In Japan, sushi is a man’s world. Male chefs have defended the sacred space behind the sushi bar with claims that women don’t have the reflexes needed for knife work; that makeup, lotion and perfume ruin the flavor of fish and rice; that women’s warm hands cook the raw fish just by handling it. (In fact, studies show that women have colder hands than men.)
According to Trevor Corson, the self-proclaimed only sushi concierge in the United States, Japanese women have broken into the sushi scene in recent years, but many still come to America to pursue careers as sushi chefs. However, successful female protagonists are sparse in Corson’s nonfiction tale, The Story of Sushi: An Unlikely Saga of Raw Fish and Rice.
Set against the backdrop of the California Sushi Academy in Los Angeles, the author follows several students during the semester. Most striking is Takumi, a former Japanese pop star who struggles with English but not with sushi, and whose dedication, skills and creativity set him apart. In one assignment, when students are asked to create their own American-style roll, Takumi devises the Russian Roulette, a variation of the traditional cucumber roll. He arranges six pieces in a circle. The customer spins the plate, takes a bite. The twist? Instead of cucumber, one of the pieces is filled with wasabi.
With insight into cultural preferences (most Americans like their sushi rice sweeter and the nori, or dried seaweed, on the inside of rolls), linguistic history (sushi chefs call rice shari, a Buddhist term that refers to tiny pieces of the Buddha’s bones ) and social context (some Asian cultures believe each grain of rice contains seven spirits), Corson shares a respect for expert chefs and their art: fish and rice.
Zoran, a burly, gruff Australian Air Force veteran who teaches at the academy was a Zen gardener in disguise. His plate of albacore tuna, radish shreds and shiso leaves (also called perilla, a lemony, Chinese member of the mint family) was a masterpiece of balance and captured motion with all pieces asymmetrical and off center. Throughout the story, it becomes clear that squeezing nigiri, rectangular, hand-squeezed pieces of sushi, is a talent requiring training, technique and equally important, personality. After all, it’s not enough to make great sushi if you can’t also entertain the customers at the bar.
When Corson veers from the subject of sushi, his own presence in the narrative is distracting. But when he sticks to what he knows best, Corson succeeds in both educating and entertaining. The reader learns of sushi’s early popularity as a street food after the 1686 Tokyo (then Edo) fire, health risks of fish that isn’t prepared properly, and the skill and beauty of a sushi chef preparing omakase, (literally: I leave it up to you ), when customers entrust the chef with the entire meal selection.
While not the tell-all of Anthony Bourdain’s Kitchen Confidential or witty observation of Ruth Reichl’s Garlic and Sapphires, The Story of Sushi deserves a spot on any foodie’s bookshelf.
