After a parade of meticulously-crafted yakiniku dishes, I first encountered the Ayu “Sweetfish”. Prepared as a confit, the chef filleted the small fish before mashing the head, bones, and organs into steaming rice. He placed the bowl in front of me, alongside dark miso soup.
I’m no prude — a skewer of chicken hearts (yakitori) is welcome, at least after a few beers. The chef beamed as I took my first bites, beginning with the flesh on top. True to its name, the Ayu fillet was sweet and mild; reminiscent of the lake perch we eat at home.
As I dug into the rice, I was consumed by intense bitterness. Later I learned the Ayu feed on river algae rich in acerbic compounds. In Japan, this nigami is prized as the pure taste of summer streams. Not even black coffee or strong amaro could have prepared me for the sharp, vegetal, inescapable bitterness.
There was little room to hide; I was the only patron at the counter. I politely worked through the dish, though my hesitance did not go unnoticed. Lying through my teeth, I proclaimed the dish umai; blaming my small stomach for the uneaten delicacy.
In an act of misguided kindness, the chef shaped the leftovers into onigiri to take for the road. After thanking the staff for the (mostly) delicious meal, I walked out with my bag of shame, heading towards my hotel in Shin-Okubo.
As I shuffled through the Tokyo twilight, I debated the most respectful way to rid myself of the rice balls. Surely no Japanese person would accept them from a random foreigner. Throwing them in the trash struck me as adding shio to the cultural wound. While pondering, I heard a distressed noise from a nearby bush.
Upon investigation, a calico cat revealed itself. While seemingly in decent condition, the feline projected the saddest little noises. Unmei datta, I thought — fate! As I tried to unwrap the food, my new friend snatched it from my hand, dragging it into the safety of the brush.
Cats, as it turns out, lack the receptors to taste bitterness. What for me was a harrowing trial was, for the neko, nothing more than warm fish, rice, and a full belly. Appreciation, revulsion, obliviousness — a reminder that taste, like experience, is always contextual. Though our palates may be at odds, the cat and I ended our days similarly — fed, satisfied, and without leftovers.