Feeding the worm

I stood lost. Osaka Station sprawled around me like a stirred nest of ants.

I felt suddenly anxious, even claustrophobic and fled up several flights of stairs, unheeding of direction, until I burst, like a swimmer breaking the surface, into the heart of the city.

I'd had very little to eat on the plane and my stomach was insistent that I attend to its needs. I stood before a hole in a wall, covered by a small curtain bearing characters unreadable to me.

Taking the plunge, I stepped inside.

A small bar ran along the front of a glass cabinet replete with the strangest looking food I'd ever seen. Seaweed and rice, bright orange fish eggs and the body parts of creatures sourced from every depth of the ocean competed for my attention and the whole small area was redolent with the scent of the sea, mixed with tobacco smoke. This last emanated from a tiny table with two men at it, deep in their meal and oblivious to me.

I acknowledged the, “Irasshaimase!” greeting of the bandanna clad man behind the bar and he returned my smile. He bade me sit with the greatest courtesy and brought me a drink of sake. Unspeaking, realising that I was a new-comer to his land, he placed dishes before me of astonishing freshness and subtle, yet wonderful flavour. Thus was my introduction to the pursuit of perfection and elegance that is Japanese food.

This tiny place, this diminutive sanctuary from the rat race of Osaka, typifies a Japanese mind-set that places food in an exulted, almost sacred position. A meal is a respite from frantic life, treated with respect and reverence and epitomises a wider cultural adherence to perfection that pervades all Japanese society. Their minimalist approach to aesthetics likewise shines through the food, with subtlety and natural expression reigning supreme.

A newcomer to this society, trying to begin to understand the enigma that is modern Japan, to see simplicity seamlessly paired with sophistication, look no further than the food.