Eat it while it's still
alive and kicking
By AMY CHAVEZ
Manabe Island,
in Okayama Prefecture, is two islands away from Shiraishi. The island
has a population of 400 and only one restaurant. But the restaurant,
called Ryouka, is so famous, you need reservations to get in for
lunch on weekends. Meals are 5,000 yen per person, and the favored
transportation to the restaurant is by private boat.
After docking
our yacht in Manabe port, my three Japanese friends and I approached
the restaurant, where the waitress was outside scooping live shrimp
into a large, shallow lacquer ware bowl. A rather fancy way to transport
shrimp to the grill, eh? We were ushered into the restaurant, past
the pool of live fish in the center of the room, and up the stairs
to a private tatami-mat room.
Shortly after,
the waitress came in with another large, shallow lacquer ware bowl.
Wait a minute, that's not another -- it's the same large, shallow
lacquer ware bowl with the same live shrimp in it! She placed the
bowl in the center of the table. The shrimp were on their sides
paddling their legs furiously in the low water. "What the heck
are we supposed to do with these?" I thought, looking around
for a hibachi. Silly me. We were supposed to eat them -- while they
were still alive and kicking!
Without hesitation,
one friend grabbed a shrimp, deftly pried off the head between his
thumbs, pulled off the legs and tail with his other hand, and popped
the body into his mouth. "Oishii!" he yelled, which prompted
another person to do the same, although it took him a few tries
to keep the wiggly thing in his hands while decapitating it.
Everyone looked at me. "Aren't you going to try it?" I
tentatively reached into the bowl and picked up a shrimp, but when
it started squirming, I screamed and dropped it. "Um, I'll
pass," I said, as another shrimp suddenly jumped out of the
bowl, did a full mobius and landed on the tatami mat, sending everyone
scrambling to retrieve it.
Then came shrimp tempura. Kind of like a before and after episode.
I ate the fried shrimp while the live ones continued doing acrobatics
in the bowl in front of us. If someone had laid a chopstick over
the bowl, it would have been like the high jump at the Crustacean
Olympics.
Then came
the octopus, live and waving its legs from the bowl. The legs were
cut up into small pieces, about 5 cm long, but each had a life of
its own. My two Japanese friends dived into the bowl of legs with
their chopsticks, yelling "Oishii!"
Everyone looked
at me again. "Aren't you going to try it?" I looked at
the octopus for a while. After all, it had no eyes, head or tail,
and only one leg. I clenched a piece of leg as it writhed between
my chopsticks. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and shoved it
into my mouth, concentrating on only one thing: chewing it to death.
But what happened
next, I was completely unprepared for: the leg adhered itself to
the inside of my mouth! I tried to spit it out, but the octopus
held on tightly to my cheek through the tiny suction cups on its
legs. All I could do was chew. And chew. And chew. Down to the last
suction cup. Finally, I was able to swallow the pulp.
When the sashimi
came, I couldn't help but think -- man, that cook is lazy!
The fish was
staked out with the head and tail still intact, and the flesh sitting
next to it on top of shredded radish. But soon, the waitress came
in and took the head and tail. It showed up later in the soup.
When we left
the restaurant I was still hungry, but not at all dissatisfied with
my performance as a "gaijin." Because, you see, the third
Japanese friend who entered the restaurant with us -- a big, burly
guy -- hadn't been able to eat a thing!
If this article
scares you, don't worry. Ryouka also serves some cooked items such
as baked fish. But you'll have to go for the full experience to
get to the baked fish. It's an experience everyone should have-just
once!
This is an
excerpt from "Guidebook to Japan: What the other guidebooks
won't tell you." Buy it at the Dollar Book Store at www.mooooshop.com.
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