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FOOD NOTES That "super fresh" sushi you love so much? Here's a secret: If it's made by an edomae sushi master, it might be cured, pickled, marinated, or even aged before it's set before you 106 BEYOND KNIFE BY MICHALENE BUSICO SKILLS W h e n w e talk about w h y w e love sushi, we tend to focus on the sensations of freshness. The pristine, snowy flesh of tai, the pure unctuousness of a slab of toro, the sweet brininess of kuruma ebi, made with shrimp that had been swimming moments before it was placed atop an oval of rice. Even a potent oily fish like mackerel seems magically bright with flavor. But if the chef is one of the accomplished few using edomae sushi techniques, that tai and toro, shrimp and mackerel would not be simple slices of raw fish: Each would have been cured, marinated, or even aged before it was served. Not that it would look any different when it was set in front of you, or that the chef would have explained why that bite of fish is so delicious. "These techniques are always used at a good sushi bar," says Teiichi Sakurai, chef and owner of Tei- An in Dallas. "It's time for people to know about it. The majority of people think fresh, raw fish is the best thing, the best sushi. But behind the scenes, there are a lot of processes we go through." There isn't a strict definition of edomae sushi. Even the Tokyo sushi master Kikuo Simizu begins his book, Edomae Sushi, with an admonition: "After some 50 years as a sushi chef, I've come to realize that a clear and simple textbook definition is practically impossible." Generally, edo means "Tokyo" in Japanese, and mae means "in front of" — so, the first, most literal meaning is fish from Tokyo Bay, such as kohada, sayori, sea eel, and tuna, still the core of a traditional edomae menu. Edomae sushi also refers to the curing, aging, and other preparation techniques that originated in the early 19th century, before refrigeration. "Everything had to be cured or cooked," Sakurai says. "Sushi then was never purely raw." It was rustic street food, made with whatever was being caught in the bay, placed on pressed rice formed into pieces about double the size sushi is now, and served fully seasoned. Today, raw fish and fish from other parts of the world may also be used, but an edomae menu is still seasonal, and the sushi is still never dipped in soy sauce by the diner. "And you don't see California rolls or any mayo or crazy rolls" in an edomae restaurant, Sakurai adds. Kohada, for example, a classic edomae fish and distant relative of the sardine, gets salted and marinated in vinegar — if done well, salt and vinegar are undetectable in the finished, richly flavored sushi. The duration of process depends on the time of year, the size and fattiness of the fish, and the artistry of the chef. "I go by feeling or experience," says Sakurai, who may salt-cure filets for three to five minutes, rinse them, then bathe them in rice vinegar for five to 30 seconds. For bluefin tuna, Sakurai may serve it raw, if it arrives in perfect condition — a judgment that is possible after going through "thousands of tuna to feel, look, touch, smell, and decide what it needs," he says. Most the time, it is treated to a laborious aging process that involves wrapping the fish in absorbent paper, then plastic, and covering it in ice. The fish is checked and rewrapped daily until the umami flavors begin emerging and the texture becomes more relaxed. "You know how when you age prosciutto, the fat integrates with the meat a little more?" he says. "It's like that." A selection of edomae sushi at Tei-An in Dallas: Top row, kanpyu maki (salted gourd roll) and tamago (sweet omelet). Second row, zuke maguro (tuna) and yari ika (squid). Bottom row, hirame kobujime (flounder), kohada, kuruma ebi (shrimp), and anago (sea eel). Chef Jorge Dionicio presents anago (sea eel), one of 21 courses in his edomae menu at Namo. KEVIN MARPLE CHASE HALL