いちげんさん おことわり

This is the first in what I hope will be series of several long-form posts about my recent trip to Honshu. This post has taken a while to congeal and revolves around an exceptional meal I had in Kyoto. The experience’s simpleness and exclusivity (it was far off the tourist track) serves as an example of the living history they have in Japan until this day.

Well into my third year living in Japan, it’s hard to characterize how I now view the culture. I’m not jaded or bored, but it takes something very special to get me excited. I’m happy with this approach to travel because its offered a world of rare experiences. On the recent trip south, my younger brother excitedly dragged me into a 7-11 outlet near our hotel and then proceeded to not buy anything. I grimaced in disbelief. He simply wanted to see what was different. Somewhere along the way I’ve lost touch with some of the foreignness that surrounds me.

It’s universally known that Kyoto is steeped in history. I have always admired the Japanese ability to freezing an art at its apex of beauty and skill and continue it indefinitely in that state. Probably not as widely known is that Japan shares much in common with Italy in regards how food is celebrated in society.

Gion is an old historic district in Kyoto, remarkably well persevered, established when the imperial palace moved to Kyoto from Nara in 794. With a growing population due to the arrive of the court, there was a strong need for an entertainment district. Gion became the de facto center of the Geisha tradition. Just as surprising to this Canadian is that fact that the present look of Gion dates back some 400 years. In modern times Gion has been labeled high-end, naturally some more so than others, but tradition has a price.

Before the trip I had made inquires with friends about where the best washoku was to be found. I had it in my mind that I wanted to eat a very traditional meal in Kyoto. Finding a more accurate translation for “wa” is nearly impossible, it’s a word mixing elements of tradition, nature, humility, peacefulness, roughness and balance. “Wa” represents the spirit or power found in all Japanese arts. “Shoku” just means meal. So I will suggest “washoku” directly means “traditional meal”. But what does washoku consist of? Well, for starters it is extremely healthy; often focuses on balance and nature and is nearly as old as Japan itself. Washoku is all the things we can’t find at Japanese restaurants in Canada. The anchor of Japanese cuisine is quality ingredients; sharing with Italians the notion that if good ingredients are used, the resulting food can’t help but be delicious. Some adults in Japan strictly adhere to the old-style diet, something which I could never live on. But on the other hand, I do enjoy the substance and quality washoku offers.

There is a long established system of introduction in Gion restaurants that is a great barrier for both foreigners and Japanese alike. Any new patrons must be introduced by a previous customer. The system is called Ichigensan Okotowari and I had no assumptions or hopes that this would be the type of place I would be dining at. Between the labyrinthine streets of Gion and the introduction system, foreigners are rarely seen at these types of restaurants. Therefore, I think it was a great surprise to the chef that I wanted to eat traditional Kyoto cuisine. I must stop here and thank Mrs. Nakai for helping guide my brother and I through one of the most memorable meals of our lives.

Perhaps the reader up to this point has been imagining a type of palace staffed by Giesha, bowing as they brought course after course. Nothing could be further than the reality. And it’s this fact—that reality is actually so much cooler than I could have imagined—that made it such an exciting experience for me. The shop was small, hidden somewhere in the back streets of Gion. Signage is at a bare minimum on these streets. To find it again I would need a GPS reading. Tradition dictates that it only serve 8 people a night at it’s long wooden counter. This is possible because there is only one person working, the master. Supposedly he’s quite famous, with cooking books and such, but thankfully no line of salad dressings or reality TV appearances. I can completely attest to his skill, however, which will become evident. To me, he seemed like the type of guy I could go for a beer with.

In an interesting twist to the service industry, because of the chef’s high stature, we had to humbly present ourselves. This is in contrast to the normal restaurant environment where we are all accustom to having the staff at our beckon call. As a result, I felt guilty for leaving dirty dishes.

Washoku—and particularly at this restaurant—engorging yourself on food is not an option. The food is sparse and focused but I didn’t leave hungry; I left very content, in fact. As it has been explained to me, Kyoto cuisine touches on several key things: simpleness, balance, etc. But it also reaches out to all five of the human senses, and here, I would argue, the chef was a master. Everything was subtly laid out to surround the diner.

One could hear the tinkering and chopping of the chef behind the counter. The clinking of dishes and glasses that accompany a friendly meal. Something could be heard bubbling in the distance. The sense of smell was also playfully employed by the chef. Citrus and earthy smells; everything inviting, and fresh, and ingeniously executed. The chef was conscious how each bite of food should feel in the mouth. The texture of the tableware itself was also cleverly addressed with spoons wrapped in string or bowls left unfinished. And it was a feast for the eyes as well as the stomach: Every dish or bowl beautifully hand crafted. I really believe the fine tableware was the canvas he worked on. And then once the food was arranged on it—wow—it simply looked too good to eat. Again, just poignant, startlingly simple arrangements. There’s really not much one can say about the taste without experiencing it for themselves. I will point out, however, how well balanced the flavors were; never too strong, perfectly controlled, presenting a depth of flavor, and always thoughtful. Mind-bogglingly good.

Several types of deep sea fish were served along side exotic Japanese vegetables in several courses. Quality too is key, with even normal vegetables looking so well cared for its possible the farmers stayed up nights in conversation with the vegetables to coax them out of the ground. Everything, of course, used in season and cooked to perfection.

To experience Japanese cuisine like this, in a small shop, run by a nice man behind the counter, was beyond my imagination. More magical than a movie. In Japan, tradition is still very much alive, in contradiction to how we often view history as static. I think this is a very important fact about Japanese culture.

Lastly, I would also like to extend my thanks to my Grandma M. for helping to subsidize this culinary adventure. The cost of the meal was marginal considering the quality of the ingredents and the skill of the chef balanced between the small size of the whole operation.