Odd Bedfellows on a Plate

If you grew up in the 1960s or ‘70s you’d probably remember a kids’ book by Dr. Seuss titled One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish.

Alternatively, if you’re a child of the ‘90s you may recall an episode of The Simpsons titled “One Fish, Two Fish, Blowfish, Blue Fish”.

It’s the episode in which Bart Simpson and family make a visit to a new sushi bar called The Happy Sumo, and Homer demands fugu while the chef is out canoodling Edna Krabappel on the backseat of her car.


Cue assistant chef’s stressful splicing and dicing of the deflating delicacy.

For those who may have missed this cartoon, fugu is the Japanese name for blowfish or pufferfish of the Tetraodontidae family, the majority of which have extremely high levels of a neurotoxin called tetrodotoxin in their ovaries, liver, intestines, gonads and skin.

The Encyclopædia Britannica has labeled fugu the second most-poisonous vertebrate in the world and there is no antidote to the poison – a fact that doesn’t seem to faze Japanese consumers, however, since some 10,000 tons are eaten here each year.

When I first arrived in Japan in 2001 I really had no choice but to play Homer Simpson and indulge in the expensive dish, which can cost anywhere between ¥4,000 (US$50) and ¥20,000 (US$250) depending upon the restaurant, the quality of the serving, the size, and the kind of dish.

The most common way to have fugu is sashimi-style, sliced exceptionally thin and raw and served with a special dipping sauce called ponzu (a canny blend of citrus juice and soy sauce). Each piece is almost transparent and the texture softer than most other fish. The impression is that it discreetly dissolves in your mouth.

The delicacy is also deep fried or conjured up in a nabe (hot pot), and often combined with fugu hirezake: Toasted fugu fin served in hot sake. It smells a wee bit fishy, but has quite the celebratory kick to it.


You can usually tell the fugu eateries by the huge storefront tanks full of the fish: Swimming, carousing, looking a little the worse-for-wear, and occasionally floating listlessly upside down.

The allusion of those bottom-up types runs a little close to home when it comes to fugu.

Both in fiction and reality the fish has had a huge impact on the culture of this country and fugu is quite often lauded in traditional haiku. While its price sets the dish up as the foodstuff of kings (but not the emperor, who is not allowed to partake), many Japanese office workers with big annual bonuses aspire to tuck into the marine delight.

Even so there is a hint of the morbid and fatalistic involved. Fugu, while outrageously priced, could be viewed as the Russian roulette of the wining and dining set – and mortality is, after all, the great leveler.

YOU CAN READ MORE ABOUT TASTY FUGU, ALONG WITH HACHINOKO (BEE LARVAE) AND INAGO (LOCUSTS) IN THE REST OF THIS ARTICLE @ FORCES OF GEEK.

Asakusa: Reconstruction Town

Legend has it that back in the 7th century AD two brothers taking a fishing jaunt on the Sumida River managed to hook a statue of Kannon, the goddess of mercy - and no amount of lobbing the object back into the murky waters would relieve them of the burden.

So, Sensoji Temple - dedicated to that persistent goddess - was built nearby, in an area now known as Asakusa, right here in the heart of what’s now Tokyo.

A millennium on after its foundation, a rabbit-warren of streets just north of Asakusa - named Yoshiwara - developed into a licensed brothel area, whose denizens ranged from higher class courtesans to el cheapo prostitutes; by the latter half of the 19th century, the grounds of Asakusa Park were given over to a Kabuki theatre, jugglers, geisha houses, circus acts, photography booths, dancers, comic storytellers, performing monkeys, bars, restaurants, and archery stalls where sellers of sexual favours were reputed to have offered a rather wide variety of services.

While constantly the victim of nuisance customers like fire and earthquake, most of this disappeared in the conflagration of World War 2. So, while it rates as this city’s oldest temple area, the buildings themselves are amongst Tokyo’s newest places since WW2 bombing destroyed all the original stuff.

Just a few minutes’ walk from Asakusa Subway Station, the imposing Kaminarimon (Thunder Gate), houses two effigies of the gods of thunder and wind—although this gate is in fact a replica built in 1960, as its predecessor was destroyed in an air-raid.


Visitors must pass under its improbably huge paper lantern, then negotiate the historic, forever-crowded Nakamise shopping arcade (a maze of stalls that’s over 200 meters long, full of faux Japanese historical odds and ends, yukata robes, fans, regional snacks, and plastic samurai swords), then pass by a five-storied pagoda (itself a 1973 reconstruction) and under the Hanzomon Gate, before even reaching Sensoji - which is usually awash in incense, used for purification, and guaranteed to induce a cough or two.

Even Sensoji Temple is itself a replica, constructed in 1958. Like the Kaminarimon and much of the rest of Tokyo, it was flattened in the Allied blanket bombing in 1945.

Still, you can’t complain about the location, and if some of the spice and sizzle of previous centuries has disappeared, you can still spot the occasional geisha.

There's also Kappabashi-dori (かっぱ橋), best reached from Tawaramachi Station on the Ginza Line. This is Tokyo’s restaurant wholesale district, and sells that insanely detailed plastic food you see displayed in Japanese eateries, metal spatulas, deep fryers, cool restaurant food banners, and an intense array of crockery.

And just nearby, on the banks of the Sumida itself - where that goddess statue came from—is the commercial HQ for a famed Japanese company that for some is itself deified.


Called the Asahi Building (not to be confused with the TV Asahi premises in Roppongi Hills) the place has what looks like a golden piece of crap atop, and is mecca for anyone who’s dabbled with Japanese beer or brushed up against the silver-shrouded contents of Asahi Super Dry - without doubt Japan's most famous international amber fluid.

Mmmm... beer.

Gumyo-ji Temple Sakura Beer

Thanks to Yokohama's oldest surviving place of worship, Gumyo-ji Temple (みょうじ) - which was apparently built a millennium ago - comes one of those joys you stumble across anew even after almost a decade in Japan.

In this case that joy is something that combines two of my favourite interests: beer and sakura (cherry blossoms).

Sakura Beer is a specialty of Gumyo-ji, one I had no idea about until today when my student Toshie - a Yokohama native - presented me with a bottle of the stuff wrapped in Disney character face-cloths (Pluto and Donald, luckily, rather than Mickey).

According to the label, it was brewed using yeast sourced from cherry blossoms grown in the temple's own grounds, and the bottle needs to be gently rolled rather than shaken prior to opening - which I figure is the case with most beers anyway; common sense is international after all.


While this brew is the day's undoubted treasure, the temple itself is also a treat.

It was established by the Shingon sect (supposedly by a priest named Gyoki) somewhere between the 8th century and the 11th and is dedicated to the Goddess of Mercy, the Eleven-Headed Kannon... a fairly formidable 1.8-meter tall carving that also dates back to around 1,000 years.

Now for that beer.

The Asahi Building

You can't complain about the location - on the banks of the Sumida River, a short walk from Sensoji, Tokyo's biggest temple district, and the hugely popular Asakusa tourist area; you may even see a geisha or two, if you're exceptionally provident.

And the product is virtually a trademark - if you've ever dabbled with Japanese beer, you would've brushed up against (or at least guzzled a few drops of) the silver-shrouded contents of Asahi Super Dry, without doubt Japan's most famous international amber fluid.

Almost as famous is the commercial HQ for the Asahi company itself.

Known quite simply as the Asahi Building (not to be confused with the TV Asahi building in Roppongi Hills), it was completed in 1989 at the height of Japan's excessive bubble economy to replace Asahi's old offices. Some of the building's harsher critics have suggested that French designer Philippe Starck had had one Super Dry too many when he finished the design for the monolith, which is constructed from super-expensive black granite and capped by his trademark gilded flame, an icon apparently weighing in at 300 tons.

And confusion reigns supreme in this city as to what the symbol really represents - is it a firework that reflects the nearby Sumida River's annual hanabi (fireworks) festivities? Is it an overturned post-modern glass of beer? Is it a golden radish or turnip? Or is it - as popularly espoused around the traps of Tokyo - just a humongous blob of excrement that'd do Godzilla proud?

Others see it in a warmer light - the windows are tinted yellow, apart from the top few floors, where the windows appear white... mmm... beer...

Yurakucho Yakitori Alley, Tokyo

Chiyoda Ward: home to over 36,000 businesses employing over 888,000 people, at least according to the stats I just found elsewhere on the Internet. I could be wrong, but at least it should give you the gist of this central location in Tokyo.

It's the nesting place of the Imperial Palace, Tokyo Station, the electronics wonderland that is Akihabara, and the insanely overpriced Ginza.

But while Ginza is Tokyo's most expensive and "fashionable" district (at least for designer brand types with fat wallets and not so much imagination) and home to brand-name stores like Chanel - and Ginza in fact competes for the title of the world's most pricey real estate - right next door there's down-and-a-wee-bit-dirty Yurakucho... home of the infamous Yakitori Alley and some awesome faux old skool Japanese movie posters as well.

And an alley it truly is, situated only five minutes from Yurakucho JR Station under the railway tracks, boasting a series of roadside shacks and open-air grottos with makeshift names like "Tanuki" (raccoon dog) that are the complete antithesis of Ginza's glitz and supposed glam.

Yakitori literally means "grilled bird", and here you'll discover every possible part of a chicken (meat, liver, skin, gizzards, heart, cartilage) shoved on wooden skewers, along with other treats like shitake mushrooms and okra. Believe it or not, it's all delectable. The liver is the part I generally demand, and you can get it dry and salty or with special sauce; your choice, depending on the mood.

A throwback to old Japan, these places are the most informal eateries in Tokyo, incredibly atmospheric and down-to-earth, great meeting places, and the best way to see how many Japanese salarymen and office ladies spend their summer evenings: Indulging in yakitori, huge mugs of beer, sake, riotous fun, falling off plastic stools, and some good old fashioned rabble-rousing.

Then you can check out the posters round the corner.

Yum.

It has my name on it!

OK, so the first time I saw this was at a shrine, with flowers and sake offerings, at the holier than holy Kamakura, near Tokyo.

I was with my mate, Briony Wright, and we both nearly flipped out - I mean, who is lucky enough to have a beer named after them? Complete with katakana subtitles?

Ye gods.

Ends up the beer was not so cool, though. Bergen Brau is actually from South Korea, is el cheapo (like me), and tastes like crap.

Oh well - the can is funky enough.