You will know of wasabi, of course. That blob of pastel paste you thought was a refreshing dinner mint on the side of your first plate of sushi that, tossed casually into your mouth whole, made your sinuses feel like you’d hooked your nose up to a car battery--again.
You know wasabi as the culinary eye of newt that, along with soy sauce, goes into a hell-broth stirred up by every Western sushi connoisseur manqué, who then proceeds to baptize his sushi in it, craving that blast of fire that both obliterates the delicate flavor of the rice and fish that makes sushi so pleasant, and simultaneously leaves the little dish bobbing with sadly orphaned grains of rice like survivors of a Titanic disaster on a greenish brown sea.
You, uh, really, probably don’t know wasabi at all. Which isn’t your fault. Even after sushi became a going-out-for favorite as American as tacos and deep-fried Twinkies, wasabi, real wasabi, remained as elusive here as a glitch-free broadcast of Channel 5’s local news.
Real wasabi comes from a warty, thick little root. Like Babs Streisand, the wasabi plant is as homely as it is temperamental. Wasabi can only grow when it’s within kissing distance of cold, pure and running water. For a long time, fresh wasabi was impossible to get in the US. Finally, some growers in Oregon took up the challenge. The roots themselves are sometimes available to American sushi places. They’re expensive and require a special grater (ideally one made of shark skin-see photo), and most restaurants don’t mess with them. Virtually all wasabi in sushi joints in this country is really a reconstituted powder, make of dried and pulverized horseradish. It delivers the kick. It has none of the sophistication of the real thing.
A few enterprising Japanese restaurants are beginning to carry wasabi that’s ground while fresh, then frozen, to be thawed and served. One of them opened recently in Chesterfield, Fin Japanese Cuisine. A visit there is an opportunity to try this sushi staple on a different level.
Ask the waitress or waiter there, sotto voce, just to make it sound like you’re in the know, if they can “hook you up with some of the real stuff.” They will. They’ll tack on an extra buck to your bill for it. But hey, there are only so many exceptional things you can put in your mouth during one lifetime. If you care anything at all about eating, this should be one of them.
You’re going to be pleasantly surprised. Real wasabi, even though it’s been frozen and thawed as it is here before it comes to the table, has a vegetal, herby pungency. It’s very faintly sweet. The texture gets a nice grip on your palate, a kind of fragrant grittiness. You won’t need much of it. And instead of having this wasabi with sushi, try it mixed into that soy sauce slurry with some sashimi.
Since you’re already in this end of town and eating at Fin, might as well take some time to sample a couple of other treats they have on the menu that aren’t found in most area Japanese restaurants. Both are in the appetizer menu.
The first, shishamo, is a large smelt, technically, a capelin. You may have eaten its roe on sushi, called masago. The pencil-length fish is really at its best prepared as they do it here, grilled whole and eaten the same way. The lean, not-even-slightly fishy taste of the meat combined with just a touch of the bitterness of the innards, is delightful.
The second is takoyaki, a classic late-night snack in Japan, where it’s sold in tiny restaurants or at street side stalls. Chunks of cooked octopus are mixed with a thick batter and deep-fried. Think of hushpuppies with a little something extra inside. The combination of crispy batter and the chewy octopus is—oh, who are we kidding?
Not going to go for the whole fish, are you? Or the octo-balls? That’s all right. But again, as long as you’re here, and you did try the wasabi, have a look at Fin’s sake list. Right away, if you know your sake from your sukiyaki, you’ll see some choices that make a visit to Fin a nice evening.
Matsunoi “Wishing Well” is one sake you’ll want to try. This one’s from up north, in Niigata Prefecture, which is sort of like Japan’s Minnesota—and with an even more annoyingly indecipherable regional accent. Sake from this part of Japan are famous for having a crisp finish. They get an average of 30 feet of snow a year in Niigata and the prefecture’s one of Japan’s premium rice producers, so you’re basically drinking a perfectly clear mountain runoff and the fruit of some of Japan’s best rice. Wishing Well tastes almost creamy, but with a sharp finish. It wriggles on your palate. Try it with any of the grilled fish on the menu, like the grilled mackerel on rice.
Horin Ultra Premium Junmai Daiginjo is worth a try; it’s one of the better American brewed sake and shows how far the art of domestic sake brewing has come in this country in a relatively short time. Junmai or “true rice,” means the sake’s been brewed without the addition of any brewer’s alcohol. (That appeals to people who’d like to be purists, but adding ethyl or brewer’s alcohol is common in Japan; it makes for a drier, more austere sake than most Americans like. And the ATF forbids this addition to any sake brewed or imported here. So nearly all American-made sake are junmai.) Daiginjo is the key word here; it means the rice used in brewing has been polished so finely not much but the kernel is left. This creates a very light, delicate sake. It’s only been within the past few years that American sake makers have produced daiginjo. Simply put, this is probably the top of the line of sake you’ll be able to drink that made in this country. Drink it at room temperature. Try it with the salmon teriyaki.
Zipang is another American sake, one that’s naturally carbonated. Somebody described it as the Sprite of sake. It’s fruity and just a little sweet. This is a good one to order for that friend who thinks a Cosmopolitan is tres chic. There isn’t any serious Japanese food that goes well with it, but it’s a fun way to finish the evening and to see how creative sake manufacturers can be.
Yukikage, or “Snow Shadow” is, if you insist on drinking sake with sushi, a splendid choice. It’s far better with sashimi. Ask the bottle or carafe to be delivered to your table before your food arrives; let it sit. This is a sake that opens up if you give it some time, and you’ll detect all kinds of flavors bouncing off your tongue. Fin uses traditional o-choko cups, but with this sake you might ask for a wine glass. The lip on the latter is thinner and it’ll deliver the sake to the maximum area of your tongue to be appreciated.
Kiminoi is some serious sake, probably the most intriguing one on the list here at Fin. It’s made slightly differently than other sake. We’re not going to waste a lot of your time here online. We know you’ve got important sites to visit. Like that site with the videos of the kitties break dancing. Suffice it to say that the yeast used in making sake like Kiminoi is allowed to work its magic along with wild yeasts that sometimes drop in for a visit during the brewing process. The result is a full-bodied sake that connoisseurs like to describe as “tangy.” That umami taste that’s gotten so much attention recently? You’ll find it on your palate with this sake.
Photo: Fresh wasabi root with oroshigane (shark skin grater).
Fin Japanese Cuisine
Chesterfield
1682 Clarkson Road
636-536-4228
finstl.com
Lunch Mon-Fri, dinner daily.
