Addicted to Eelsうなぎを食す

Unagi, the eel, is found throughout the world, but it is beloved in Japan like nowhere else. Eating eel inthe sweltering heat is one of the country’s summer traditions. Every year, long lines form at eel eateries, andthe price, which fluctuates, elates and depresses by turns. The eel, by nature, is whimsical; its long, narrowbody slithers, its skin, clad in mucous, is slimy, and so in the Edo period (1603-1868), it featured in ukiyo-e,traditional arts like rakugo storytelling and senryu haiku, and aphorisms aplenty. The eel is still shrouded in a degree of mystery, and while there is uneasiness about its declining population, we turn to it here in thecontext of Japan’s culinary culture.

The Japanese word for eel first appears in the Manyoshu, Japan’s oldestpoetry collection, but its bones have been unearthed at archeologicalsites dated before the Common Era. As a large fish that can be caught inlakes and streams, it must have been an important source of protein. It is atenacious creature and its meat is loaded with nutrients, so in China it wasprized as a superfood and used in medicinal cooking.

Eel as a restaurant food exploded in popularity during the Edo period.“It was originally eaten by commoners,” explains Dr. Mari Kuroki of theUniversity of Tokyo, a specialist in aquatic bioscience, “and broiled eelemerged alongside fermented seasonings like soy sauce and mirin, sweetsake. The delicious flavor of soy sauce combined with eel fat was especially popular. Vibrant porcelain bowls and lacquer boxes came to be used toserve broiled eel and it gradually transformed into a high-class food.”

To broil an eel, a style of cooking that started in Kyoto, the eel is cutopen, dipped in a sauce and grilled. In the Kyoto-Osaka region, it wascommon to split the eel open at the belly, put it on a skewer, dip it in asauce of sweet white sake and soy sauce and grill. In Edo, it was generallysplit down the back, grilled initially, then steamed, and dipped into soy sauce and mirin to grill again. One reason given for this difference is thatEdo was controlled by the warrior class and splitting down the stomach was too reminiscent of seppuku, ritual suicide by disembowelment; it was considered highly inauspicious.

Broiled eel and rice is a simple combination, but there are specialty eel eateries all over Japan. It is customarily eaten in particular in midsummer to help prevent heat-related fatigue. This belief originates in a bit of copywriting by Edo period inventor Hiraga Gennai for an eel eatery. Opinion varies on the actual effectiveness, though even today 30% of annual eel consumption is in midsummer.

Eels change their environs and behaviors depending on their stage of development and the season, and Japanese have long worked to try to understand them. Fishing tackle and methods have been innovated, and, more recently, aquatic farming has improved by leaps and bounds. Presently, over 99% of eel consumed in Japan is farmed. Production volume is especially high in Kagoshima, Aichi, Miyazaki and Shizuoka Prefectures. The quality and taste are consistent, and this helps account for eel’s enduring popularity.

Japan is a major consumer of fish, though restaurants specializing in just one type of fish are limited. The famously difficult-to-prepare blowfish and eel are perhaps the only two requiring such specialization. Cooking eel requires real skill; it is said to take three years to learn to skewer, eight to split and a lifetime to grill. Various special knives are used and many techniques and utensils have been passed down to today. Japan’s eel lovers have created a rich and unique culinary culture.

Shimakin in Tokyo’s Kagurazaka, founded in 1872, is one of the city’s beloved eel eateries. It even appears in a Natsume Soseki novel. The restaurant sources eel from Aichi, Miyazaki and Kagoshima Prefectures and Shikoku island depending on the season. It is prepared and skewered while still fresh and initially grilled without sauce over high-grade charcoal. It is then steamed for around 30 minutes, dipped in sauce and then grilled again. This is the Kanto style.

A skilled cook explains: “You first grill without sauce to get rid of the excess moisture and then steam. At our restaurant, we next grill in three stages. First, the eel is heated evenly; second, it is grilled to add flavor; and third, a glaze is added.” It is grilled to a golden brown color. The sauce is the lifeblood of an eel restaurant. Shimakin still uses its original sauce recipe while drawing on the eel’s natural juices, which are loaded with nutrients. Open the box lid and out wafts the sauce’s aroma, delighting your nasal passage, and the taste is mouth-wateringly good.

“We did change the mirin once, but we were berated by our regulars,” restaurant manager Tadashi Kato says. “Since then we haven’t made a single change. Other restaurants have their preferences, but our sauce is tart and spicy, not so sweet. It makes for a more refreshing meal.”

Such well-established restaurants take great pride in what they do, and, with their recipes closely guarded, help maintain Japan’s eel eating traditions.

Eel broiled in the Kansai style is split down the belly and grilled without sauce or steaming at first, then sauced and grilled directly. Whereas the Kanto method results in delicate flavors and tender meat, the Kansai style creates crisp, aromatic skin and plump meat. Nyorosuke in Akasaka, Tokyo serves eels broiled in this style.

The eel is sourced from farms in various regions based on its size and fattiness. Though a rarity, wild eel may also appear on the menu. Care is taken with splitting and grilling in particular. The eel is split down the stomach by an experienced hand just as it is taken from the tank.

“If not done quickly, the eel really puts up a fight,” head chef Koichi Igarashi says. “Even after you lop off its head and split it down the middle, it has enough life in it to bite your finger.”

The body is put on five metal skewers and grilled over high-grade charcoal. If the cook lacks skill, it will not brown properly even with loads of sauce. When serving without sauce, it is grilled from the meat side, whereas the sauced eel is grilled from the skin side, dipped and grilled around three times. When cooked through, the fluffy eel slides off the skewers; it is cut up while hot and arranged on rice in a ceramic bowl. The green Japanese pepper is fresh to the eye as well. Eel dressed in sauce is glossy, the thick meat is elastic, the skin is crisp and aromatic, and the sweetness of the rice combines with the fat and sauce for a brilliant harmony.

“Its liver is used for soup, the bones are deep-fried, and the head is also deep-fried; it’s delicious in sauce. Nothing goes to waste.”

The restaurant also serves eel in the hitsumabushi style, which is popular in Nagoya; it is eaten with dashi soup and various condiments. The appeal of the eel goes on.

“As difficult as it is to manage as a resource, eel is becoming high-class cuisine,” Kuroki says. “And this is why I would encourage people to try it at a specialty restaurant.”

Since the Edo period, no discussion of Japanese cuisine would be complete without the lively eel.