‘This is Chef Goto.’ A distinguished-looking gentleman looks up, eyes careworn but creased in places that suggest a cheerful disposition. A polite smile plays across his lips and, having made his presence known, he swiftly resumes dutifully slicing neat strips of tuna. The Tokyo-born Chef Goto is a man of few words (at least English ones); by his side stands young chef, Jack, a whelp of a boy by comparison, whose swift movements blur beside the languid certainty of the sushi master’s. They form part of the team at Al Diar Mina Hotel’s Japanese restaurant, Wasabi, and into this well-ordered hierarchy I step, a clumsy Westerner. Let sushi-makingcommence.
Directed by my master, I wash my hands before mysteriously donning gloves as well. I am now sterile in a way that only surgeons and band aids normally experience. And so we begin Sushi 101: the California roll.
A lot of what we consider to be sushi has been heavily influenced by the West. The California roll is the perfect example (ever noticed the name?), a fishy legacy from the influx of fortune-seeking Japanese chefs who headed to Los Angeles in the early ’60s.
Urged to grease up my gloves with a dab of mayonnaise, I mimic Chef Goto in grabbing a clump of vinegar-sticky rice. ‘Too much,’ he mutters with an authority borne of several years of training, and I heft a chunk off. Working it into a thin roll – ‘too tight, it becomes too hard’ – I pick and paw, loosening my clod of rice. Placing it on the green leaf of nori seaweed (shiny side down), I follow Chef Goto’s movements in smudging it the length of the sheet with my thumbs, before working the rice both up and down (up with the thumbs, pushing out; down with the tips of the fingers).
Turning the rice-coated nori over and splitting the crab sticks, we layer up the sushi with seafood, cucumber and avocado. It is another quirk of Western influence that avocado has become such a familiar sushi ingredient. It is almost entirely absent in Japanese cooking, originally being just a cheap and easy substitute for tuna. Arranging it on the edge of the mat, I roll, as directed by master Goto, tucking the edge in before completing the roll. Again, the inside-out nature of the roll is a legacy of Western tastes, when bygone American palates proved reluctant to feel the dry taste of nori on their tongues. The result is a long, thin, slightly lumpen roll of rice.
Handed a knife, Chef Goto grabs my hands and directs me to dip the tip in a bowl of water before holding it erect, letting the water trickle down the blade. Then I’m directed to cut the roll (‘no chop’ – followed by a chopping gesture) with a gentle sawing motion. My sushi is wonky, to say the least, but, coated in tobiko, the amber roe of the flying fish, at least it looks the part.
A more even-looking spider roll and a platter of nigiri later, I leave the sushi bar realising I really have only skimmed the art of sushi making. Wasabi’s Chef Goto and co continue as before: huge, oversized knives whittling delicate little incisions, concentration etched on their brows. Grabbing a mouthful of one of my misshapen creations, it occurs that for something so small, an incredible amount of effort and history go into creating that familiar style, texture and flavour. And with that, I chew a little more thoughtfully. I may not be a sushi master, but my respect for them is higher than ever.
The raw truth
Think you know your sushi? Think again…
The preparation of sushi was first noted in China as long ago as the second century. At that time, the seafood was rolled inside the rice and allowed to ferment as a method of preservation. It didn’t arrive in Japan until the seventh century.
While sushi is often considered gourmet, ‘kaiten sushi’ bars (involving hurriedly prepared nigiri on conveyor belts) can be found on most Japanese streets, and are considered a form of fast food.
In Japan, ‘sushi’ refers to the vinegary rice rather than the raw seafood topping. It’s not unusual to find your rice topped with mini burgers, eggplant or sausages. chirashizushi, in fact, is a lot like a large, sweet and sour paella.
A plate of salmon nigiri in Abu Dhabi can cost upwards of Dhs30, about 10 times more expensive than the same dish in an average sushi joint in Japan.
At one time, sushi chefs in Japan had to train for a minimum of 10 years before being let loose on the public. With increased demand and cheaper outlets, this has been reduced to two.
