A Chef Who Remembers

Grid of nine photos from a Kurobuta pork omakase: two types of shellfish, seared nodoguro sashimi, braised pork rib over mashed potatoes, pork belly tempura, matsutake and pork soup, fried okra on cucumber, and yamaimo with seaweed, after-dinner tea.

One of the joys of eating at small neighborhood restaurants is getting to know the chefs.

At our last dinner in one of them, a ten-seater with a long wooden counter, where we usually sit, my husband casually asked whether the chef could build a dinner around Kurobuta pork. The chef said yes.

Three days later, we went back for our omakase.

Two courses of shellfish opened the dinner. It was unexpected. My husband had asked for them on an earlier visit, though they weren’t on the menu. The chef remembered.

My favorite white fish sashimi followed: nodoguro, or blackthroat seaperch, lightly seared on top to bring out its flavor. We smiled when we found a couple of extra pieces tucked at the bottom.

The first pork course was braised rib, with a hint of miso, tender yet still with a bite. The chef served it over mashed potatoes, something seldom offered in Japanese restaurants. I pictured the chef buying a couple of potatoes and taking the extra time to make them, simply because mashed potatoes and braised rib are good friends.

Then came four pieces of tempura pork belly, a dish I’d never had. They were surprisingly light and tender, probably because the meat was par-cooked, air-dried, then fried at the last minute. All that work, I thought, for just the two of us.

A soup closed the pork courses: seasonal matsutake mushrooms floating alongside thin slices of pork in a fragrant dashi broth. It felt like a gentle goodbye to the meat, one last way to taste it.

Okra is one of my husband’s favorite vegetables. The chef knew. He lightly fried some tempura-style and served them on a bed of finely julienned cucumber with a sesame ponzu sauce.

Yamaimo is one of my favorite foods. It arrived last, served simply with a touch of soy sauce and seaweed. It was my dessert.

It was not an extravagant dinner. It was a meal from a chef who knows what genuine hospitality means. I have long believed that food can say what words cannot. That night, every course said: I remember.

The sake that accompanied this meal deserves its own story: A Chef Who Said Yes, on Five Most Splendid Living®.

Next
Next

Japanese, Learned over Italian Food