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.

I am the god of hell fire, and I bring you
Fire, I’ll take you to burn
Fire, I’ll take you to learn
I’ll see you burn

In short, I cook the fish, which is very fresh, then I eat it.

Only speaks Japanese

Sensuality

Ceci n’est pas un pouple

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.

Rice with rice cooker.

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.

Japanese rice is round and cuddly rather than slim and elegant. This suits my taste at my time of life

Stuck up

Octopus and lotus root tempura

Delicious though this was, I would rather have been in my boat.