Fugu

The boats head back to Ōhara at midday. On returning to harbour, each customer empties the bucket containing his catch into a large plastic sieve and queue up for one of the crew, who possesses a fugu chef’s license, to gut the fish in a safe manner. After a quick rinse in seawater and a word of thanks to the ‘chef’, I put my prepared Fugu into a sealable polythene freezer bag and stick it into my cool box with plenty of ice. The journey back to Tokyo from Ōhara is about two and a half hours, with the rather pleasant prospect of a slap-up Fugu meal to follow.

Much is made of the poison of the Fugu; its lethality even forms the basis of an episode of ‘The Simpsons’. It is therefore necessary to dispel some of the myths surrounding Fugu poison and the consumption of Fugu in Japan. When ingested, the main component of Fugu poison, tetrodotoxin (TTX), is nearly 20 times more potent than potassium cyanide, and cannot be deactivated by heating, freezing or chemical treatment; there is no antidote. However, I will not bore you with the chemical mechanisms of TTX poisoning or its clinical treatment, suffice to say that contrary to Dr. Hibbert, 24 hours after consumption one’s heart does not explode (death is usually from respiratory failure). There are actually first aid techniques – although supportive, not curative – used to treat one who has ingested Fugu poison and some people do actually survive TTX poisoning, although their experience is invariably quite horrid. That said, every year on average fifty people in Japan die from TTX poisoning; this is almost entirely due to amateurs preparing and eating Fugu – often completely inedible species – they had caught themselves without the supervision of a trained and licensed Fugu chef. Given the large amount of Fugu that is consumed nationally each year and the comparatively low numbers of fatalities, your chances of dying from TTX poisoning are slim at best, and if observance of simple common sense is factored in, almost nil. Compared to the consumption of alcohol or cigarettes, or the number of people who die in hunting, mountain climbing or boating accidents every year, eating Fugu should not even really be considered a danger, or at least, not be the dice with death that certain people like to pretend it is. The apocryphal stories – propagated both in the West and in Japan – of Fugu enthusiasts deliberately consuming slices of liver as a form of thrill-seeking are, as far as I am concerned, just that: apocryphal. The main misconception, that diners deliberately seek and enjoy the effects of mild Fugu poisoning such as tingling in the mouth and face, is difficult to believe since, if one reads medical case reports of genuine tetrodotoxification patients, such symptoms are usually accompanied by shortness of breath, paralysis, heart arrhythmia and even psychiatric effects such as paranoia. Despite dining at a number of Fugu restaurants and being acquainted with several licensed chefs, I myself have never encountered such a form of eating Fugu, and have never met anyone in person who claims to have eaten Fugu in this way. In the 1970s the popular kabuki actor Bandō Mitsugorō VIII bizarrely declared that he was impervious to Fugu poison (most likely he had been drinking previously), ate Fugu liver and died shortly afterwards, as would most people who had, for whatever reason, deliberately poisoned themselves with parts of the Fugu that contain TTX in high concentrations. A far more likely – yet not half as worthy for the conversation to impress colleagues in the pub after work – explanation is the liberal use of ground red chillies in the seasoning for Fugu sashimi, which, especially in a country where chilli-hot foods are quite rare (until recently at least) and that other components of the meal are comparatively bland, would cause a similar, yet quite harmless, reaction in the mouths of the diners.

After a long day at sea fishing for Fugu, especially in winter when the air is biting cold and dry, there is nothing better on reaching home than to drop everything in the hallway and take a long, hot bath in the Japanese tub (perhaps on the way to the bathroom, placing some beers in the fridge as a precaution). After being suitably refreshed, the serious business of consuming Fugu can begin; since the boat crew gut and clean the Fugu for you, there is considerably less to do in the kitchen than with regular fish. A thorough wash under the tap and an inspection to remove any lingering pieces of organs like kidney (which are often quite firmly attached to the spine), three quick cuts with a knife to remove the dorsal, anal and caudal fins and a squeeze of the flesh to expunge any remaining blood from the spine (the blood of the Spotted Fugu also contains poison) will suffice. After drying off with a paper towel, one is ready. There are many methods of preparing Fugu: the most obvious, and luxurious, is tessa (sashimi). Unlike other forms of sashimi such as maguro (bluefin tuna) where the flesh is sliced into 5 to 10mm-thick pieces, the Fugu fillet must be cut, or shaved, into slices as thin as possible. This is because when raw the flesh of the Fugu is quite firm, and if sliced too thick, is too tough and chewy. The ideal tessa is sliced so that diners can ‘see the pattern of the dish it’s served on’, in other words, the slices must be thin enough to be transparent. There is even a special type of cook’s knife designed solely for the cutting of Fugu into sashimi. Fugu is a white, firm flesh, with an almost meaty texture rather similar to monkfish, but when served as wafer-thin slices of sashimi it is very delicate: salty with a slight hint of sweetness, and a characteristic texture when chewed in the mouth. Unlike most other forms of sashimi, tessa is served with neither wasabi nor soy sauce. A different variety of sauce called ponzu is used, a fish stock/soy sauce base which has been flavoured with the squeezed juice of a sour Japanese orange known as daidai (rather similar to the Curaçao orange); to this ponzu is added finely chopped green spring onions and a curious concoction called momiji oroshi or ‘grated maple leaf’. This is a reference to its bright red colour, since it contains no maple leaf but instead is made of white daikon radish and hot red chillies that have been grated together to form a smooth red paste. The combination of white fish, green spring onion, red chilli and dark ponzu sauce is a wonderful contrast of colours and a beautiful prelude to the enjoyment of eating.

Slices of thin Fugu are dipped into this mixture as if it were soy sauce and eaten, but the delicious variety of flavours, textures and aromas is quite difficult to describe to someone who has not experienced it. The Fugu becomes embroiled with the distinctive taste of the soy sauce base, sour citrus aroma, peppery daikon radish, strong raw onion and the zing of hot chilli. Aside from eating raw, the firm texture of Fugu, almost like white meat, lends itself well to the processes of deep-frying and also poaching. Deep-fried fugu is elegant in its simplicity and quite delicious: coat fillets or strips of Fugu flesh in a light batter of salt, freshly ground black pepper and strong flour, deep-fry at high temperature and serve with chilli ketchup and lime, or tartar sauce. The Japanese custom of eating nabe, a large ceramic hot-pot in which meat or fish and vegetables are cooked on a small stove at the centre of the dining table from which all participants help themselves and eat from, is both a delicious and social way of dining and Fugu makes an excellent ingredient. In fact, a full course meal in the most expensive and snooty Fugu restaurant in Tokyo will invariably end with fugu nabe. To accompany the chunks of fugu meat, thick-cut tōfu, big spring onions, shiitake mushrooms, carrots cut into decorative flower shapes, bitter edible chrysanthemum leaves and sliced daikon radish are added to the pot in which konbu kelp has been boiled to make a delicate stock. Eaten on a cold winter’s night with plenty of hot sake at table and in reserve, Fugu nabe is a fisherman’s luxury, and is a fun and sociable way of dining too. When one’s luck is in it may the case that there is Fugu left over at the end of the day, for which a delicious form of preservation exists. After seasoning generously in sea salt, the fillets are steeped in a mixture of soy sauce and sweet sake, and then wind-dried overnight. When it comes to eating the dried Fugu, they are grilled – preferably over charcoal – and served hot with lemon. During the grilling process, dusting the fillets with sesame seeds or dried nori seaweed gives the fish a most wonderful aroma, and Fugu prepared this way makes a most able accompaniment to beer or sake.

In short, the nature of the poison of the Fugu means it is something not to be trifled with. The myths surrounding the culture of eating Fugu in Japan should be treated with an appropriate level of scepticism, and the preparation of Fugu for human consumption must without question always be left to trained professionals. With plain old common sense, a healthy respect for nature – as far as I am concerned an unconditional requirement for any outdoor activity be it fishing, sailing or hunting – and the correct understanding of the biology of the Fugu itself, it is possible to enjoy oneself quite safely and indulge in one of the true delicacies of world cuisine.

On a lucky day in Tokyo,
November 2006

Adam Guy

After growing up in London (England) Adam has now returned to the city of his birth, Tokyo, where he lives and works as a biologist. He enjoys cooking in the evening with the day’s catch, using both Japanese recipes and those of his own creation, almost as much as he enjoys the actual fishing. Choosing what sake rice wine to go with the fish is another pleasure. Although Japan is probably more famous among fishermen in the West for its high-technology fishing tackle companies, recently he has become interested in traditional Japanese fishing techniques, using older tackle such as bamboo rods. In between fishing trips, he also enjoys reading, travelling and painting.