Failure

With a job as exacting as kaiseki cuisine, there's going to be a lot of failure at first, and a fair bit even down the line. Chefs make mistakes, have bad ideas, and ruin food often. If it's the owner or the top chef doing something funky, it's overlooked, but us little guys get hauled over the coals frequently for screwing up, whether it was really our fault or not. I was recently subject to a full-on explosion when I didn't vinegar mackerel correctly and the flesh broke apart. Never mind that the fish was too fatty to take the salting and vinegar (salt will melt the fat and make fish with lots of fat disintegrate), it was my responsibility to turn out a class product regardless of the original materials. As my direct superior, Fugu Senpai got it twice as rough as me for not following my every move. I felt terrible about that; it's not as if he doesn't get ripped up by Soba Master every day without me contributing to his stress load.

The upshot of all this is that when you do obtain the stray phrase of approval (usually expressed along the lines of 'that's acceptable', or by not getting yelled at), it means so much more. Japanese kitchens are not there to built up future chefs, they are there to rip you to your bones, extract every mistake and weakness, and reform you in their image. It's a very rough life, but that's why Japanese food is the classiest in the world.

All In the Family

Today Soba Master, Fugu Senpai and I went on a field trip to check out a new knife shop. I mentioned before that a restaurant has personal connection with a chosen knife store and buys all their knives from there, so it's a relationship coveted by said store. We're in the courting stage now. My school knives are laughable compared to the professional thing, so today's trip ended up in my ordering one custom knife and purchasing another 薄刃 (usuba, vegetable knife). The usuba set me back ¥24000, or about $240 USD. That's a mid-grade knife price; my superiors' knives run about $400 apiece. It's basically a training knife. You can see in the second picture how much bigger it is than my old knife. It's a 7.5 寸 compared to my old 6 寸 (寸, 'sun' is an old Japanese measurement still used by knife stores). It's also square-ended, which is Kanto style. My old one was Kansai style and it embarrassed me a little to use it in Tokyo.

I was really lucky to be invited along on this trip. Those who just walk into a shop will not get the best of the best; you have to be introduced properly with real connections, like in the Mob. One of the main reasons for me to go along today was to show my face and be introduced formally with the support of my restaurant. That counts more than money in these old-school circles.

Cracked Up

Today I broke a vase.

This could have been a pretty big deal, as dishes and pottery in Japan are not something to be taken lightly. Most places require you to handwash all articles, and some places with especially nice pieces only allow the owner to wash them. This is taken to the extent that there are professional dishwashers in Japan that deal with old or famous pieces. Japan is unlike most of the world in that, with expensive dishes, each piece is handcrafted and not a duplicate. Often tea people will have pieces dating back hundreds of years that they keep stored and only bring out when special tea ceremonies are held.

Luckily my boss is pretty laid-back and the vase turned out to not be so expensive. (I put it in front of an open window and a strong gust blew it off the sill.) In another place, this could have cost me my job.

Near the end of my shift, Fugu Senpai gave me a piece of fish to practice slicing and I got tips from him and Soba Master. That would have never never never happened in most places. I'm really lucky to be where I am.