat,
but it’s smoother than the other one,” he said of Hurricane 2.
Tei described Hurricane 1 as “sweet, no aroma, almost like a dessert
wine.” Of Hurricane 2 he said, “I’m getting a lot more from this. Lots
of aroma, cinnamon, a better, longer finish.”
pilsner in a chardonnay glass is a flavor that no human being could
enjoy” — which sounded ideal for this trial.
Just as he’d promised, the wine glass accentuated all the wrong notes
for a violent, nauseating nose, like rancid milk and soap. My subjects
recoiled. Neither wanted to drink it. They turned instead to the Au-
gust in the pilsner glass. Both agreed this was a fine brew, and clearly
the premium brand.
Before telling the guinea pigs what we’d really been doing, there was
time for one last flourish.

Both agreed that the latter was likely the premium brand.
Round two. Hakusekikan’s even more powerful Super Vintage Ale.
Aoki served one in a chardonnay glass, the other in a flute.
Why is it in a flute?” asked Tei. “Can we have it in the same glass for a
proper comparison?
“No,” I said. “Drink up.”
Both boys preferred the drink in the flute. Super Vintage is an old,
rich beer, and the flute sends it straight down the center of the tongue,
reining in what can be an overbearing sweetness. At Popeye, Super
Vintage is always served in a flute.
By chance, craft-beer importer Phred Kaufman was sitting nearby, so
I invited him to compare our two pilsners. He seemed happy with the
brew in its proper glass, then buried his nose in the chardonnay glass.
His eyes bulged, his head flew back and he put the drink down.
“Would you believe they are the same beers?” I asked.
“No,” he said.
“I’m blown away,” said Tei. “I knew glass shape mattered, but it
makes all the difference in the world.”

For his final trick, Aoki offered Fukushima’s August pilsner in both
a tall pilsner glass and a chardonnay glass. He had told me that “a
I got the Auchen Toshan Blues.

31 years in the cask and full of fire.

Soooo smooth,

Like the voice of God on my lips.

When I saw you tere,

Dark brown bond,

Making my head spin at the thought

Of how you’d feel in my mouth,

I knew even then, there was no turning back.

Rough charm? You have no rough charm.

Just sweeeet undertones

Strong

As any strong

Young man

Wrapping himself around you

Whispering

Whispering

Promises

He knows he cannot keep.

I got the Auchen Toshan Blues, I got the Auchen Toshan Blues,

Never tasted anything like the body of you – ooh, ooh, Never smelled your equal.

No matter what the cost, I’ll pay the price, Low-land bouquet leaves me undone.

A pound for every note of peat, salt, honey and heather, Slow trail across my body.

Amber drams swallowed quickly, You leave a mark on my soul, cannot be erased

Before they You’re no child, 31 years waiting and filled with darkness.

Evaporate. You give yourself to everyone – I cannot walk away.

You can sing to me So, I’ll just be

In your Waiting

Triple Waiting

Distilled Knowing I won’t forget you

Voice. Filling me

Liquid Love. Filling me

Up

Again.

Yea.....yea.....
LA CUISINE DU TEMPS :
HACHIRO MIZUTANI
L’immeuble ne paie pas de mine. Au rez-de-chaussée, un pe-
tit mar chand d’umé-boshi. Au sous-sol, une petite planche
en bois annonce à peinele nom: Sushi Mizutani. L’entrée
est discrète. Dix places seulement au comptoir. Un touriste
n’aboutirait jamais ici par hasard. Si la chance l’y conduit
un jour, il sera intimidé par le silence presque monastique
dece lieu où l’on déguste les meilleurs sushi du monde.
J’ouvre la porte coulissante. Madame m’accueille, dans un
tablier familier, comme une simple ménagère. “Irasshai-ma-
sé, dit-elle, d’une voix douce, dôzo.” Je m’assois au comptoir
en hinoki blanc. Aucune vitrine réfrigérée, aucune boîte de
néta, rien qui laisse deviner ce qui est servi ici.
Lui se tient derrière son comptoir. Un homme mince, sans
façon, dans un habit blanc immaculé. Il ne sourit pas, ne
dit rien. Il pose une petite planche en laque noire et place
dessus un petit bouquet de nigarià gauche et de myoga à
droite. “Omakasé, n’est ce pas ? “ Bien sûr, maître. Il règne
une telle tension dans ces vingt mètres carrés que
l’obéissance est la seule conduite à tenir.
Quelques gestes nonchalants et voici un merveilleux sushi
de poisson blanc. Du karei en été, du hiramé en hiver. Tou-
jours exquis, fondant comme neige en bouche. Un mélange
subtil avec son riz choisi et assaisonné à la perfection, un
peu plus chaud que le poisson. Les températures de
l’un et de l’autre sont infiniment équilibrées pour achever
un mariage sublime de simplicité, dans toute la complexité
et la richesse des goûts de la nature. Me voici partie pour
un éblouissant voyage à travers les mers du Japon…
Un art impénétrable
Il y a deux types de cuisine. Celle qui crée, innove, improvise
et cherche à améliorer une tradition culinaire. C’est celle
qu’on loue aujourd’hui en France, avec les grands chefs. Et
puis il y a la cuisine qui ne fait que transmettre une tradi-
tion tellement perfectionnée qu’il n’y a pas lieu de
l’améliorer – ou plutôt, qui transmet tout en les adaptant
aux temps modernes, des techniques et une tradition déjà
parfaites. Cette cuisine est celle des grands maîtres su-
shi. Ce ne sont pas des créateurs, mais de grands artisans.
Peut-on pourtant dire que ce ne sont pas des artistes ?
Non, car en cuisine c’est le résultat qui compte. Quand un
plat est parfait, même s’il n’innove pas, c’est de l’art. Et
Hachiro Mizutani est le plus grand artiste dans ce domaine.
Une étoile qui brille dans le monde de la cuisine japonaise
depuis dix ans, méconnu du grand public international
jusqu’en 2008, lorsqu’il a obtenu son troisième macaron du
Michelin Tokyo.
On parle souvent de “poisson cru”, comme s’il s’agissait d’un
plat ou d’un produit. Ce qui n’a pas de sens. Les poissons
sont tous différents. Il y a des hommes et des femmes qui
les comprennent. Ils connaissent leurs différences : en par-
fum, texture, saveur. Mais d’autres les connaissent
encore mieux car ils sont capables d’en tirer le meilleur.
Sansen avoir l’air.
L’erreur que nous commettons trop souvent est de penser
que cet art culinaire est simple. Pourtant, chaque poisson
a subi une cuisine du temps méticuleuse, de quelques min-
utes à quelques heures, la durée variant selon le produit, la
qualité de sa chair, de ses fibres, de sa graisse.
À notre époque de médiatisation des chefs, les maîtres su-
shi sont restés derrière un paravent de modestie. Ou est-ce
de l’arrogance ?
Pensent-ils que cela ne sert à rien de faire étalage de leurs
pouvoirs, car personne ne peut les apprécier à leur juste
valeur ? Ce qui est sûr, c’est que leur art est une magie im-
pénétrable.
Le monde d’aujourd’hui a tendance à dévaloriser la fidélité à
la tradition pour porter sur un piédestal ce qui est nouveau
et créateur. En cuisine, même si les grands chefs français
ne cessent de répéter la formule
magique “respect de la tradition, transmission du savoir”
on accorde volontiers plus de valeur à celui qui innove qu’à
l’artisan. Le guide Michelin de Tokyo a été considérable-
ment critiqué, mais il a eu l’énorme mérite d’estimer à leur
juste valeur l’art de l’artisan et l’art du créateur.
This informal project was created by Stephen Black. He would like to thank everyone involved.

The opening images were taken at Per Se in Jume 2007.

Three star chef Yannick Alleno (“Le Meurice”) was in from Paris to create in the kitchen of
Thomas Keller. This documentation supported the book Alleno 101, by Yannick Alleno and
Kazuko Masui. The last image was taken at the Oyster Bar in Grand Central Terminal.

Research on Alleno 101 also led to a trip to Seville, Spain. With the exception of the Alhambra,
the images were taken at the Hacienda Benazuza, which is managed by el bulli.

Nicholas Coldicott lives in Tokyo, where he writes and edits. http://coldicott.net

This article originally appeared in the Japan Times, who kindly granted permission to reprint.
Photos by Yoshitaka Dazai - mariosdog@ms.om

Agnes Meadows slams poetry internationally and has pounded out four books.
agnespoet@googlemail.com, www.myspace.com/agnesmeadows

The images of sushi against black were taken for Kazuko and Chihiro Masui’s Secrets of Sushi.

Chihiro Masui has written extensively about French and Asian cuisine. http://chihiromasui.com/
The article in French is from her book from “Poissons un Art du Japon” (Fish: an Art of Japan).
Richard Haughton has photographed musicians such as U2 and Sir Paul McCartney as well as
Anton, Winner of the Best Chef ’s Book in the World, Gourmand Food Book Awards, 2009.

Stephen Black does many things. www.obamajalanjalan.com

This project was supported by Kerr Sun and steveneva.
You are invited to follow them on twitter and see how they are using twitter
as a new form of cultural exchange.

If you enjoyed this project you may enjoy

http://www.scribd.com/doc/28183979/Furikake-by-Stephen-Black
On the same site is a project about the Tippling Club, a Singaporean restaurant.
Achatz Cheesecake, enjoyed on a beautiful summers’s day. in 2009.
The shop is located in Beverly Hills, Michigan.