A decade ago, Yuri Nomura, a good friend, took me on an early morning visit to Mr. Nojiri, the proprietor of Ishimiya, a top tuna wholesaler in Tokyo’s Tsukiji Market. Amid the controlled chaos of the market, his stall stood out with its pristine wooden-framed glass display boxes. He sold only two items: bluefin una and swordfish, and each, I would venture to say, were the best of their kind in the world. There is a lot of drama in the tuna business at Tsukiji, from the auctions where whole fish are sold for thousands (and occasionally millions) of dollars, to the enormous swordlike knives that highly skilled fishmongers use to cut whole fish into loins. But Mr. Nojiri himself was quiet and understated. He offered me a little slice, cut from an enormous back loin. Maybe it was the early morning or the disorienting frenzy of the market, but it is a piece of tuna that I still remember to this day; it was a beautiful ruby red with a soft electric texture. Not to be melodramatic, but for a while, when I got back to California, I thought I could never eat tuna again.
For the first year, we didn’t serve tuna at Rintaro. And then, slowly, I started to open my eyes to the huge, beautiful bigeye tuna that were being landed in San Diego. Although leaner than bluefin, big eye can have a similarly deeply flavored, ruby red back loin, called akami or “red meat,” but without the soft, luxurious fat of a bluefin. And in the last couple of years, maybe due to the changing climate, we have also started to see increasing numbers of bluefin tuna in California waters. Most of them are nowhere near the quality of tuna sold by Ishimiya, but some of them, with their dark red loins that brighten to ruby as they oxidize and their buttery belly loins, certainly give me the same butterflies. I buy my tuna from Monterey Fish, who, in turn, buy directly from individual fishermen running their own small boats. That said, tuna is a huge international business. Factory trawlers, which go out for weeks at a time, harvest the fish by the ton, processing them onboard and freezing them with liquid nitrogen for storage and transport. Given the efficiency of these operations and the seemingly endless appetite for tuna worldwide, it’s not surprising that many stocks of tuna–bluefin, in particular–are threatened and top the do-not-eat lists of sustainable fish organizations. But I trust Monterey Fish’s judgment. They pointed me to NOAA Fisheries, the agency responsible for the nation’s fisheries. The Pacific bluefin according to their website, “is a smart seafood choice because it is sustainably managed under rebuilding measures that limit harvest by U.S. fishermen.” This is deeply happy news.
While freshness is no doubt important for delicious sashimi, tuna is a good example of a fish that requires significant aging to bring out its best attributes. Ideally, a tuna should age between four and ten days from the time it is caught before being served as sashimi. During this time, if cared for properly, the enzymes in the fish will start to improve the flavor, the muscles and sinews will relax and become more tender, and the blood and excess water will be leached from the fish.
Unless you are dealing with a wholesaler or the fishermen themselves, it’s hard to know exactly when the fish was landed. That said, if the saku, the Japanese word for “blocks ready to be cut into slices,” are firm and bright, it’s going to be delicious, and you can enhance the flavor and texture by simply salting the fish and drawing out the extra moisture with paper towels. If you’re lucky enough to live near a good Japanese market, you should be able to purchase tuna cut into saku. If you have access to sashimi-grade tuna from a non-Japanese fish market, you will likely need to buy a larger chunk and cut the saku yourself.
PrintMebachi To Honmaguro No Sashimi: Bigeye and Bluefin Tuna Sashimi
- Total Time: 1 hour
- Yield: 4 servings
Ingredients
Tuna saku ready for slicing, totaling 3 lb
Sea salt
FOR SERVING:
Roll-Cut Daikon Tsuma
Shiso
Wasabi
Shoyu or Tosajoyu
Instructions
Place the tuna saku on a clean cutting board, and very lightly sprinkle the top, bottom, and sides with a small pinch of salt. Wrap tightly in a paper towel and then wrap tightly in plastic wrap and place in the coldest part of the refrigerator. The salt will draw out the excess water and blood. Check after an hour to see if the paper towel is saturated. If it is, rewrap the tuna with fresh paper towels and again with plastic. Let rest in the refrigerator for at least another 3 hours or overnight.
To slice the tuna: Place the saku on the cutting board with the most attractive side facing up. With a razor-sharp knife, start your cut at the base of the knife and draw your blade through the fish, cutting through the fish in a sing e stroke. Depending on the thickness of the saku, you can make your slices between ¼ to ½ inch / 6 to 12 mm thick; thinner for larger saku and thicker for the smaller ones. As you finish one slice, use the blade of your knife to push it on your cutting board a few inches to the right and continue with the next, stacking one next to the other. In this way your slices are arranged nicely and ready to be transferred to a chilled plate. Serve the tuna with the daikon tsuma, shiso, wasabi, and shoyu. Like beef, different parts of the loin will have different characteristics. I like to include three different cuts on each plate for a diversity of textures.
ROLL-CUT DAIKON TSUMA
The most time-consuming of the sashimi garnishes is the daikon tsuma, a word that means “wife,” (a unsurprisingly sexist name, given Japan’s traditional gender roles), which describes the very finely sliced daikon that play a supporting role on the fin shed plate. When a cook expresses interest in training on the sashimi station, I’ll show them the basic daikon roll-cutting technique for making tsuma and will consider their request for training only after they present me with a perfectly cut bowl of tsuma. Although usually made with daikon, the same roll-cutting technique can be used with cucumbers, watermelon radishes, and carrots. I’ll often mix in a bit of this color to the daikon tsuma for visual interest. There is no substitute for practice when it comes to roll cutting. When I first started working in Japan, after a fourteen-hour shift, I would return to the drafty little house where I was staying and practice with a section of daikon before bedtime. That said, if you’d rather not invest in developing this skill, feel free to cut the daikon thinly with a mandoline and then slice it finely with a knife.
Choose a daikon that’s no more than 3 inches wide and cut it into 3-inch lengths. When you’re getting started, it’s easier to manage smaller pieces. As you gain experience, you can begin with thicker daikon and cut them into longer lengths. The knife that we use for roll cutting is called an usuba; its single beveled blade is straight and well suited for the job.
PREPARATION:
Trim the ends of the daikon so the piece sits perfectly flat when stood on its end.
Holding the daikon in your left hand, grasp it with your fingers wrapped around the back and your thumb facing you and rotate it onto your blade. Stack the sheets of daikon and cut very finely.
Continue rotating your daikon onto the blade, your two thumbs nearly touching and pulling the sheet of daikon over your blade. Keep the blade stationary, only moving it up and down in a small sawing motion. Remove the skin and round off the daikon to make a perfect cylinder.
Rinse the sliced daikon in a bowl of cold water. Store in water until you are ready to use them. They should keep in a tightly sealed container in the refrigerator for two days.
Notes
Excerpted with permission from Rintaro by Sylvan Mishima Brackett, Copyright © 2023. Photographs copyright © 2023 by Aya Brackett.
Published by Hardie Grant Publishing, October 2023.
- Author: Sylvan Brackett
- Prep Time: 1 hour
- Category: Sushi
- Cuisine: Japanese
Keywords: bluefin sashimi