Taking care of people is encoded in Sato's genes, and, even though I have just finished lunch at the other shop, the treats start appearing from behind the counter: a palm-size bowl of marinated baby squid; a few dollops of uni, as rich as foie gras; a sheet of crisp nori to munch on. And a constantly replenished supply of his wonderful tea, which is the greenest and most vivid-tasting I've ever had—an effect Sato achieves by adding maccha, the powder used in tea ceremonies.
When he opened the first Sukeroku, almost two decades ago, Sato was just 26. "I was the youngest person to open a restaurant in Ginza. All the other places here had a long history. But I thought, 'I'll show you.' " He laughs at his own naïveté. "In the beginning I had only one customer."
When he pulls out a pack of cigarettes, it's my turn to raise an eyebrow. He never used to smoke. "Stress from the economy," he pleads, looking slightly guilty as he lights up. "I don't want to live that long anyway." But he knows I disapprove, and, after only a few perfunctory puffs, he stubs it out, then sprinkles some tea leaves into an incense dish set over a burning candle. "Japanese aromatherapy," he quips. Soon, a clean, irresistible scent fills the room. I make a mental note to try this at home.
The new sukeroku makes the original look positively spacious. The counter barely seats ten, and the kitchen area behind it can't be more than four by eight. With all the equipment, there's hardly room for Sato.
If the economy is so bad, I ask, why open a second shop—in Ginza yet, Tokyo's priciest commercial district? Sato's reply is vague, something about the landlord being from his home prefecture. Knowing better than to try and untangle the web of obligations that make up Japanese relationships, I change the subject.
The shop is filled with the robust smell of vinegar. Opening time is only a half hour away, and Sato is mixing sushi rice in a huge wooden tub with a paddle. "Every country has its smell. Korea has garlic, France perfume. In Japan, it's miso," he says, putting the paddle aside and plunging in with his bare hands. "But in a sushi-ya, it should be vinegar and nori."
Sato has his own vinegar recipe (adding sugar, salt, and kombu stock), but it's the rice that makes the real difference, he says. It comes from his family's farm. "Rice you buy in the store is blended, so the cooking time of the different grains varies. You'll hear these days that blended rice is good, but don't believe it."
I laugh. Sato is always telling me, "Don't believe it." Don't believe the TV food shows that say there's an order to eating sushi, that you should start with light fish and move on to strong fish. ("Eat what you want, in whatever order you want. It's not a 'course' meal. That's what's great about sushi.") Don't believe the food magazines that tell you what to drink with sushi. ("Drink whatever you like.")
Pinterest
