Today was a day of firsts: the first time I saw such a long line of people waiting for a restaurant to open; the first time I saw someone cut in such a line, and the first time that I almost cried tears of joy due to sushi.
Kyubei is a 17-year-old, 5-floor establishment which is famous for some of the best sushi in Tokyo (and hence the world). I had a bit of trouble finding the restaurant, due to the strange numbered-block address system in Tokyo. But once I saw a frantic bunch of people loading fish from a truck around 11 a.m., I had a feeling I was in the right place.
I was around #25 in line. The waitress helpfully assigned me to the second floor, where Kane, an English-speaking sushi chef, was to prepare my meal. I walked into the gold-and-bamboo room and tried to squish my ever-increasing frame (have you read the last few days of this blog!) onto a zabuton pillow. Soon, a lively bunch of elderly ladies sat next to me. A beautiful woman in a rose-colored kimono poured me a mug of green tea.
Three industrious sushi chefs stood against a backdrop of a large flower arrangement in a rustic stone vase. Kane was the one in the middle. As he expertly julienned a cucumber with a scary-looking knife, he asked me if there was anything I didn't like. I told him I'd eat everything, and that I was especially fond of salmon roe and sea urchin.
Kane recommended the 10-piece omakase for me, but I did him one better, asking for the 11-piece. (I was later to find that I'd made a mistake, as for the first time during my stay in Tokyo, I was actually unable to finish a meal.)
He deposited a little bowl of yuzu-laced salmon roe in front of me. They were perfect little orange bubbles, not compromised by too much salt or sugar.
Kane also let me try a piece of a watermelon pickle he was slicing, and then he gave me a bowl of shredded daikon and wakame seaweed.
It was time for sushi - a carnival of crunchy, melty and chewy fish. This sushi would be served a piece at a time, dipped in a bowl of soy sauce and eaten by hand. First was a rosy piece of medium fatty tuna. The tuna melted in my mouth and the rice was slightly warm. Next came glistening, translucent fluke, with a bed of bright green chives between the fish and the rice.
Sea-salt-sprinkled squid was next. I was really delighted by the use of salt, chives, ginger and garlic to highlight the particular deliciousness of each fish.
Kane, remembering that I loved sea urchin, piled the sweet, creamy orange uni atop some rice, dabbed it with some soy sauce, and wrapped up the little present with a strip of crisp, dark nori seaweed.
Next was a bowl of sweet white miso soup in which floated the tiniest clams. While I sucked the shells, I noticed a few brown, mottled creatures with rainbow-colored tails wriggling around on a bamboo tray. Upon closer inspection they appeared to be shrimp. I wondered if we would be eating live shrimp. (On a related note, a friend told me that a particular delicacy at a Fukuoka restaurant is a glass of water with tiny swimming fish.)
These shrimp were indeed for me and the women next to me, although they would not be alive by the time we ate them! The flesh was gelatinous and sweet. We were told not to eat them without soy.
Striped shima-aji was next, drizzled with a bit of sudachi (Japanese lime). In contrast to some of the more gelatinous, creamy or melty fish from before, this fish was chewy.
A crunchy cooked head-on shrimp was next - I couldn't bring myself to eat the head and eyes, but the people next to me did so happily. (I guess it's a block I have.)
Next I enjoyed a piece of akagai (red shellfish) and a piece of shockingly good fatty tuna. Then, Kane asked if I liked garlic. (Of course!) He sprinkled some onto a piece of bonito.
Cool round daikon pickles were next. I wondered if the end of the meal had arrived.
Nope. Along came a meditation on the delicious eel: two charred, almost nutty portions of the fish arrived, one sweetened and one salted. "Oishii!" exclaimed the women next to me. I heartily agreed.
I'd never eaten what came next: daikon sandwiches with a filling of sour plum puree and licoricey shiso leaf. I was starting to become alarmingly full. Six pieces of maki arrived: tuna, kampyo gourd and akagai. And then there was a plate of steaming egg triangles. There was simply no room left in my stomach. "O naka ga ippai! Doozo," I said, motioning to the elderly women that they could have the sushi I wouldn't be able to eat. They laughed and obliged. There was no way something so amazing should go to waste.
I tried to take a bite out of the dessert pears, and had to give up in earnest. Next time I'll listen to Kane!
Sushi Kyubei Ginza: Ginza 8-7-6, +81 (03) 3571-6523, Tokyo.
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