The Day of the Flying Fish:the making of Modern Sushi

The Day of the Flying Fish Globalization and the making of modern sushi Katherine Mangu-Ward

For traditionalists in 19th-century Japan, a new sushi place was a sign the neighborhood was going to hell. In 1852 one writer grumped about the proliferation of sushi stalls in booming industrial Tokyo. The McDonald’s of their day, the stalls offered hungry factory workers a quick, cheap meal of fish and sweetened, vinegared rice. If the fish wasn’t top of the line, well, a splash of soy sauce and a dab of spicy wasabi perked up a serving of fish gizzards nicely, with some antimicrobial benefits to boot.

Today that writer’s spiritual descendants dwell on food chat boards like Chowhound, where calling a new Japanese place “inauthentic” or deriding it as “strip mall” or “food court” quality is the kiss of death. When we think of high-end, “authentic” sushi today, we envision rich, fatty slices of smooth tuna and creamy salmon arranged on a pristine plate—the height of elegant Japanese cuisine. But sushi wasn’t always elegant, and salmon and tuna are relatively recent additions to the menu. In that sense, sushi’s appearance in food courts worldwide is more a return to the dish’s common roots than a betrayal of authenticity. Sushi has always been in flux, with new ingredients and techniques added as convenience demanded. Globalization has sped up that process exponentially, bringing novelty to an old food and bringing traditional food to new places. The story of sushi is the story of globalization writ small—very small, on tiny slivers of raw fish.

More…