From Mangajin Issue No. 23
From Mangajin Issue No. 23 |
My initial inquiries into Japanese food were made because of dietary need, rather than academic interest. While a student at the University of Michigan (nearly 30 years ago), I had the opportunity to attend a special program at International Christian University in Mitaka, on the outskirts of Tokyo. I detested the cafeteria food at ICU, and as soon as I was able, lodged geshuku-style with a family nearby. I learned a great deal about food and contemporary lifestyles from my landlady, Mrs.Ohta. My "life lessons" later continued with my in-laws. In 1969 I embarked upon a formal course of culinary study with Yanagihara Toshio, who encouraged me to teach others, and to write in English about Japanese cooking. Since that time I've authored several cookbooks, written innumerable articles for American and Japanese publications, and frequently addressed audiences on both sides of the Pacific. My special interest is in the link between culture and cuisine. Although everybody gets hungry, what we eat and how we prepare it, who we share it with and on what occasions, depends upon the society in which we are raised and nurtured. With so much food for thought, it's difficult to choose a point of departure. But after a recent visit to the wasabi fields of Izu and Nagano, I decided that a closer look at that incendiary root, beloved of all sushi addicts, would be appreciated by the readers of Mangajin. As its scientific name indicates, wasabia Japonica is indigenous to Japan. No one knows when wasabi was first appreciated for its pungency, but most sources agree it was a long time ago. A 10th-century botanical text uses a combination of the kanji for mountain and hollyhock, (aoi), to indicate wasabi. The explanation for this unusual assignment of calligraphs is that the leaves of the wasabi plant resemble hollyhock,
The aoi connection is interesting because hollyhock is most commonly associated in Japan with the mighty Tokugawa clan, whose family crest boasts three aoi leaves. Although Tokugawa Ieyasu, the clever and ruthless warrior who grabbed power at the turn of the 17th century, was said to be quite fond of wasabi, the choice of a hollyhock pattern for his family crest apparently had nothing to do with this fact. Instead, it's quite likely that the first attempts to commercially cultivate wasabi were an entrepreneurial response to the Shougun's personal preference. The area that is now called Shizuoka prefecture was the site of these early farming efforts, and the interior section of the Izu peninsula continues to be a major center of wasabi cultivation today. The other area now famous for growing wasabi is Azumino, a plain nestled between the mountains of the Japan Alps in Nagano prefecture. This area of Nagano was originally known for its pear production, but when Izu suffered damaging typhoons in 1929, wasabi growers began looking for new land to cultivate. Wasabi is tricky to grow, primarily because it depends so much on natural circumstances. For wasabi to thrive it must be constantly bathed in pristine, chilly water with just the right mineral balance. Apparently the melted snows that trickle through the volcanic soil of both Izu and Nagano are ideal for this. Although each region uses a slightly different method of irrigation and farming--Izu grows wasabi on terraced fields carved into sloping hills while Nagano's Azumino plain boasts flat beds with wide streams between the mounds of earth--both provide a water temperature of about 45-48F degrees, year-round. Interestingly, wasabi farmers that I spoke with in both locales said that in the summer, when air temperatures can reach the 90-degree mark, the water in the wasabi beds feels cool and refreshing, while in the winter, when air temperatures fall to 25 degrees and lower, the irrigating waters feel comparatively warm and soothing. The different methods of cultivation produce variations in the crop, and Izu-grown wasabi comes to market mostly as fresh, whole roots for grating, while most of the wasabi grown in Nagano prefecture is pickled. I confess I never did like wasabi-zuke ("pickled wasabi"), and my recent trip to Nagano hasn't changed my palate. But for those of you who relish the spicy root sliced and marinated with soy sauce, miso, plum paste, or saké lees, there are lots of shops selling these locally produced pickles. And because they travel well, most Asian groceries in America that cater to Japanese residents carry quite a variety of wasabi-zuke. Like many people, I had presumed that the powdered form of wasabi was an ancient method of preserving the fresh root, in much the same way that other root spices, such as tumeric or ginger are dried and pulverized. In fact, kona wasabi ("horseradish powder") is relatively new and first came on the market in Japan in 1939. It became increasingly popular after the war. The now-familiar powdered product is not processed from real wasabi, but rather from the botanically related horseradish called seiyou wasabi ("Western wasabi") or wasabi daikon in Japan, to which green color has been added. Even the tubes of so-called nama or "fresh" wasabi paste contain little or no wasabia Japonica despite their slightly fibrous texture and flecked appearance. Alas, after sampling the real thing in Izu and Nagano, I fear I've been spoiled forever. Should you be fortunate enough to have a real, fresh wasabi root with its leaves still attached, whittle away the leafy end and, with a rough textured sponge, lightly scrub the root to remove any traces of earth. Wasabi will discolor fairly easily, but the blackened specks you often see are not necessarily an indication of spoilage. Rub the whittled end in circular motions against a fine-toothed grater.
Although grated wasabi was enjoyed early on as a condiment with both grilled and raw fish, and also with buckwheat noodles, its real fame within Japanese cuisine can be traced to the development and popularity of nigiri-zushi during the early part of the 19th century. The zippy wasabi enhanced the flavor of both the tangy sushi rice and sliced fresh fish. Sushi-bar aficionados will tell you that wasabi should only be applied directly to the fish, or wedged between fish and rice, not dissolved in soy sauce for dipping. Even with sashimi (slices of raw fish, sans rice) the real gourmet will spread a little wasabi on the fish, then dip the part without wasabi in soy sauce. This is partly because of the taste (it's more powerful undiluted); also, sushi chefs who have spent ¥1,000 or more for a fresh wasabi root and gone to the trouble to hand-grate it may consider it a waste to dilute it with soy sauce. Actually, trade sources estimate that only five percent of sushi shops in Japan use fresh wasabi, but even if the wasabi is powdered, adding too much to sushi, sashimi, or any food for that matter overwhelms the flavor of the main item, and may be considered an affront to the culinary skills of the chef. Most Japanese eating establishments, however, will indulge the palates of their wasabi-loving customers. If you want extra wasabi, your chef may not approve, but he will probably understand. Elizabeth Andoh is an American journalist and business consultant who lives in Tokyo, specializing in Japanese foodways. |
