Angie was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her husband on the bed and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped at the computer screen her husband was reading, but it had no pictures of food in it, “and what is the use of a computer,” thought Angie, “without pictures of food?”
So she was considering in her own mind, (as well she could, for the jetlag made her feel very sleepy and stupid,) whether the pleasure of eating a Japanese breakfast would be worth the trouble of getting up and calling room service, when suddenly a knock came at the door.
“Oh dear, we will be late!” the in-laws said and hurried off. Burning with curiosity, she ran down the hall and was just in time to see them pop into an elevator.
In another moment in went Angie after them, never once considering how she was going to get back again.
Down, down, down, into a taxi and all the way across town. Would the ride (and the meter) never come to an end? Let me see, that would be four thousand yen, I think…
What can you say about the world’s largest fish market? It’s big and there are a helluva lot of fish here.
It’s a wet and cold December morning. I am here with my husband and in-laws to see the tuna auction that begins at 5:30 and will be finished by 7 am.
We enter an unassuming warehouse building and are nearly run over by a convoy of tiny delivery trucks (Mighty Cars), speeding past, oblivious to pedestrians. We manage to dart our way through to the auction area, a long, brightly lit building whose concrete floor is completely covered with frozen tuna carcasses. The number of fish is astounding. Row after row, neatly aligned, as far as the eye can see.
A hand bell rings and the undulating cry of an auctioneer’s voice fills the air. Men in dark clothes and black rubber boots cluster together and peer down at the tuna near their feet.
All of the fish have been gutted and the tails removed. A cross-section near the tail has been cut off, revealing the bone and jagged pink flesh inside. Another flap of skin along the top has been cut and peeled back to show the marbling of fat in the flesh.
Wielding flashlights, interested bidders kneel and inspect the fish.
With their faces mere inches away, they scrape off bits of tuna with
their fingernails, rub it between their fingers, and then flick it to
the floor. The cement, covered with ice puddles and rosy chunks
of discarded tuna, is perilously slippery. I assume that by rubbing the fish between their fingers, the bidders
warm the frozen flesh and gain some measure of its texture and
quality. It’s a fascinating ritual to watch. 
The auction itself is so subtle that I am unable to determine who is actually bidding. The crowd looks on silently, even somewhat distractedly. Only the auctioneer is animated, chanting rhythmically, waving his arms and occasionally jotting down notes on a clipboard. Within minutes this auction is over and I have no idea who has won. The crowd simply shuffles away and reassembles a few rows away, waiting for the next lot to bid on. As I learn, there is not one auction, but dozens, the same process repeated over and over again.
Meanwhile, tuna from the previous lot are tagged and marked with the
name of the new owner in red paint. A man swings a long, metal hook
into each fish and drags it away across the floor. The fish range in
size; some only 1-2 feet long, while others are 5-6 feet long and weigh
several hundred pounds. These larger fish are dragged and loaded onto
wooden carts, then delivered to waiting trucks and vendors.
I could stay and watch this scene for hours, but the rest of my party is cold and hungry. We leave the auction building and bravely ignore the oncoming traffic to cross to the adjacent fish market hall.
In contrast to the austere, singular drama of the tuna auction, the
nearby fish market is more like a circus. Wet, noisy, bustling with
activity. Hundreds of vendor stalls. Stacks of styrofoam boxes. Narrow
aisles, barely wide enough to allow one person to pass. I don’t know
which way to go or turn. Everywhere I look is a new sight, full of
brilliant colors, shapes and textures. Hundreds of fish I can’t even
identify, fish that are either live or were moments before. Everywhere
fish is being unpacked, cut, weighed and displayed for sale.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, we are staying in a hotel and leaving Tokyo in a few days, so I am not tempted to buy anything. My mother-in-law, however, does buy a bag of dried tiny shrimp that she will take home and use to make a Korean dish called ma rn sae woo.
By this time we are all hungry and we leave the market in search of sushi. Surrounding the market are dozens of small shops and restaurants that cater to the people working there. Friends in Japan have told us that if we are going to eat sushi, we must go Dai Wa Zu Shi. We find our way by asking various people along the way, who point us in the right direction.
It’s 7 am and there’s a line of people outside the door, waiting to get in. I peer in under the overhanging curtain and beyond the fogged windows spy a tiny room, maybe 7 feet wide. Three sushi chefs stand shoulder to shoulder behind the narrow counter and serve the 8 lucky people seated on the stools before them. There’s a yellow glow from the lights, and the room, although rather stark and bare, looks warm and inviting to those of us shivering in line outside.
After a wait of about 20 minutes, we are escorted inside by one of the
waitresses. The hot tea she brings warms my hands and slowly the rest
of my body begins to thaw. There’s no menu here, no one really speaks
English, but I hear the words “set menu” and nod. Hai!
Within minutes sushi appears, one by one on the counter in front of me: maguro, anago, ama-ebi, tekka- and kappamaki, tamago, uni, toro, and hamachi. It looks wonderful, but I want to get all of it into one photo, so I wait. My husband is nearly finished by the time I take my first bite.
What to eat first? I’m famished, so I eat my least favorite things first, the maki (rolls) and tamago, hoping they will abate my hunger enough to allow me to savor the rest at a more leisurely pace.
I’ll spare you the bite-by-bite details, but I have to tell you, this is the best sushi I have ever eaten. Hands down. No doubt it is the freshest. It couldn’t get any fresher unless I went out on the boat and caught it myself. My mother-in-law later watches the live shrimp wiggling behind the counter seconds before the chef cuts it up and serves to us: shiny, translucent, and so, so sweet.
Uni I have never much cared for because of its slimy texture and strong
smell, but this is from another world entirely: sweet, delicate, and
odorless. So good I order another one at the end, just to make sure I
really like it (I do) and in case I never eat one that good again.
My favorite, however, is the anago (saltwater eel). Honestly, I don’t know if I’ve ever eaten this before. I think I’ve only had unagi (freshwater eel), which I love, but now I really prefer the anago. Warm, with a creamy mouth feel, and so soft it is nearly falling apart. I could eat 10 of these.
We drink hot miso soup. Beautiful, beautiful Soup!
Warm and well-fed, we pay and are shown the back door. The place is so small that in order to keep traffic flowing efficiently, they bring customers in through the front door and send them out through the kitchen in the back. We make our way back to the hotel and take a nap.
“Wake up, Angie!” said her husband.
“Oh, I’ve had such a curious dream!” said Angie, and she told her husband, as well as she could remember them, all these strange Adventures of hers that you have just been reading about; and when she had finished, her husband kissed her, and said, “It was a curious dream, dear, certainly: but now run in to your tea; it’s getting late.”
So Angie got up and ran off, thinking while she ran, as well she might, what a wonderful dream it had been.
“Thus grew the tale of Sushiland:
Thus slowly, one by one,
Its quaint events were hammered out—
And now the tale is done,
And home we steer, a merry crew,
Beneath the setting sun.”
(with apologies to Lewis Carroll)
For a slideshow of all the photos from the Tsujiki Fish Market, please see the photo album at left or click here.
Hi Angie - I think many of us "dream" of going to Tsukiji - I'm glad that your visit was more then a dream.....
Now you need to have some "live" Uni - San Diego has some of the best in the World - You'll need to wait until calm weather though!
Happy New Year!
Posted by: Kirk | January 03, 2006 at 08:26 AM
Ok, Angie - I've had just about ENOUGH of you and your amazingly intricate descriptions of all the incredible food you ate in Japan. I can't take it any more! Jealousy has taken over! :)
Posted by: Beth | January 03, 2006 at 02:32 PM
Kirk:
Yes, I heard that San Diego exports most of its uni to Japan. Funny that I had to go all the way there to try it. Where's the best place to get it in San Diego?
Beth:
LOL. Ok, ok, no more Tokyo posts, I promise. But do check out the video footage of the tuna auction (link in left column).
Posted by: Angie | January 04, 2006 at 11:33 AM
Hi Angie, I just saw a similar fish auction on tv the other night. What a great experience to see it live! I'm going to go to sleep tonight and dream of sushi! Happy New Year, btw!
Posted by: Kady | January 05, 2006 at 05:56 AM
Tag, You're it! http://gourmetish.blogspot.com/
Posted by: Kady | January 11, 2006 at 04:51 PM