Is there anything really new about Morimoto's Japanese cooking, or does this book have a title that is grammatically pleasing but otherwise meaningless? I tend to think the latter, and certainly after reading this cookbook, I wish the author had renamed it, "Morimoto: The Evolution of Japanese Fusion Cooking", a title which would have been a more accurate representation of the recipes and ideas within.
As JJ Goode, the food writing prodigy and editor at Epicurious.com, indicates in his over-long introduction that includes quite a bit of P.R.-style fawning biography, Morimoto's cooking is new yet authentic because the very lexicon of Japanese cuisine is informed by the adoption of foods from other cultures. Here's my favorite excerpt, an argument crafted to shake the reader's confidence in the meaning of 'authenticity' and to allow the cynical to accept Morimoto's fanciful cooking as something legitimate - perhaps more legitimate than the stodgy old Japanese cuisine of authors like Elizabeth Andoh, who tend to be more orthodox in their execution:
The very notion of authenticity stands on shaky ground, too fluid to be useful as a way to characterize cuisine. Things change, cultures meld and shift, foods travel across oceans. Many of the ingredients so associated with a particular cuisine...were themselves at one time imports, centuries ago.....
Cuisine, according to Masaharu Morimoto, is specific to time and place. Tastes, cooking methods, and technology change over time - what was once impossible is now quotidian, what used to delight is now unappealing - and diners and ingredients differ depending on where they're from.
I do not entirely agree that 'authentic' isn't useful to use in the context of cuisine. Does a newly introduced ingredient render a dish inauthentic? If I make a tempura batter, but choose to tempura a hot dog, is it no longer tempura? No, it is still tempura, but now it is kiddie food that is distinctly untraditional. It may not be an authentic way to prepare tempura, but it is still, by definition, tempura.
Last night, during a discussion with a friend about Morimoto's cookbook and JJ Goode's introduction, my friend wondered out loud who at DK made the decision to focus on 'authenticity'. After all, it is hard to make an indefensible argument about authenticity in the context of a chef whose signature recipes are, by definition, unconventional and creative. The recipes may draw on tradition and are authentically "Morimoto" but that's it.
If we are going to specifically pick apart Japanese cuisine, the first question to ask is what makes something authentic. Is it style? Is it the ingredients? Is it the recipe? Is it the person who is cooking? I don't know, but I do know that most of the time, when people describe something as authentic, they are actually referring to style or method of preparation, coupled with specific base ingredients, rather than who is cooking it or the specific 'neutral' ingredient (meaning an ingredient that doesn't alter the fundamental flavor of a dish) used.
As an example, let's say I had a restaurant that served fanciful Japanese bar food. I decide I'm going to serve dengaku, which is usually eggplant or tofu covered in a miso-based sauce and broiled. But instead of using tofu or eggplant, I use a crab cake. Is it authentic? No, not really. Now I'm just using the miso as sauce, not so much as a way of making the base ingredient (tofu, eggplant) more expressive. I'm tasting the crabmeat less and the miso more. But the reason I eat crab cakes is because I love the flavor of crab. One flavor doesn't complement the other. It is like pairing a big Zin with John Dory in beurre blanc. Just a bad, bad idea.
I'm not saying Morimoto's cuisine is a bad idea or isn't a real cuisine - I'm just saying that it isn't accurate to describe what he does as "New Japanese Cuisine". What it is is Masaharu Morimoto's fusion cuisine - a cuisine with profound and inextricable basis in Japanese culture and cooking.
But what of the recipes?
The first 15 pages show Morimoto gloriously cutting fish and show, step-by-step, how to put together a show-stopping sashimi platter. The pictures, by the deliciously named Quentin Bacon, are food porn perfect, with the sharp focus/soft focus dichotomy characterizing even the most instructional of photos.
The recipes that immediately follow are undoubtedly fusion - Buri Bap (a yellow tail sashimi served in a piping hot stone bowl in the style of Korean bi bim bap), Stuffed Lotus Leaves (in the style of Chinese dim sum favorite sticky rice), Sushi Rice Risotto (which isn't such a stretch except that the chef incorporates sushi vinegar and cooks it with eggs in the style of chawanmushi, steamed egg custard), Za Jan noodles (reminiscent of a Chinese dish), Squid Ink-Salmon Gnocchi, and Crab Naan and Bagna Cauda Morimoto Style (India meets Italy meets Japan).
The fusion is a thread linking all the recipes in the book together - and though I am unenthusiastic about fusion, I have to say that many of the recipes are both simple and delicious-looking, even if more Morimoto than Japanese. For example there's lobster Masala - seasoned with Morimoto Special Spice, made from chili, paprika, salt, pepper, cumin, coriander, ginger, garam masala, and cayenne.
Unfortunately, the cookbook also contains grandstanding recipes like Blowfish Carpaccio - a dish that no home cook can prepare unless, by chance, they are licensed to prepare fugu, the potentially deadly (but mild) fish of legend. Remember that Simpsons episode? There is are also recipes incorporating Ayu and Kinki - two Japanese fishes that most American cooks will be challenged to find at any fishmonger, local or distant. There are a few Iron Chef recipes - great for those who get off on copying what they see on TV but rather unappealing to the rest of us - Squid Strawberry ice candy, anyone?
Dessert recipes are more novel than classic. Pichet Ong's recipes (see this Cookbook Monday review) are far more appealing than those featured here. As a devotee of Japanese-language dessert cookbooks that include many fusion-type recipes, I found Morimoto's recipes remarkably unappealing, although fanciful and creative. Sugared Salmon with Beet Sorbet and Yuzu foam may be a huge hit with the Iron Chef crowd, but I'll take a pass. I'm particulary mystified by the asparagus pocky recipe - not because it sounds unappetizing (it does) but because its use of asparagus runs counter to both the ideas of seasonality, simplicity, and the tenets of Japanese cuisine. If I eat asparagus, I want to taste asparagus, not some cooked-in-simple-syrup-for-hours-until-it-becomes-a-mystery-cellulose vehicle for chocolate.
In general, the most challenging part of Morimoto's cookbook may be tracking down the ingredients, some of which will be impossible to find unless you happen to live on one of the coasts or live near a major Japanese supermarket.
More a keepsake for Iron Chef Morimoto's legion of fans than a cooking classic, Morimoto: The New Art of Japanese Cooking is a gorgeous looking book that will look great on any coffee table. And maybe that's where it should stay.
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