Fat Guy

My understanding is that the division is mein versus fun -- wheat flour versus rice flour. However, I don't think I've ever seen mein that weren't made with egg. That seems just to be standard for mein. Then again I'm not really sure.

Also for a neophyte it might be easier to say "Gochisosama" than "Gochisosamadeshita." That would work, right?

A couple of others that might be nice to know. This seems pretty simple, but "hai" is a good one. If your server asks you a question and the answer is yes, you say "hai." Also, the suffix "-san" is probably good to know, if for example a sushi chef tells you his name is "Shin" then it's nice to refer to him as "Shin-san." What does "-san" mean, though? See we're getting up there already.

Correct me if I'm wrong Hiroyuki (and I know you will!) but isn't "itadakimasu" something you say to the people you're dining with? Is there any situation in which you'd say "itadakimasu" to the staff of a restaurant? "Gochisosamadeshita" means "thanks for the delicious meal," right? You'd say it when you're leaving? This sounds like the sort of thing I'm looking for: a simple little thing you can say to be polite and indicate that you have respect for Japanese culinary culture. I think if you say something like "assari, oishii!" (though I hope you'll explain more about what it literally means) to a Japanese sushi chef (bearing in mind that plenty of American Japanese restaurants don't have any Japanese people working in them -- in which case this exercise isn't relevant to that scenario) you're doing something that indicates respect. Nobody is going to think you're a Japanese-speaker -- that's not the point. But you might get, as you say, a smile. A question, Hiroyuki: if you walk into a restaurant and they say "irashaimase" to you, what's the appropriate response? [edited for clarity]

In our omakase, we had both toro and regular tuna, however the regular tuna was soy cured, as was the Copper River salmon. One thing I noticed in Frank Bruni's review of Ushi was the statement . . . . . . which got me thinking that maybe he had the soy cured Copper River salmon without knowing it. In our case, the Copper River salmon was simply presented and announced as "Copper River salmon." I tasted it and was like, "This tastes wrong." I think our chef noticed my look of confusion and only at that point did he explain that it had been soy cured. As soon as my brain got the signal that the piece of salmon had been manipulated, it totally changed the way I processed the sensory inputs. I went from being alarmed to loving it. Ditto for the tuna: had I not known it was soy cured, I'd have thought there was something wrong with it, because the soy curing gives it a totally different texture and flavor that can easily be confused with all sorts of negative associations if you're expecting one thing but you taste another. Just one possible theory.

I'm sure somebody with actual knowledge can do better, but since I'm here I'll tell you what I think I know about this issue. Many of the menu-words for Chinese dishes that we use in North America are utterly confused and bear little relationship to correct Chinese. There's also a lot of confusion between the names of ingredients and the names of dishes. As far as I know "chow" means fried and "mein" means wheat noodles. For its part, I believe "lo" means tossed. This is, at least, what a number of Chinese people have told me is the case (mind you we're only talking about the Cantonese dialect here). Needless to say, the term "fried" (aka "chow") doesn't offer a particularly high degree of specificity. It can be taken to mean stir-fried, or deep-fried. Thus, regional variations -- as well as variations from restaurant to restaurant -- have sprung up here in North America. There is also overlap between the stir-fried meaning of chow and the tossed meaning of lo. So what we call lo mein here on the East Coast can be pretty much the same thing they call chow mein on the West Coast, whereas what we call chow mein here in the East may use deep fried noodles. In Canada I've seen a whole bunch of wildly different dishes called "chow mein." "Fun" I believe refers to rice noodles (though it also seems to encompass mung bean noodles). But even if rice noodles can be assumed, "chow fun" is an incomplete description of a dish because it just means fried rice noodles. The "chow ho fun" description is more correct, because the ho fun are the wide flat ones while the mee fun are the angel-hair ones. So "chow ho fun" and "chow mee fun" make the most sense, however things have evolved on a lot of Chinese menus such that the two dishes are "chow fun" and "mee fun" and you're just supposed to know that chow fun implies the wide noodles. Incidentally, I remember back when the Chinese place we ate at added mee fun to the menu. The menu description at that time was simply "fried rice noodles," and there was only the angel-hair option. The wide ho fun noodles came years later. There are also about a million other Chinese noodles out there, like e-fu noodles, which are fried and then boiled -- yes, fried then boiled. Hope I didn't get that all too terribly wrong.

Right. Rice noodles almost invariably cost more, per pound, than wheat-flour noodles. At the store where I shop, it costs the exact same amount of money for an 8-ounce box of rice noodles as it does for a 12-ounce box of wheat-flour noodles. Annie Chun's mail order site has the identical ratio: $12.24 will get you a 6-pack of 8-ounce boxes of "Original Rice Noodles" and $12.24 will get you a 6-pack of 12-ounce boxes of wheat-flour "Chow Mein Noodles." I don't know if the same ratio holds true at wholesale, but yes, rice noodles cost more.

Thanks for your input, Robyn, however I'm comfortable with the decision to include a few simple phrases in the Japanese chapter of the book. It goes without saying that the bulk of the chapter (which is about 13,000 words in length and is nearly done) is devoted to teaching people about the cuisine, based on extensive research (I've had a look at Mr. Satterwhite's excellent book, however it's a guide for visitors to Japan whereas my book is about getting the most out of Asian restaurants in North America -- a somewhat different task) as well as many in-person interviews and restaurant visits. Thanks again! Would love some suggested phrases from the Japanese speakers out there.

Right except, I believe, lo mein noodles are made from wheat flour and chow fun noodles are made from rice flour.

Maggie this is how it's all presented on the takeout menu of one place near my house: As I remember it, back in the day, lo mein was pretty much your only noodle choice. The two popular starches were lo mein and fried rice. Then I think I went away to college and when I came back the chow fun and mee fun (which the place I cite above calls "chow mei fun") were all over the place. Fried rice had fallen out of favor (though it was still offered everywhere) and noodle varieties had proliferated.

"Chow fun" refers to wide, flat, rice-flour noodles. If you order "chicken chow fun" that's made with said noodles plus chicken. The permutations track lo mein and fried rice (pork, beef, etc.). Sometimes it's written "Chow ho fun." There's also "Mee fun" sometimes written "Mai fun" -- those are angel-hair rice noodles.

For those with good Japanese language skills, I was hoping I might be able to get some help with a few basic phrases. What I'm trying to do is just make a list of the top most useful phrases for a restaurant customer to know. I'm not talking about names of foods, and also not specific sushi words like "omakase" (I've got those covered already). I mean things like "domo arigato" and "konichiwa" -- phrases that if you know a few of them, it's nice to use them in basic interaction with the waitstaff. Words to say when you walk in, when you leave, etc. So, top ten suggestions (with definitions and, if it's not obvious, pronunciation)?

Oy! We never had Lo Mein either. I should have called it "noodles". We didn't have noodles of any kind in our rotation! ← Then the answer is yes, Jews ate noodles. Lo mein -- especially "ten ingredient lo mein" -- was a common dish in the rotation of all my Jewish acquaintances growing up. We ate a lot more lo mein than we did fried rice.

While we were at Ushi Wakamaru, Hideo-san told us the story of the restaurant's namesake. I did a little supplemental research, as I plan to include Hideo and his restaurant in my forthcoming book, and thought you all might find the tale intriguing. According to samurai legend, Ushi Wakamaru (which owing to the lack of standardized spacing in English transliteration is also sometimes written "Ushiwakamaru" or "Ushiwaka Maru") was trained in swordcraft by the Tengu, a clan of mythological half-human/half-bird creatures known for their skills in the martial arts. Slight of build, Ushi Wakumuru made up for his diminutive stature with preternatural swiftness and dexterity. It is said that his sword technique was so deft he could slice the falling leaves of trees in half. He also played the flute. The 12th Century warrior-monk Benkei had taken possession of the Goyo bridge in Kyoto, defeating every sword-bearer who attempted to cross. Benkei, a giant, had disarmed 999 opponents, keeping their swords as trophies. Ushi Wakamaru set out to face Benkei. Playing his flute as he strolled, Ushi Wakamaru came upon Benkei at the bridge. In the ensuing clash, skill proved mightier than strength, and Benkei never did get that 1,000th sword. Instead, after being disarmed by Ushi Wakamaru, Benkei swore eternal allegiance to him. With his vassal Benkei at his side, Ushi Wakamaru (then going by his adult samurai name, Minamoto Yoshitsune, bestowed at his coming-of-age ceremony) achieved decisive victory in the Genpei wars. Fortune turned against Ushi Wakamaru, however, when his unscrupulous brother, Yoritomo, betrayed him. Ushi Wakamaru and Benkei spent two years on the run, avoiding detection through guile and trickery, but at the end they – along with Ushi Wakamaru’s family and remaining followers – were surrounded in the castle of Takadachi. As capture appeared inevitable, Ushi Wakamaru first killed his family so they wouldn’t fall into enemy hands, then committed seppuku, Japanese ritual suicide. Benkei blocked the doorway to Ushi Wakamaru’s chambers. The enemy shot him full of arrows. Benkei took so many long arrows to his body that, when he died, he remained propped upright by their shafts. So great had his bravery been that, out of respect, none of the enemy soldiers would step past Benkei’s body. When we were chatting with Hideo-san, towards the end of our time together, I asked him about the restaurant's name. “Ushi Wakamaru is my soul mate,” he announced, and then he pulled open his traditional summer kimono to reveal a tee-shirt painted with a scene of Ushi Wakamaru defeating Benkei at the bridge. Ushi Wakamaru may be Hideo-san's inspiration, but He looks to be more in Benkei’s weight class than Ushi Wakamaru’s. Hideo, in addition to having Ushi Wakamaru’s skills with a blade (albeit a sushi knife rather than a sword), is built like a football player, has the shaved head of a warrior-monk, and holds black belts in both Karate and Judo. In the sushi culture, it’s common to name a restaurant after its owner (Nobu, Morimoto, Yasuda, Masa), so I find it charming that Hideo’s tiny restaurant is named not after himself but, rather, after figure he reveres.

We never had chow fun when I was growing up, at least not at the places we frequented on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. It was lo mein all the way. Chow fun was something you saw in Chinatown places, but not really uptown. I think it was at some point in the early 1990s when a broader range of noodle permutations started to appear in earnest uptown.

Todd, you could also email the Beard Foundation and ask for clarification. There's at least a possibility that someone there could give an authoritative answer.

Probably. I believe the first James Beard Awards (not counting the many awarded between 1967 and 1989) were for 1990, which means the ceremony should have been in Spring 1991.

It seems utterly bizarre, however, for the Beard Foundation to be claiming that there were Beard Awards in the 1960s. If you go to the website, they're represented as such, for example: Maybe this is just a quirk of the online database, since I doubt KitchenAid was a sponsor in 1990 no less 1969 (when the Beard Foundation didn't even exist). Still, it's the sort of thing that raises eyebrows.

I've never before heard it suggested that Romano isn't a grana cheese. Do you have a source for that? At least according to the Food Lover's Companion:

Sure. You can make that request at most any sushi restaurant. On the night in question, however, his section was already booked. According to the staff, it's virtually impossible to get a same-day weekend-night reservation in front of Hideo-san -- he's booked solid from 6pm through midnight. So you have to plan ahead for that.

I was just out at this new-ish place, Aburiya Kinnosuke (opened '05 I think), on East 45th, a Japanese place that's kind of pricey at dinner but has $17-ish lunch specials that include a substantial entree (I had Berkshire pork cutlet with egg served over rice, aka katsudon), salad, soup, pickles and dessert. This isn't a Restaurant Week thing. This is all year round. It got me thinking about assembling a list of the best business-lunch deals in town, perhaps for a magazine or newspaper story if I can sell it, perhaps just for our collective benefit: the top-notch restaurants where you can realize substantial savings by going for lunch. For example, the three-course prix-fixe dinner at Jean Georges now costs $98 per person. But you can go for weekday lunch and get two courses -- pretty much the same food as dinner -- for $28 (or you can add a third course for $12). Again, not Restaurant Week. We're talking about the regular schedule here.

There's an op-ed in today's New York Times by James E. McWilliams titled "Food That Travels Well." The centerpiece of the op-ed is the Lincoln University study out of New Zealand, comparing total energy use for producing food in New Zealand and shipping it to England, versus producing it locally in England:

If you have the slightest bit of interest in the world of Japanese food beyond sushi, you should get yourself immediately to Aburiya Kinnosuke for lunch. It's the best $16 or $17 you'll spend on food in Midtown. It's amazing to me that this place hasn't captured the imagination of white people yet, because it's such a great lunch (and value) in a neighborhood where such things are few and far between. Then again, the major means of access to the mainstream community -- a restaurant review in the Times -- utterly missed the point (as usual with Bruni's reviews of Japanese restaurants). You probably wouldn't give the place a second glance if you walked by it . . . . . . unless you stood there long enough to watch Japanese businesspeople streaming in and out. We tried the tonkatsu, made from Berkshire pork, and the day's special of grilled and sliced beef tongue. You get a lot of stuff for your $17 or so. In addition to a generous main plate (or bowl), you get salad, pickles and soup, all made with great care. You also get dessert (on that day, coffee gelatin stuff with whipped cream -- for better or worse, the desserts are very Japanese). All the ingredients are first-rate, and perhaps the staff's collective English skills have improved a little because I found our waitress easy enough to communicate with.

Maybe I'm just not a true lover of this style of ramen, but I was rather underwhelmed by Setagaya. We had a superfluous appetizer platter of exactly the same things that come in the ramen . . . And we tried the two main variants: hot in soup, and cold/deconstructed . . . The pork was excellent. I thought the noodles in the latter version were much better than in the soup version, however the broth on the side was overly sweet and, to me, borderline inedible. The seafood-heavy broth with the regular ramen just didn't do the trick for me. I vastly prefer a meat broth, and would much rather have Momofuku's noodle soups any day. By the way, what's the deal with the restaurant Setagaya seems to be sharing space with? Has anybody been able to find a place on the website to click for English? http://setaga-ya.com/

Clearly people are having highly divergent experiences at Ushi. Before going there, I'd heard everything from characterizations of the place as "just above average" (pretty much Frank Bruni's one-star assessment) to "on par with the best sushi anywhere." My experience was in the latter category. The omakase dinner I had at Ushi -- and we weren't even in Hideo-san's territory but, rather, were taken care of by the younger of his two capable colleagues -- was as good or better than the best I've had at Yasuda, Kuruma, etc. I thought the rice was spot-on flavor-wise, and the nigiri pieces were nice and loose. The assortment of fish was quite broad, with a few I'd never seen before. A few of the pieces were best-I've-had level and all the rest were excellent, except the uni, which I thought wasn't top-notch. Hideo is getting amazing toro, and also does a nice trick with soy-cured Copper River salmon, which tastes like a cross between lox and tuna. Ushi is a very different kind of restaurant from the minimalist, serene places that dominate the category of top sushi bars. It's energetic and eclectic, very much the personal domain of chef Hideo. While the food is traditional, the attitude is rebellious -- one gets the sense that, as in the satirical video, everyone working at Ushi really does have a secret past. We stayed after dinner and chatted with Hideo for a couple of hours, as he regaled us with stories and opinions. Hideo's English is not great, but luckily I had Raji along to translate in both directions. Hideo trained in Tokyo under the then-80-year-old master Sadao Maneyama, the author of an authoritative sushi text and the owner of the sushi restaurant chain Kintaro. He also worked for Sushiden in Japan, hoping for a transfer to New York (Sushiden operates in Manhattan as well as Japan), because he had developed, after traveling to Hawaii and Los Angeles, a sense of mission about bringing his interpretation of traditional sushi to America. Sushiden never transferred him to the US (then again, he reflects, he never thought to ask directly), so he moved on to Chinzan-So, which was in the Four Seasons Hotel Tokyo and was also opening “New York Chinzan-So.” The so-called New York Chinzan-So (much to Hideo's surprise) was not in New York, however, but in New Jersey, overlooking the Hudson in Edgewater. Eventually, nine years and seven months after arriving in New Jersey (during which time he had opened the first Ushi Wakamaru), he finally opened on Houston Street in 2003. To me the most striking thing about Ushi -- the thing that hit me the second I sat down -- is the design of the sushi counter. Most sushi counters follow the same design scheme, with a glass fish-display case standing between the chef’s workspace and the customer eating area. Hideo says he has never liked that arrangement, because the glass case blocks the customer’s view of the chef’s hands. I agree. For Ushi Wakamaru, Hideo engineered a custom sushi bar that keeps the food preparation in full view: the chefs’ work area is elevated and the cutting surfaces are at the customers’ eye level. The sushi display cases cascade down and towards the customers who eat from a counter approximately a foot below. When the chefs need fish, they tilt the display-case doors towards the customers and reach in from above. As a customer, one sees every cut, every move, every specimen of fish. Reaching in from above is also advantageous for refrigeration purposes. There are all sorts of other great little touches: the staff are, at least for now, wearing traditional summer kimonos; many of the platters and other service pieces are rough-hewn, rustic and offbeat; when you order sake you're offered a choice of ceramic cups out of which to drink it; there's a traditional wooden sign above the sushi bar listing the available fish (with modular wooden inserts that can be knocked out when an item runs out); toothpicks come after the meal wrapped in little origami pouches. I guess all I can say is go, sit at the sushi bar and order omakase. If Ushi isn't your speed, so be it. For me, it's the new favorite, not just because it's cheaper (the two omakase options are $70 and $100, which is about half the Midtown rate) but because of its personality, all the little touches and the fact that the place just feels right to me. Here's the man, Hideo Kuribara: