3-4-14 Awaji-machi, Chuo-ku, Osaka, Japan
Web: Yoshino Sushi
Phone: 06.6231.7181
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Japanese Osaka Seafood Sushi
"It is likely that the beautiful plastic display models at Yoshino Sushi had to be custom-made; it is here that oshi-zushi was literally and famously reinvented in 1841, introducing artistic presentation and different toppings."
Depending on whether you're willing to ignore the literal meaning of its name - "sour, vinegared rice" - two or three types of sushi are commonly found in the United States. Nigiri sushi, known in Japan as "nigiri-zushi," is a bed of rice with a sliced piece of fish laid on top, while Maki sushi is the same thing transformed using thin-pressed seaweed nori paper into a roll. Sashimi, the fish without the rice, is by definition not really sushi at all. And then there's the one you probably haven't heard of, Oshi-zushi, a version that's hundreds of years old and literally predates both nigiri and maki sushi. (New! Become a fan and see more photos on Buffalo Chow's Facebook page!)
In this context, Oshi means "pressed," referring to how this particular form of sushi is made. A wooden box called an oshibako is layered with fish, vinegared rice, a thin layer of soy-boiled vegetables, and more rice, then compacted down using a lid. The result is a dense block of sushi that is sliced into rectangular pieces and served without the need for soy or other dipping sauces; it arrives as it is supposed to taste. Originally created to stay fresh without refrigeration for a full day rather than just an hour, oshi-zushi's rice tastes more strongly of sweet vinegar than the more common sushi, and its fish is either cooked or vinegar-marinated for preservative effect. As with other forms of sushi, the ingredients can vary, but the block-like presentation remains the same, and Osaka is the primary place where it's found today.
To the extent that it has operated in Osaka for hundreds of years, Yoshino Sushi isn't off the beaten path in the traditional sense of the words, but it's not easy for tourists to find, either: it's off on a side street blocks away from the subway, with only the smallest English-language reference to its name outside. Inside, it is humble in the way that centuries-old businesses commonly are, a glass display case in the front providing the only clues as to what is served as take-out food from 9:00 every morning, or in a recessed dining area starting at lunch time. It is likely that the beautiful plastic display models at Yoshino Sushi had to be custom-made; it is here that oshi-zushi was literally and famously reinvented as hako-zushi or "box sushi" in 1841, introducing artistic presentation and different toppings. Egg can be substituted for fish on top, and the vegetables can vary from needle-thin shittake mushroom slices to toasted nori paper or roots. Yoshino Sushi's hako-zushi starts in the 1900 Yen range, which at today's brutal exchange rates is around $21. It's not cheap, but not bad for sushi at the place considered to be the best of its kind in Osaka.
The set we order is $37, arriving elaborately wrapped in two layers of custom-printed paper and a light wooden box, most of the hako-zushi blocks combining two toppings, and others only one. Four are topped with sweet, cooked conger eel - the smoothest we can ever remember - while another four are half mackerel, half yellowtail, and others mix shrimp and blocks of sweet Japanese sushi omelet or sea bream. Every piece is dense with pressed rice, lightly sugary rather than sour in the way that good vinegar should be, and ever so modestly surprising in the crunch and soy of its vegetable layer. Are we addicted? No, but charmed. We also order toro for 1200 Yen ($13.50), expecting a full roll; rather, what arrives is a single piece of nigiri - one slice of slightly iridescent pink and red fatty tuna on a bed of rice. We've paid less for better toro, but this piece is undeniably good.
Later in the day, we do something closer to touristy: a visit to Dotonbori, Osaka's famous canal-side shopping and eating district, best known for its elaborate billboards with oversized, three-dimensional crabs, puffer fish, and dragons, each associated with restaurants serving locally popular treats. We've been here several times before and loved the sights and shopping, but come away less than totally enthusiastic about the food. Kani Doraku, the restaurant with the giant crabs, serves expensive and not particularly amazing crab dishes - the sort of steamed and fried stuff that could be found as better values at buffets. An Osakan invention found elsewhere in Japan is Okonomiyaki, commonly known as a "Japanese pancake:" an oversized batter clump made from flour, yams, dashi stock, eggs and cabbage, plus your choice of vegetables, meats, and cheeses, topped with a bunch of stuff that is equivalent to an overload of fishy, soy, and creamy mayonnaise flavors. It's the opposite of the minimalist image Japanese food often conjures up outside its borders; we've tried it a couple of times and found it overrated at best.
But we are determined to challenge even our own prior conceptions on this trip, so we decide to make a stop to try something else that we've previously written off: Takoyaki. As one of Japan's most ubiquitous and popular street foods, the 74-year old Osakan dish takoyaki means "fried octopus," a donut hole-sized batter ball with a piece of chopped octopus, onion, tempura scraps and ginger inside, and the same general constellation of overwhelming stuff outside that we referenced in the okonomiyaki paragraph above: fish flakes, ponzu sauce, mayo, and a thickened, sweetened, and slightly less tangy version of Worcestershire sauce called okonomiyaki sauce.
This time, we decide to try takoyaki at a place that's regarded as one of Osaka's best, a nondescript but busy little stand called Honke Ootako. Here, the takoyaki's being made fresh in large specially-made molds of such quantity that you can understand how the place turns 20-person deep lines around in minutes during peak seliing times, handing over boat-shaped cartons of six takoyaki balls for only 300 Yen (roughly $3.50). Learning from past mistakes, we request ours this time without the mayo, which normally adds thin white lines to what is otherwise a literally hot mess of brown sauces, toothpicks, and translucent fish shavings. Honke Ootako's version is visually chaotic in an awkwardly, confusing beautiful way.
We dig in with the toothpicks and pull out the balls of batter, soaked in the brown sauces, and delicate only in the stuck-on fish flakes, which add an instantly obvious but very brief taste of seafood to the first bite. It's quickly overwhelmed by the sweet, thick soy-heavy sauces, the soggy dough, and ultimately, the fresh fingertip-sized bite of octopus found in the same place in each one. Distinct from Honke's competitors, locals note in praising the place, is the fact that the octopus was never frozen before being cooked in the batter. Though this version is a little better than ones we've tried elsewhere over the years, it's mostly due to the balance of sauces and heavy fish shavings; it would be surprising if anyone could really taste the difference between octopus pieces or batters given everything else that's placed on top of them.
As the oshi-zushi and takoyaki collectively demonstrate, Japanese cuisine is not as simple as it is understood to be in the West, either in forms of preparation or ingredients. To understand it is to embrace a larger reality of Japanese food, one that doesn't expect everything to be expensive, sophisticated, and minimalist, but leaves open the possibility that any, all, or their opposites could be true. Our sushi breakfast for one was around $50, while a more filling lunch of takoyaki and special ramen - more on that, soon - was only $13, and we'd be hard-pressed to say which was "better." Moreover, it is possible to eat even more frugally here if you know what to look for, a point we'll illustrate in an upcoming article.
There is so much more to share. We hope you'll join us for the next part in this series, coming very soon.
