My weekend’s sailing adventures have been thwarted so to maintain the pleasure harmonic at high frequency, I plan a weekend of gastronomie a la Okinawanaise.
I go down to the fishing harbor and buy a fish and an octopus.
The first meal is a tuna fish thing, which cost $3:00, with nigiri made by my buddy up the road. He always puts the green stuff between the fish and the rice, which I feel must be very authentic. I fire up the Cobb.
In short, I cook the fish, which is very fresh, then I eat it.
This is a prelude for a drooling panegyric to Japanese rice. My rice education was strongly influenced by the Indian Restaurant. Rice had to be like individually separated. It had to cascade onto the plate in the same way that gold dust streams from a prospector’s pouch. Also it had to be ‘al dente’. Actually the term ‘al dente’ has had a like big impact on British food perception. Rice, pasta, carrots, beans, potatoes, beetroot, turnip, fried eggs, all had to be ‘al dente’ or you were like nowhere. Japanese rice flies in the face of this epicural fascsim in that it is all stuck together and gooey, yet delicious.
There is an enormous choice of rice. Of course I have no idea what the difference between them might be but my Japanese friends do.
Delicious though this was, I would rather have been in my boat.