Chicken Sashimi [Japan]

Salmonella anybody?

Yes, it’s raw. Very, very raw. Too raw even for salmonella. So raw that you can hear your chicken’s last clucks echoing from that not-too-distant kitchen. Cluck…cluck…cluck…

This isn’t a dish to be enjoyed anywhere. To be perfectly honest with you, I would never eat such a thing in the States—food isn’t taken seriously enough back at home. Actually, I take that back: food that costs less than forty bucks a plate isn’t taken seriously back at home. I guess I just wouldn’t trust a chef with Chicken Sashimi unless I was at some 5-star gig and dropping a hefty bundle per plate. Not that I would dish out forty for Chicken Sashimi…

Compare that to the mom and pop Tokyo Yakitori joint where I had this little masterpiece—something that was quite reasonably priced (I don’t recall the price exactly, but I do remember it being palatable). The Japanese take their products quite seriously, where each piece of whatever is not just another consumer item but a reflection of the producer’s technique and talent. You get that feeling a lot, talking to Japanese people and watching them interact. But I digress. This post is for the sashimi.

Taste:

So what you see in that saucer is quite simple: a very, very light soy sauce, thinly sliced seaweed, and horseradish wasabi. The chicken looks pretty much like what you’d find in your supermarket. Nothing remarkable there.

I expected an aroma of chicken, but I found little to nothing of anything. In fact, the piece had barely any scent at all. I expected some gaminess (a la chicken farm), but I couldn’t find a hint of bird. In fact, chicken sashimi is mostly reminiscent of salmon sashimi. Or if you can imagine it, the fattiest, oiliest piece of salmon sashimi you’ve ever tasted. Unlike salmon, a meat that can have some slight textural variations in the chew, chicken has a remarkably consistent texture throughout. I think that this may be more a reflection of the butcherer’s talent than the meat itself.

Reflections:

I bit into this morsel with a bit of fear. Salmonella sucks to have, or so I hear. I didn’t really expect to have a second. But I did. And a third and a fourth, until I sat staring at an empty bowl, looking at my sister’s for more. It must have been that oily quality, or that really wonderful texture. And maybe (or was it just my imagination?) just a hint of chicken aroma. Whatever it was, I think this may be my most favorite exotic food. Too bad I’ll probably never be able to have it again.