= 'there is sake' shop), which has become a bit trendy.
For those who need a little encouragement to make their first serious venture into a sushi bar, here are a few guidelines and tips to help you on your way.
Let's say you're a couple of people with limited sushi experience who are enticed into visiting a real sushi bar. First, check your local newspapers, dining guides, and acquaintances to find a place that is well recommended, without being a really expensive expense-account type of place. Next, get there early so you aren't disappointed by having to wait for seats at the sushi bar. In fact, anytime you visit a new sushi bar it's worth going when they will be less crowded. Some first-timers may prefer to get their feet wet by ordering their sushi at a table and only watching the goings-on at the sushi bar. (Note that you will get many of the items listed below in a typical 'special sushi assortment' at lunch time for quite a bit less money; that's another way to get started.)
When you walk in, just say you'd like to sit at the sushi bar and you can usually choose your seats there. Someone will ask what you want to drink and maybe bring some nibbles. Some shops will have white wine available, others will not. If you've never drunk sake before, it is not just another white wine; you may want to save that adventure for later and stick to beer or lighter drinks. If you don't find a list of sushi items nearby, you can ask for a sushi menu. Where I come from, this will be a printed sheet with various sushi and its prices, which you can fill in and hand to the sushi chef. That's the easy way. Alternatively, you can hang onto your list and just start ordering your selections from the top, a few at a time, directly to the sushi chef.
Here's my list of the most common types of sushi that any sushi bar will almost always have, and which will probably be the most palatable to first-timers. It is also a good selection of the varying types, flavors, and textures of sushi, but feel free to branch out and be adventurous. Take your time and enjoy them at leisure.
One order each of most or all of these will be almost enough for two or three people. One order is usually two pieces, easily shared by two, but the rolls are cut into five or six pieces. Take your time and enjoy the flavors as you sip your drinks, take in the atmosphere of the place, watch the sushi chef at work, and chat.
When you've finished all that, you may be getting full. You might have found one or two items that you don't really care for, and hopefully one or two that you like enough to order even more of. Or check out what your neighbors are having and let them tell you all about it; sushi is a social occasion! This is also a good time to ask the sushi chef to make you "something special". A good chef will have already determined if you are avoiding raw fish, or fish altogether; you may want to remind him. "Something special" usually appears as an interesting looking large roll, full of lots of different stuff, and cut into five or six pieces. If he's not too busy, it usually leads to a brief conversation with the chef about just what all that stuff is.
It may now be time to get out while you're ahead, and find out how much all this is going to cost. Ask for the bill, and some (free) green tea if you like. The list above would be a reasonably economical sushi meal, with 'something special' costing a bit extra. As I've said, good sushi is not cheap, but remember that Japanese beer and sake cost quite a bit more than a bottle of beer down at the tavern. Serious drinking can run up your tab, so before deciding just how expensive eating sushi is, check the bill for the sub-total of the food only. You do tip at the sushi bar (in the U.S.), at least as much as you would for table service. Hope to see you next time!
Vowels in Japanese have only one possible pronunciation each: the same as in Spanish:
a = ah as in "a la"
e = ay as in "day" .......'e' and 'i' are different from English; their
i = ee as in "si, si" .....'e' is like our 'long a', their 'i' like 'long e'
o = o as in "Jose"
u = uu as in "June"
All vowels are pronounced individually: "karei" = kah-ray-ee. 'R' is pronounced in front of the mouth, and sounds more like a soft "d", again, as in Spanish.
An 'i' or 'u' following an 's', 'sh', 'tsu' or 'z' gets no accent and is sometimes almost dropped: oshitashi sounds like "ostash'", and the Americanized "skosh" ('just a little') is exactly how "sukoshi" is pronounced. Common words to watch for:
tsukemono = "tske-mono" shishamo = "sh'shamo"
In Japanese, 'h', 's', and 'sh' are interchangeable(!), depending on the local dialect - which is why they have so much trouble distinguishing 'he' and 'she' in English. Hence, 'shake' or 'sake' for salmon, and hitotsu (one) is most commonly pronounced "sh'totsu".
Accent
Most words do not have an accented syllable as they do in English. It is said that all syllables are accented equally; this is not always completely true, but any accents are subtle. In the above descriptions, the syllables in CAPITAL letters are those that, if accented, would result in the closest approximation of the Japanese pronunciation. When in doubt, putting the emphasis on the first syllable often (but not always) avoids incorrect accents.
Pronouncing 'MA-gu-ro' will simply prevent you from saying 'ma-GU-ro', which would not be understood by many Japanese people. Nagano city (site of the1998 Winter Olympics) is correctly pronounced "NA-GA-NO", with all syllables accented equally (but NAgano is close enough).
A double vowel has the effect of lengthening the sound, and therefore giving that vowel an "accent". However, just accenting the syllable is not enough to pronounce it correctly; you must hold the sound as if you were saying it twice: BIIru means 'a beer', while BIru means 'a building'. This is subtle, but in a few cases (ordering beer is thankfully not one of them) can cause confusion if the context is not clear.
A double consonant causes a 'glottal stop' in the middle of pronouncing the sound; imagine an apostrophe or hyphen between the two letters: "nat'to"; "tek'ka"; "kap'pa". This also has the effect of giving more accent to the second syllable, as you should end up "spitting" it out (with the tongue, throat, or lips, respectively, in the three examples above).
This guide is aimed at people eating at sushi bars in the Pacific Northwest of the United States, because that's what I know. I live in Oregon; we have some wonderful sushi bars, and a bunch that are really mediocre. I also spent over four years living in Japan (way too much of it in sushi shops and drinking houses), and I know that too. I have mentioned several items here that are hardly ever found in the U.S.; that's just for entertainment value. There are a number of other types of fish which I have not mentioned, that you will not find in the U.S.
I have also mentioned several things that are found in U.S. sushi bars that are not found in Japan. A few of them are fish (like raw salmon). You also find plenty of newly invented fancy rolls here that you would not find in Japan. The Japanese are purists, eating foods separately or in combinations of two, where you can taste each ingredient individually. Cantonese food mixes everything together in one bowl, while a Japanese meal comes on five or six plates. The hand-rolls I mention are all common in Japan, usually combinations of two tastes, but the only traditional fancy combination roll is the futo-maki.
There are also a number of snack dishes that can often be found in Japanese restaurants in the U.S., and which would be found in drinking houses in Japan, but not in sushi bars. That's because in the U.S. a sushi bar is almost always a Japanese restaurant, as well. As I mention, in Japan, you go to a sushi bar for sushi, and you go to separate specialty restaurants for tempura, or yaki-tori, or suki-yaki, Chinese, etc, etc. Yes, there are also plenty of "general" restaurants that serve a little bit of everything; especially around department stores and train stations.
There is also an incredibly large variety of unique and tasty
Japanese dishes that are served in numerous different types of
'drinking houses' (collectively called nomi-ya)
in Japan.
It should be noted that drinking alcohol is by no means required or
expected at a nomi-ya (although it is very common), and most are quite
respectable places. Another name for a 'drinking house'
is izaka-ya (or izakaya,
= 'there is sake' shop), which has become a bit trendy.
A Japanese nomiya is not a bar as we think of it, where you only drink, and might hope to get a few beer nuts or a pizza. A single nomi-ya can have over a hundred different "side" dishes to go with your drinks.
Some nomi-ya specialize in a particular type of food, some have an eclectic mix, and a few larger ones even attempt to cover the diverse spectrum with hundreds of different Japanese side-dishes. (And there was this one little stall under the tracks in Shibuya that specialized in mutton, but that was torn down long ago.) The difference between a nomi-ya and a restaurant is that they do not serve 'proper' meals, accompanied by rice (although you may find some dishes containing rice). Even a simple yaki-tori shop -- which is just one type of nomi-ya -- will have 15 or 20 varieties (or more) of yaki-tori -- broiled skewered chicken and such.
Depending on the size of the shop, any nomi-ya will have a number of other kinds of dishes. And while one shop may have 20 or 100 varieties, the total number of different "side-dishes" available in the various nomi-ya on just one street adjacent to your local train station would be several hundreds! And yet many shops are likely to have one or two dishes that are unique to that shop alone. In a nomi-ya, (as in a sushi bar) you will order two to three dishes at a time, and may end up ordering 10 or 15 by the end of the evening. One does not eat dinner before going out to a nomi-ya! While I have already listed a couple dozen dishes that might be served in an American sushi bar, as well as in some nomiyas in Japan, I regret to say that a comprehensive discussion of nomi-ya's and other Japanese restaurant food is far, far beyond the scope of this tract.
I once worked for a good-sized Japanese company in Tokyo, one of two foreign employees. Then a third guy from the U.S. joined our office. He had studied Japanese seriously at University in the U.S., and this guy was fluent, much better than I. So one night, he went out with some of my work group to a little drinking house around the corner after work. When I asked him what he wanted, he said, "Oh, I don't know, I think I'll just have some sushi." I had to remind myself that he had just arrived in Japan and -- although he was fluent in the language -- he was still a cultural novice, and did not know that you can't get sushi just anywhere. And even though you can sometimes get some sushi in a general restaurant or a larger drinking house, it's like going to MacDonalds for a filet mignon; you'd rather save up and get the real thing from those who do it best.
A sushi chef (ita-mae-san
,
meaning 'he who is in front of the board')
in Japan has gone through five to seven
years of training before he can be licensed to cut fish for
customers. I know this sounds outrageous and in fact, the first
couple of years are spent doing menial labor around the shop. That's
the typical apprenticeship system in Japan; you work your way up very
slowly from the very bottom. They will learn to prepare various
kinds of ingredients and some simple dishes, and it will be years
before they ever put a knife to a fish.
Sushi chefs often wear a small twisted towel tied around their brow,
called 
).
In Japan, all the sushi chefs and their apprentices wear traditional
wooden clog sandals called 'geta'
(
,
the name of the wooden 'geta' tray is derived from this).
These sandals have a thick, flat wooden sole, and two wooden supports,
or risers, across the width of the bottom, to keep you up out of the mud
and snow. Geta clogs make a distinctive clopping sound
when walking down pavement. Normally, the supports are about
one inch high, or maybe up to two inches in muddy country.
However, sushi shop workers in Japan have uniquely high geta.
Some are so high - up to six or eight inches - that they are like
stilts, and they must be very difficult to walk in. In Japan,
you may occassionally see a sushi shop worker on his "lunch hour",
walking down the street in this amazing footwear! But Sushi
workers in the U.S. have generally abandoned the geta.
Sushi chefs can be as accommodating as good bar-tenders, especially in small local shops where most of the customers are regulars. Like the hostesses in a good nomi-ya, theirs is the responsibility of overseeing your enjoyment of the evening. Even more than in some other places, it's great to be a 'regular' at a sushi bar. Not only are you greeted by name as a welcomed friend, but a good sushi chef remembers what you like and just how you like it. He will tell you without being asked when he has something especially fresh that he knows you will enjoy. If you're a real 'regular', the good stuff will just appear, without being ordered.
If you find (or hear of) a place where you think you might like to come often, you'll want to make yourself familiar to the sushi chef(s), so they'll recognize you, know what you like, and maybe even greet you by name. A good way to approach this is to show up when the place is practically empty -- like 5pm on a Tuesday. You should have the chef all to yourself, find out if he's friendly, and start a little conversation or ask some advice about sushi. You won't be able to do this on Saturday night when the place is packed and you can't even get your order taken! If the chef is not interested in talking to you in this situation, then look for another place; there are sushi chefs out there who will be happy to be friendly with you.
There was one sushi bar that I sometimes went to when I went out in the Shibuya section of Tokyo. I was certainly not a regular, but one of the two chefs got to talking with me one night. It was a brief conversation, but the next time I was in, he indicated that he recognized me. Later I moved to Kyoto and didn't return to that sushi bar until six months later. After I had sat down, the chef turned and said, "Oh, it's been a long time." I left Japan, and when I returned on a visit two and a half years later, I visited the same sushi bar in Shibuya. After I sat down, the chef again turned, smiled and said, "Oh, it's been a couple of years, hasn't it?"
The supreme talent of the sushi chef is cutting fish, just so, just perfectly, every time. It is an art not easily mastered, and each type of fish is prepared, cut, and served differently. By the time he starts learning this, he must also know every other aspect of food storage, preparation, and presentation. Every vegetable must be cut just so, just perfectly, every time. And there are the subtleties of dealing with customers as well as planning, ordering, and storing fresh fish.
In the best sushi shops, all the fish that is served raw is fresh that day. Whatever is left over may go to cheaper sushi shops or restaurants to serve the next day, or it may get tossed out. And this fresh fish is very expensive. Traditionally, almost all sushi shops in Tokyo are closed on Sunday, because the big central fish market in Tsukiji is closed on Sundays.
By the way, sushi shops close early, usually by 10pm; after that, there is always a nomi-ya open till the wee hours. The sushi shops in Tsukiji, next to the fish market, open about 6 or 7 am. Since the market begins at 3am, some workers are ready for sushi by breakfast time. These shops also tend to close by 7:30 or 8pm, so you have to start your evening early to get the freshest of all fish.
Virtually every sushi bar in Japan, the U.S., etc. will have a "Hoshizaki" -- or 'counter-top refrigerated display case' -- on top of the sushi bar, where much of the fresh fish is kept on display. It's a one-level cold case and they are just about all made by the Hoshizaki company, hence the moniker. They range in length from four to seven feet long, so a longer bar may have two or three of them. You should see some frosty cold elements in there, keeping the fish at a constant cool temperature. If it's not turned on, and they just have a few bags or trays of ice instead, that's not a good sign.
Another feature of fair-to-middling sushi shops is an aquarium. This is usually a regular-sized one that sits at the end of the counter as you come in. It is used to keep shellfish like abalone, oysters, clams, sea snails and such alive until you order them. Some places will keep live shrimp in them as well, so you know the sweet shrimp will be very fresh. A few sushi bars - but mostly larger fish restaurants - will have big aquariums where they keep some of the swimming fish. When you order, they make a flourish of scooping one out in a net and showing it to you for your approval. When the cut-up raw fish arrives, it is usually accompanied by - or laying on - the boned carcass, with the head and tail still attached. It is not uncommon for the lips and even the tail to still be moving, entirely involuntarily. However, carcasses have been known to involuntarily flip themselves off the plate! It can be unnerving when you're trying to eat them.
Eating good sushi is expensive in Japan. It's like going to a steak house or a French restaurant in the U.S.; there are some cheap ones and some good values, but for working-class people, sitting at a good sushi bar is a special occasion. The most expensive sushi bars do not display their prices; if you have to ask, you can't afford it. In tradition-rich Japan, it is often the smallest, simplest, most subdued places that can be the most expensive; but a lot depends on the neighborhood and, therefore, the clientele. A rustic little sushi bar in the middle of a high class entertainment district is liable to be more expensive - and deservedly so - than one outside a local station.
The "menu" in a traditional sushi bar is a board on the wall behind the bar. The name of each fish is written (vertically) on a wooden tag that is hung on a peg on the board. When they run out, that tag is removed or turned around. In many places there are tags for the prices, too. To the right of the '300 yen' tag are all the fish (or other sushi) at that price, followed by the '400 yen' tag, and so on. Other dishes that are available, with their prices, may be written on pieces of paper stuck around the walls, but more subtle places may just have a chalk board near the bar for daily specials. In practice, most people know what kind of sushi they want anyway.
Most of the fish tags are usually written out in phonetic syllables: "ma-gu-ro" in the Japanese phonetic alphabet. There are, however, complex Chinese ideographic characters for virtually all the fish. However, when the written Japanese language was simplified in 1946, the number of characters that students had to learn was limited to 1,850 (the Toyo Kanji). The other couple of thousand characters went out of use in all documents and most literature, and were replaced by spelling out the words in their phonetic syllables.
Among the obsoleted characters were the dozens of special characters for fish, and most people don't know them at all. However, some sushi bars still use some of the more common of these characters, and a few challenge and confuse everybody by using only the old characters. This is more of a curiosity than a problem, since you know pretty much what they have and what you want anyway, even if you can't read it! Anyone who frequents sushi bars and nomi-yas has naturally come to learn an inordinate number of the arcane fish characters. (I can't read a newspaper, but I do much better on sushi menus.)
One great learning aid is the classic sushi-bar tea cup (cha-wan is tea cup). Tea cups in sushi bars are much larger than the normally dainty little tea cups. Many sushi bars use a special cup that is covered with dozens of the characters for fish (mine has 48), with the pronunciations written in small phonetics at the side. So you can finish the evening studying your archaic Japanese writing. These cups are so common that they are often sold in stores, and can usually be found in a Japanese provisions shop in the U.S.
There is a Sushi University in Tokyo, which is just a kind of cooking school. In one year of part-time classes you can learn enough to open a sushi shop in the U.S. But you would not get a license to cut fish in a Japanese sushi shop. The Japanese sushi chef is the master you go to, to get the very best in the sushi experience. You can be assured that he has spent years on the job, learning all the intricacies of his craft.
Most Japanese sushi chefs in the U.S. are not qualified (that is, licensed) to cut fish in a sushi bar in Japan, and most of them learned their craft after coming to the U.S. Typically, they arrive in Los Angeles and find a job as a dish washer or (if they can speak English) a waiter in a Japanese restaurant. If they stick around, they can learn about preparing Japanese foods, including sushi. There is nothing wrong with this, and there is plenty to be learned from the excellent chefs in good Japanese restaurants in L.A. There are also numerous sushi bars in the U.S. whose staff is not Japanese.
A licensed sushi chef in Japan is very unlikely to be interested in coming to work in the U.S., unless it's in a prestigious restaurant. He has spent half of his life reaching the top of a trade that is steeped in tradition in Japan. In the U.S., he's just another cook, only without a stove. I have met a couple of sushi chefs in the U.S. who actually spent a few years of apprenticeship in sushi shops in Japan, and they have watched and learned from the masters at work.
Itadakimasho!
Sushi Table of Contents