Jiro Dreams of Sushi (2011) - IMDb IMDb There was an error trying to load your rating for this title. Some parts of this page won't work property. Please reload or try later. X Beta I'm Watching This! Keep track of everything you watch; tell your friends. Error Jiro Dreams of Sushi ( 2011 ) PG | From $2.99 (SD) on Amazon Video ON DISC A documentary on 85-year-old sushi master Jiro Ono, his renowned Tokyo restaurant, and his relationship with his son and eventual heir, Yoshikazu. Director: 2017 Golden Globes Embraces New Faces Find out which newcomers will make a splash at the 2017 Golden Globes and which of your favorites didn't make the cut. Don't miss our live coverage of the Golden Globes beginning at 4 p.m. PST on Jan. 8 in our Golden Globes section.

a list of 25 titles created 06 Jan 2013 a list of 44 titles created 05 Sep 2013 a list of 27 titles created 29 Oct 2013 a list of 49 titles created 06 Nov 2013 a list of 25 titles created 24 Jan 2015 Title: Jiro Dreams of Sushi (2011) 7.9/10 Want to share IMDb's rating on your own site? Use the HTML below. You must be a registered user to use the IMDb rating plugin. 2 wins & 12 nominations. See more awards » Videos Four sommeliers attempt to pass the prestigious Master Sommelier exam, a test with one of the lowest pass rates in the world. Director: Jason Wise Who was General Tso, and why are we eating his chicken? This feature documentary explores the origins and ubiquity of Chinese-American food through the story of an iconic sweet and spicy chicken dish. Director: Ian Cheney While examining the influence of the fast food industry, Morgan Spurlock personally explores the consequences on his health of a diet of solely McDonald's food for one month.

Director: Morgan Spurlock Chef's Table (TV Series 2015) Documentary Chef's Table goes inside the lives and kitchens of six of the world's most renowned international chefs. Each episode focuses on a single chef and their unique look at their lives, talents and passion from their piece of culinary heaven. Stars: Dan Barber, Massimo Bottura, Bill Buford An unflattering look inside America's corporate controlled food industry. Director: Robert Kenner A documentary about three unique restaurants and their respective owners. Director: Joseph Levy Edit Storyline In the basement of a Tokyo office building, 85 year old sushi master Jiro Ono works tirelessly in his world renowned restaurant, Sukiyabashi Jiro. As his son Yoshikazu faces the pressures of stepping into his father's shoes and taking over the legendary restaurant, Jiro relentlessly pursues his lifelong quest to create the perfect piece of sushi.

Written by anonymous Rated PG for mild thematic elements and brief smoking | See all certifications » Parents Guide: 15 March 2012 (Denmark) See more » Also Known As: Jiro e l'arte del sushi See more » Filming Locations: $42,035 (USA) (9 March 2012) Gross: Did You Know? Trivia According to a well-known legend in the Kazuchi District, sushi was invented in the 15th Century by renowned monk Muziguchi (1412-1474). During the third Kubaki revolts, he was wounded while traveling and left for dead by his companions in a forest with only some cooked rice in a bag. Muziguchi stumbled upon a freshly dead dog. Driven by hunger and fighting for survival, he cut the dog open and placed small pieces of raw flesh on rice. Back in Kyoto, he replaced the dog meat with fish meat (salmon, tuna and meal) and convinced his fellow monks to taste it. Sushi's popularity spread in Kyoto and soon in the entire medieval Japan. See more » Quotes Jiro Ono : Once you decide on your occupation...

you must immerse yourself in your work. You have to fall in love with your work. Never complain about your job. You must dedicate your life to mastering your skill. That's the secret of success... and is the key to being regarded honorably. Perfect Sushi - The New Yorker Perfect Sushi March 9, 2012 One of the hardest reservations to get in the world is a seat at Jiro Ono’s sushi counter, a three-Michelin-star restaurant adjoining the entrance to the Ginza metro station, in the basement of a business building in Tokyo. A meal there, which consists of twenty pieces of sushi served one at a time, costs thirty thousand Japanese yen (about three hundred and seventy dollars), and lasts about fifteen or twenty minutes. (By contrast, a meal at Noma , probably the toughest get on the list, takes a good three to four hours). There are only ten seats, there is a set menu (no appetizers or modifications), and there are definitely no California rolls . The question of what makes this hole in the wall so worthy is the subject of a gorgeously shot documentary opening today called “ Jiro Dreams of Sushi ,” directed by David Gelb.

Jiro Ono was born in 1925, left home at the age of nine, and has been making sushi ever since. Though Japan has declared him a national treasure, he still says, at the age of eighty-five, “All I want to do is make better sushi.” He goes to work every day by getting on the train from the same position, he always tastes his food as he makes it, and he dislikes holidays. Jiro is described as a shokunin—a person who embodies the artisan spirit of the relentless pursuit of perfection through his craft. Another Japanese term that came to my mind while I watched the film was kaizen , meaning “improvement” or “change for the better.” The concept is one of process, and it is often applied in business settings, like manufacturing and logistics, to ensure constant and never-ending improvement. Before cooking his octopus, Jiro used to massage it for up to thirty minutes. Now he will massage it for forty minutes, to give it an even softer texture and a better taste. Before a meal at Sukiyabashi Jiro, guests are handed a hot towel, hand-squeezed by an apprentice.

The apprentices, who train for at least ten years under Jiro, are not allowed to cut the fish until they practice just handling it. One of the older apprentices says Jiro taught him to “press the sushi as if it were a baby chick.” Jiro’s near-impossible standards extend to the Tsukiji fish market, where his older son, Yoshikazu, bicycles every day to check out the day’s catch. He meets with trusted specialists, each of whom has his own focus: shrimp, eel, octopus. In one scene, a man wrestles a live octopus into a plastic bag, but not before the octopus makes a convincing run for it, suctioning itself rather alarmingly up the man’s forearm. Jiro’s tuna dealer is an anti-establishment character who tolerates only products of the highest quality. At one point, he surveys a warehouse floor covered by giant, gaping tuna, whose gunmetal coloring makes them look like warheads or shrunken submarines. “People say there is good quality here today,” he says directly to the camera.

Then he adds with a smirk, “There is nothing good here today.” By this point in the movie, it comes as no surprise that Jiro has his own rice dealer, or that his rice alone is revered by foodies for being expertly cooked, fanned, vinegared, and maintained at the perfect temperature. After a screening of the movie at the Japan Society this week, Eric Ripert said, “Never in my life have I tasted rice like that—it’s like a cloud.” (Ripert, an exacting French chef who travels with his own fish knives in a custom Louis Vuitton case , is a great admirer of Jiro, who reminds him of his own obsessive mentor, Joël Robuchon.) The rice is served at body temperature, because, according to Jiro, each ingredient has an ideal moment of deliciousness—as Ripert put it, “The rice is perfection now.” When the sushi is placed in front of a customer, it must be consumed right away; hence, the fleeting nature of the meal.

It wasn’t until after the movie was over, when an audience member asked about female sushi chefs, that I realized practically everyone in the film—from the apprentices to the chefs to the fishmongers—is male. During his visits to Japan, Gelb had heard a range of explanations for this, from the claim that women’s hands are too warm (they would cook the sushi just by handling it) to the idea that the hours were too long and it wouldn’t be safe for them to ride the train alone late at night. “It’s sexism, frankly,” Gelb said. When asked if he had anything to add on the topic, Ripert wisely answered, “No.” The audience seemed only mildly relieved to learn that there is gimmicky sushi bar in another neighborhood of Tokyo with all female chefs. Jiro has two sons, both sushi chefs—Yoshikazu, the older one, works under his father at Ginza station, and his younger brother, Takashi, runs his own branch of the restaurant, in Roppongi Hills. The layout of the second location is an exact mirror image of the original, since Jiro is left-handed and Takashi is right-handed.

As the elder son, Yoshikazu is expected to succeed his father when he dies or loses the physical ability to work. Gelb’s own filial dynamic explains at least part of his Japanophilia. His father, Peter, is now the general manager of the Metropolitan Opera, but while David was very young Gelb père was the assistant manager of the Boston Symphony Orchestra. At the time, Seiji Ozawa was the conductor, which meant frequent family trips to Japan. It also certainly meant exposure to a great deal of music. Besides being visually captivating—some of the montages are veritable food-porn slide shows of glistening seafood—the film has a strong soundtrack of classical music, old and new. Philip Glass’s works appear throughout, and, for the film’s ultimate sushi montage, Gelb used Beethoven’s soaring Poco sostenuto vivace from Symphony No. 7. At the end of the film, when asked about Yoshikazu’s ability to succeed him, Jiro delivers an answer that is equal parts dad and shokunin: “He just needs to keep it up for the rest of his life.” Here’s hoping Gelb does the same. Illustration by Joost Swarte.

Jiro Dreams of Sushi: Portrait of a perfectionist - The Globe and Mail The Globe and Mail Friday, Mar. 16, 2012 12:00AM EDT Last updated Country USA Language English The quintessential “lifestyle” documentary, Jiro Dreams of Sushi combines a profile of a celebrity chef, a quick cultural immersion and many mouth-watering montages of food preparation in one package. Akin to one of The New Yorker’s vintage profiles, the film begins with a few attention-grabbing facts about its subject and gradually adds layers of broader and deeper context, touching on persona,, family and the esthetic and culinary traditions of Japan. Screen grab from the online trailer for the documentary "Jiro Dreams of Sushi" Movies Jiro Dreams of Sushi: The official trailer The star is Jiro Ono, a revered 85-year-old sushi chef who runs Sukiyabashi Jiro, a 10-seat restaurant in the basement of an office building adjacent to the Ginza subway station in Tokyo. In spite of its location, Sukiyabashi Jiro has a three-star Michelin rating as one of the finest restaurants in the world.

Reservations must be made a month in advance and meals start at $300 a person. We know this when an out-of-towner bumbles into the unprepossessing restaurant, wondering if they have any take-out menus. When he’s told the price and reservation wait, he backs out bowing quickly. We know how great the restaurant is from Tokyo food critic Masuhiro Yamamoto, who declares that no other restaurant in Tokyo can compare: “No one ever has a bad experience there,” he says. The standard course, without the distractions of alcohol or main courses, is a 20-piece symphony of sushi from mild to increasing complex tastes, guided by traditional rules of extreme simplicity (no sushi pizzas here) and precision. Fish slices are lightly brushed with soy sauce and wasabi. There are three kinds of tuna, of different degrees of fatness. Shrimp are killed moments before being served. Jiro has his own rice dealer, who refuses to sell to the top hotels because they wouldn’t know what to do with his quality of rice. The egg tuna that serves as desert is an art form in itself: One of the kitchen cooks said he took months before his first piece was accepted.

The film is a portrait of the artisan ( shokunin) as an old man. At work since he was 9, Ono is a former soldier who, since he first apprenticed as a chef, has dreamed about ways to improve sushi. He obsesses about improving his craft by getting the best ingredients, massaging the octopus 40 minutes instead of 30, and experimenting to find exactly the right serving temperature. What else is the film about? The traditional, and sometimes negative obsession with dedication and sacrifice. Ono is proudly tough, a workaholic, who says he derives a kind of ecstasy from work, which depends on others sacrificing for him. At 70 he had a heart attack and decided that, perhaps, it was time to let his sons buy fish from the market for him. The shadow of mortality convinced him he had to delegate some responsibilities. He hates holidays. He apparently has a wife because we see her in a photograph. He chuckles when he recounts that, on the rare day he stayed home, his sons used to wonder who the strange man was sleeping in his mother’s bed. And of course, the sacrifice is also imposed on others.

The youngest son, Takashi, runs his own cheaper branch of the restaurant in the tourist-friendly Roppongi Hills, while the oldest son Yoshikazu, now in his late 50s, patiently waits to inherit the business. As a young man he dreamed of racing cars. Now he rides a bicycle to the market each day, to negotiate with an elite fraternity of top fish dealers, who save their best for Jiri’s restaurant. Like the fish that are disappearing from the oceans, they’re probably the last of a breed. And at night, Yoshikazu and his father stand behind the counter scrutinizing their customers, who are eating their art, bite after perfect bite. Jiro Dreams of Sushi The Mystery of Jiro’s Sushi | The American Conservative The Mystery of Jiro’s Sushi Tweet Jiro’s lean tuna sushi When, a few days ago, Rod mentioned Jiro Dreams of Sushi I remembered that I had been meaning to watch it. So I did. And it’s a really good film. The filmmakers’ interest is clearly focused on the family relationships: What kind of father was Jiro to the sons who work for him? How do they feel about having such an illustrious father?

When he finally retires, or — more likely — dies, how will they carry on? (Oddly, though, we do not even learn whether Jiro’s wife is alive, or, if she is, whether she is the mother of his sons. At one point Jiro says that if he didn’t go to work every day he would just be underfoot at home, but we don’t learn whose foot he would be under.) However, me being me, I was more interested in the food and didn’t learn nearly enough about that to suit me. There’s a brief passage where Jiro and his preferred rice merchant discuss the importance of taking immense care to prepare the rice properly — but how do they prepare it? We’re never told. Perhaps the details are trade secrets, but it would be nice to learn at least some of the general guidelines. We watch octopus simmering — but in what? A broth of some kind? Jiro finishes each piece of sushi that he prepares by brushing it neatly and evenly with oil — but what kind of oil? And from whom does he procure it?

(Update: Gavin Craig on Twitter thinks it’s soy sauce, which of course makes sense, but I thought it was too light a color and oily a texture for that. But I know nothing.) More generally, while we’re told that Jiro is the most celebrated sushi chef in the world, we don’t get a really clear picture of what separates him from everyone else. Judging just from the film, and from my rather limited experience of sushi, I’d say that he prepares highly traditional sushi but does so with an unmatched level of attention to every detail of purchase, preparation, and service. That is, Jiro appears to be no innovator, but rather a profoundly devoted servant of the tradition he has inherited. And yet he speaks at one point of having dreams — thus the title of the film — in which he comes up with new sushi dishes. So which is it? Is Jiro an innovative genius blazing new trails in sushi creation? Or does he, in classic Japanese fashion, devote himself to mastering, with an unexcelled devotion, a Way of food preparation that has been canonical for many many years? This inquiring mind wants to know.

February 12, 2013 at 7:13 pm Years ago we went to a couple’s apartment on Roosevelt Island. He was American, she Japanese. Our purpose was to get to know them better to lay the ground emotional groundwork for one of the studies (the first one actually) that my wife and I shot in preparation for what would become our film project. We had dinner with their children, which included hotdog sushi and chicken nugget sushi and other things I assumed were Americanized bastardizations of Japan’s sushi tradition. I was told I was wrong. I was told that sushi is a rather new culinary phenomenon, and there was no “doing it wrong” (though apparently there is doing it well.) Anyway, the point is, by any conservative measure, there is no great sushi tradition that is many many years old. It’s a new thing. It might even just be a fad. Alan Jacobs February 12, 2013 at 7:16 pm Yeah, they mention in the movie that at one time sushi was street-vendor food — but they don’t say when that was. But it’s clearly been a restaurant phenomenon long enough that there are certain standard preparations.

I just wish I had a better grasp on that history. Kendrick February 13, 2013 at 9:30 am I second the belief that it’s soy sauce. There are a wide variety of soy sauces, and it seems like the one used in the documentary is a thicker, more syrupy kind. This is why it might not look like the kind more common in the U.S. I also wanted the documentary to explain more about the shokunin tradition, which I found fascinating. And I’m not sure if the film discussed the absence of women (I watched it last year), but I’d want to know the thinking behind barring women from traditional sushi craft and what Jiro thinks about it. Rod Dreher February 13, 2013 at 10:32 am Good points, Alan. I like sushi, but my experience is so limited that I don’t know that I could discern Michelin-quality sushi from ordinary sushi. My greatest culinary regret is the time in 1998 when Miramax publicists took a group of us from the New York Post to Nobu for lunch.

They ordered platter after platter of the best sushi in New York … but I just sat there drinking diet Coke, because I didn’t eat sushi back then. Idiot! February 13, 2013 at 10:35 am I’ve seen the movie twice, and having grown up in Japan I found it fascinating. But none of the questions you raise were on my mind. Jiro is so Japanese in his quest for excellence. And the role of his sons and his wife (Maris?) fit the culture such that this raised no questions for me. From the movie I don’t recall any comment about sushi being street vendor food. But I will say this: as a kid in the 50s and 60s I ate virtually every kind of food that was sold on the street. I have no memory of sushi being sold by street vendors. It may have been, but not in my experience. The kind of sushi that is so popular today–sashimi (raw fish etc)–was something for special occasions. You would find it in restaurants. Others of my Western friends who grew up in Japan during that era recall much the same.

But we all *loved* inari sushi, which comes in a small fried tofu bag, as well as norimaki (rolled in seaweed) with perhaps a vegetable center. These were quite common. I never had “sushi” (as everyone thinks of it in the U.S.) until later, here in the U.S. Jiro is a Japanese artist, on the order of those who master ikebana or calligraphy or haiku. Keep your eye on the ball–let the food critic and his awe for Jiro lead you, and put away your Western ways. David Hill February 15, 2013 at 12:31 am I own the DVD and in the audio commentary, they say that it is, in fact, soy sauce. I’m pretty that, like all of the other ingredients, it’s not something you get at the local supermarket. They paint it on to prevent the customer from drowning it, like most people do at a run-of-the-mill sushi bar. And no, the doc doesn’t go over the guy who provides the soy sauce. But they don’t talk to the guys who provide the nori, the eggs, or the sake either.

In the culinary world, it is considered progressive to make their meals fancier and more decadent. Jiro is radical by going in the opposite direction. He got his Michelin stars by taking the basic template for sushi and seeking out the perfect ingredients and preparing them with perfect technique, all the while never accepting what he did as perfection, but the next step towards it. Kyle April 21, 2013 at 10:54 am Having seen the film and doing some research to make my own sushi at home.. I’ve come to the conclusion that the sauce that is seen being brushed over the most of the nigiri served is probably “Nikiri”. its Soy sauce with some dashi, sake, and mirin mixed in. Sushi lover May 12, 2013 at 1:03 am I can say for absolute certainty that they are brushing shoyu or a form of soy sauce, almost certainly one the restaurant makes itself. Also contemporary style sushi as we know it is *relatively* new – meaning 19th century and when it was first introduced it was considered fast food bc it was bite sized and could be eaten quickly. It was served by street vendors.

But 150 years or so is still plenty of time to establish tradition. Jiro is not very radical – there are many traditional sushi restaurants in Japan focused on just sushi. It’s in other countries like the US where this is rare, and you’ll only find places like this in LA and NYC. Much of this information is easy to find online – try Wikipedia. Also try googling “quora jiro” for some interesting insights from knowledgeable sources, including one who (correctly) asserts that the claim that jiro is the best is a bit dubious. Sushi lover May 12, 2013 at 1:18 am Ps – traditional sushi restaurants always apply the wasabi and soy sauce for you to get the exact right balance for the particular type of fish. They do serve soy sauce on the side but that’s only for sashimi and maki rolls. Sushi yasuda’s website has a good explanation of etiquette Rod – I wouldn’t feel too bad. Nobu is definitely NOT the best sushi in NYC, not even close. They are known for their other stuff.

Sushi lover May 12, 2013 at 1:27 am Pps – last one! I realized I didn’t really answer the authors questions. In terms of cookin technique much of this can be found online. Eg sushi rice cooking is pretty standard. But attention to detail and focus is what makes the difference. Sushi rice is considered by many traditional itamae to be even more important than the fish! In terms of jiro himself, he is not really an innovator blazing new trails , he is all about absolute devotion to perfecting a tradition. Perhaps in the small details he does things differently than others as a result of this devotion Derrick Nelson Dreaming of sushi with Jiro Ono | Inquirer lifestyle share this Dreaming of sushi with Jiro Ono To mark their 23rd wedding anniversary, the Concepcion couple decided to experience Japan’s national treasure Philippine Daily Inquirer / 02:58 AM February 14, 2013 (Author’s note: I am neither food writer, food critic nor food photographer. I am simply a writer who loves sushi.) “Once you decide on your occupation you must immerse yourself in your work.

You have to fall in love with your work. Never complain about your job, you must dedicate your life to mastering your skill. That’s the secret of success and the key to being regarded honorably. I’ve never once hated my job, I fell in love with my work and gave my life to it.”—Jiro Ono in “Jiro Dreams of Sushi” Last year, I watched the documentary “Jiro Dreams of Sushi.” I learned of Jiro Ono, a master sushi chef and owner of Sukiyabashi Jiro, a three-star Michelin-awarded restaurant in Ginza, Tokyo. The Michelin guide awards one to three stars to a small number of restaurants of outstanding quality. ADVERTISEMENT One star indicates “very good cuisine in its category”; two stars represent “excellent cuisine, worth a detour”; and a rare three stars are awarded to restaurants offering “exceptional cuisine, worth a special journey.” At age 86, Jiro Ono holds the Guinness record for being the oldest chef to be awarded three stars. Watching the documentary, I was enthralled by how well-made the film is.

Filmmaker David Gelb has given the world a wonderfully sweet symphony dedicated to the art of making sushi. From the freshest seafood to the best-quality rice, you are swept along on this journey of one man’s life quest to make the best sushi there is to be found. In the film, Jiro says, “In order to make delicious food, you need to eat delicious food. The quality of ingredients is important, but one must develop a palate capable of discerning good and bad food. Without good taste, you can’t make good food.” Jiro is a true shokunin—an artisan who strives to achieve perfection in his chosen craft. At 86, he is still constantly striving to be better than he already is, working each day, determined to make the perfect sushi. Amazing food shots accompanied by classical music playing throughout the movie made me smile in anticipation of eating my next sushi meal. But more than that, I loved the simple wisdom of Jiro, things he would say throughout the film. His sense of humor had me laughing out loud at some of his lines, especially one quite funny but irreverent one he said in front of his parents’ graves!

Impossible In late 2011, my husband and I opened Yabu, an authentic Japanese Katsu restaurant. Because of this, we have made a number of trips SUKIYABASHI Jiro to Japan. We go to immerse ourselves in Japanese culture or simply to see how restaurants are run, how disciplined and dedicated they are to their craft. We eat in as many different restaurants as we can, just to observe and taste. “Jiro Dreams of Sushi” more than reinforced all the things we had come to know about Japanese culture and food preparation. Prior to this, I had never heard of Jiro Ono. Yet when I was in Japan and would ask about him or his restaurant, faces would light up and they would speak almost reverently of him and his restaurant. I was told he has been declared a national treasure. On a recent trip to Tokyo that coincided with our 23rd wedding anniversary, I planned to surprise my husband with a trip to Jiro’s restaurant, if I could swing it. It is normally booked months to a year in advance. It’s a little 10-seater restaurant, no wonder it’s next to impossible to get a reservation here.

It also turned out that Jiro’s is closed on a Sunday, our anniversary. I asked the concierge at my hotel to inquire about lunch on Tuesday. Because it was Saturday, she doubted if I could get a reservation on such short notice. She made the call, then smiled and excitedly told me, “It’s miraculous that you can get a reservation! But first, I must tell you about their rules.” 1) You must be on time. They do not allow lateness. 2) There is no menu, it is all chef’s choice and you cannot make requests. A meal consists of 19 pieces of sushi, whatever is available fresh from the market that day. That is all. 3) No wearing perfume. 4) You must pay cash. (This is important to know because a meal at Jiro’s costs Y30,000 or roughly US$350 per person.) 5) No cancellations. If you cancel, there will be a Y15,000 cancellation fee. 6) The meal will last only approximately half an hour. If the rules were okay with me, she would go ahead with the reservation.

She added, “Jiro does not always make the sushi himself anymore, I am told, but he is at the restaurant every day.” Experience JIRO Ono, the author and husband John Concepcion Not giving it a second thought, I made the reservation. After all, this was our anniversary meal. When I told my husband about it, he was thrilled. We were both excited. Normally, I would not pay this price for a meal. My husband would be the first to say that I will always scrimp and save whenever I can. But this was special for us—not just a meal, but an experience. Sukiyabashi Jiro is in the basement of a nondescript office building in Ginza. Directly across from the Sony building, around the corner from Gucci and a Nikon outlet, just down the road from Pritemps department store, near the most expensive real estate in the world. If you didn’t have exact directions, you could easily miss it. Down a flight of stairs next to a store called The Suit Company which actually leads to the train station, a glass door on the left leads to the building’s basement and inside to the right is a simple glass-slatted door.

This is Sukiyabashi Jiro. When I walked into the restaurant, one of Jiro’s young apprentices approached, smiling, asking if we have a reservation. Upon giving our name, he nodded and gestured us in side to a smiling, friendly woman at the cash counter. She took our coats. As I looked up, Jiro Ono was standing a few feet away. He turned and disappeared behind a curtain, only to reappear a few seconds later behind the sushi counter. I was so thrilled to see him begin preparations. We had hoped but had not expected to be served by Jiro himself. The restaurant is very small. A sushi counter for 10 people lined one side, two tables against the wall in front of the sushi counter, and one table in front of the cashier. The dining area could not have been more than 30 sq m, small enough to be run only by Jiro, his son Yoshikazu, one shokunin, three apprentices and the woman cashier. Apprentice We were slightly early for our reservation so there were no other guests in the place.

I raised my camera to take a photo, but the apprentice came and said politely, “No photos of place, only of the sushi.” We were led to the first two chairs on the left and sat down. Another Japanese couple arrived and joined us, sitting a few seats to our right. They looked like a young married couple; the man was in a dark suit, a common sight in Tokyo, the woman in white sweater with pearls around her neck. Soon after, one apprentice appeared with hot towels for our hands. He also put a little rubber liner on the table so I could rest my camera on it. He asked us what drinks we wanted. My husband opted for tea, and I, water. The apprentice placed a printed list in front of us. In halted English he said, “This is menu today. Anything you do not like?” We both glanced through the list, some items unfamiliar to us. We both shook our heads, accepting the entire course. If we were to do this, we would do it right, chef’s choice all the way. Of the two of us, I am the much less adventurous sushi lover, sticking to old sushi favorites. So, I whispered laughingly to my husband, “I’m nervous!

What if there is something I don’t like?” Before I could finish the thought, Jiro stood in front of us. He is of medium height, bald and bespectacled, a stern-looking man. His stern look disappeared when I smiled at him and he smiled back. He bowed toward us in greeting, our heads bowing toward him in return. I was a little star-struck, I must admit. After all, Jiro has been called “the greatest sushi chef in the world.” Dance in motion Jiro then became completely focused and started working. Watching Jiro’s hands make sushi was like watching a graceful dance in motion. He twirled pieces of fish between his fingers quickly. He caressed the rice as he palmed it, his hands fisting around the rice forming a perfect shape. It was a continuous dance with each preparation—a dip of fingers in the fresh wasabi, and then a dab of a brush in the soy sauce as he painted each sushi piece lovingly with his brush. He was the artist and this entire meal was his canvas. He worked quietly and intently. He walked over and placed the first piece in front of me. It was hirame (halibut).

The soy sauce brushed across the top and glistened in the light. It was time to have our first taste of Jiro’s famed sushi. ‘Wow’ First thing I noticed when I picked up the sushi with my fingers was the temperature of the rice. It was neither hot nor cold, something like the temperature of my body. I put the entire piece into my mouth in one bite. I closed my eyes in pleasure, and I could hear my husband say a muffled “wow” next to me. Next thing I observed was how wonderfully soft the rice was, this special grade of grain made only available to Jiro from his supplier. I felt the strong vinegar flavor and loved it immediately. The combination of just the right amount of rice, vinegar, wasabi and soy sauce blending with the perfect thickness of fish was incredible. It was the perfect piece of sushi, yet also the simplest—truly a study in contrasts. It was a wonderful start of our meal. I smiled as I watched the Japanese couple next to us. The small, shy smile that appeared on the woman’s face as she closed her eyes eating the first piece said it all. The rest of the sushi came in succession.

Holy tuna trinity Sumi-ika is a glossy white squid with a nice chewy bite to it. But it was quite soft and tender. I do not normally eat squid sushi because of how tough it sometimes is, but I enjoyed this. Buri, or young yellow tail sushi, was soft and melted in my mouth, its fishy flavor complemented well by the soy sauce and vinegar rice. I have often heard foodies speak of the “holy trinity of tuna.” I never thought of tuna that way. But we do love it, so we were very excited when Jiro brought us the next three: Akami (lean tuna), beautifully red, simple, soft, shining with a brush of soy sauce. It was amazingly good. Chu-toro (semi-fatty tuna), pink in color, had a slight marbling of fat throughout. It melted in the mouth, its flavor delicious. Oo-toro (fatty tuna) was undeniably the best of the three—covered in fatty marbling over its pink surface, and velvety smooth. Again it melted in the mouth. It was the best tuna we have ever eaten.

After a drink of water to cleanse my palate, Jiro brought out the next piece, a gleaming silver fish called kohada (gizzard shad). This was a cured fish that I thought was excellent! It was my first time to try it. The vinegar flavoring and texture reminded me a lot of Spanish boquerones. I had never eaten akagai (ark shell), and when it was laid out in front of me, I hesitated for a moment. My husband ate his serving first and said, “Don’t worry, you’ll like it.” Slightly sweet, a little chewy, albeit a bit slimy, it tasted very good, indeed. The next piece was brought to us by the apprentice. It was tako (boiled octopus). He said, “No soy sauce please. Salted.” The slightly warm and tender octopus burst with flavor from the salt that Jiro flavored it with. It had a chewy, soft texture, no doubt the result of being massaged for 45 minutes as Jiro had taught his apprentices. As the tenth piece of sushi came, I realize we had reached the halfway mark.

The aji (jack mackerel) is a soft, fishy-tasting morsel that was equally good. At this moment we noticed Jiro and his son Yoshikazu switch places. His son was now serving us. I thought, maybe this was for the benefit of the other customers, so Jiro can serve them as well. By now there was another Japanese lady seated at the counter eating next to the Japanese couple. She spoke to Jiro every so often as she ate. Boiled prawn Yoshikazu served us the kuruma-ebi (boiled prawn). It was outstanding! Served in two parts, head and tail, the head was supposed to be eaten first. This prawn was supposedly cut in such a way as to preserve the flavor of the head. It was boiled only a few minutes before being served, so it was extremely fresh and flavorful, the texture perfect. We both loved it. Sayori (needlefish) was a very different-looking fish with a stripe down the middle. It was soft, slightly fishy in taste, but very good.

Hamaguri (boiled clam) was a deliciously sweetened clam, glistening with sweet glaze, flawlessly cooked to give it a soft, slightly chewy texture. Wonderful! Saba (mackerel) had a lovely vinegar flavoring and it was just delicious! No soy sauce needed to enjoy this. Uni sushi I am a late convert to the appreciation of uni (sea urchin). For many years, I didn’t like it. Whenever my husband would eat uni, I would pick at his piece and then taste it a bit. Not liking the strong taste, which was sometimes overly fishy or bitter, I convinced myself I really did not like it. But in 2011, a day before the great Japan earthquake, I found myself in a little sushi place called Daiwa at Tsukiji Market in Tokyo. A piece of uni sushi was served; I ate it and realized it was simply delicious. Unbelievably fresh and creamy. Nothing ever came close again. I had dreamt of that uni ever since. At Jiro’s I watched excitedly as a small boxed tray filled with uni lay on the counter. It looked like little mountains of cream.

A scooper came in and one perfect scoop of uni was laid on top of a bed of rice, wrapped in nori. We picked up the entire roll and put it in our mouths. We smiled and alternately moaned in pleasure. The uni was fresh but ice-cold, so soft and creamy it was almost like a velvet mousse melting in your mouth. The nori was perfectly crispy, hand-toasted over a flame grill earlier; the vinegared rice complemented the taste so impeccably. But there really are no words to adequately describe Jiro’s uni sushi. I will dream of it for a long, long time. Next, kobashira (baby scallops) was brought out, Jiro serving us again. On a bed of rice and wrapped in crunchy nori, sweet and slightly glazed with sauce, the baby scallops were tender and flavorful. Ikura (salmon roe) was served next. I do not usually like ikura because of the extreme saltiness of the roe. Jiro must have some secret way of preparing this, because the salt level seemed very low. I loved the flavor that mingled with the rice and nori, as each ball burst in my mouth.

Best ‘anago’ After drinking water, I sadly realized there were only two pieces left, and my meal with Jiro would soon be over. But I waited with anticipation for the next piece, my absolute favorite of all, anago (sea eel). One bite and again I found myself softly moaning in pleasure. Perfect texture, meaty and sweet, this was the best anago I’ve tasted, ever. The last piece presented, a perfectly formed square tamago (egg), looked very different from others I have eaten. This was more cake-like in texture, and sweet. I liked it, though I thought it could be less sweet. When the 19 pieces of sushi were served, the chefs exclaimed something in unison, like a signal that ended the meal. Jiro looked our way and nodded his head. The entire meal took around 25 minutes. Though it seemed very quick, it did not feel rushed at all. I even had time to take a photo of each item as it was being served to us. We ate at our own pace, savoring each bite, marveling at the flavors we were experiencing. Perfect pacing The pacing was perfect.

As we finished each piece, a new one came out at almost the exact moment we were done chewing. It is said that sushi must be eaten as soon as it is placed in front of you, because each ingredient is perfect at that very moment. The apprentice watched us intently throughout the meal. If my glass of water was almost empty, he went to fill it up. If my husband’s tea was getting cold, he brought out a new steaming cup. He was very attentive and thorough. If my plate got dirty, he wiped it clean before the next piece arrived. We ended the meal with full stomachs. When the apprentice asked if we wanted more, we regretfully declined, though I felt like kicking myself now for not having had one more piece of uni and anago. After finishing our sushi, we were asked to transfer to the tables in front of the counter, leaving our space open for the second lunch seating. The dessert was then served. One perfect slice of ice-cold, extremely sweet, juicy musk melon. Musk melon is said to be one of the most expensive kinds of melon in Japan.

In Tokyo, a single melon can cost anywhere from Y5,000-Y40,000. As we got up to leave, Jiro went outside with us. With a small smile he gestured for me to stand near him for a photo. The picture-taking done, he turned toward us and bowed, thanking us in Japanese. Pure precision I wished we could have spoken to him a bit, but there was the language barrier, and he had to go back in to serve his newly arrived customers. So, was it worth the price? Was the experience worth all that? The sushi definitely was outstanding. It was also the fastest, simplest, no-frills meal we have ever eaten. Yet in its simplicity was pure precision and excellence. It was, from beginning to end, a mesmerizing performance, a homage to the art of making sushi.

Having watched the documentary and knowing what a life quest this has been for Jiro, the 10 years it takes to apprentice under Jiro before one becomes a shokunin, how much preparation goes into making the rice, curing the fish, hand-toasting the nori, massaging the tako, all the flawless little details behind the scenes that contributed to this one perfectly thought-out meal, it certainly was more than worth it. It was truly a sublime experience—the chance to meet Jiro, watch him work and have the honor of being served by him. This small, unassuming man who, at 86, is still on a life journey to achieve perfection in his craft. How inspiring is that? Because of this one perfect meal, like Jiro, I will forever be dreaming of sushi. (Information on the definition of shokunin is from “Japanese Woodworking Tools: Their Tradition, Spirit and Use” by Toshio Odate.) Dedication on a plate in 'Jiro Dreams of Sushi' | The Japan Times SHARE To be a shokunin (artisan) in Japan means, among other things, rising in the morning to do the exact same thing as yesterday and the day before and the day before.

Past and future melt into a flowing continuum of a never-ending present where the artisan and his or her craft are cocooned together, engaged in a conversation from which everyone and everything else is excluded. The bond is tighter than family. The obsession and dedication exceeds any love relationship. The true shokunin is far less interested in seeking personal happiness than in having the confidence that tomorrow, their craft will be a little better than today. At 87, sushi master Jiro Ono of restaurant Sukiyabashi Jiro remains locked into the sacrosanct niche of artisanship he carved out for himself some 70 years ago. His restaurant, a literal hole in the wall located in the underground corridor near a Tokyo subway station, has a global reputation for serving the most precious sushi meal a human being can hope to savor. The place seats just 10, but chefs such as Joel Robuchon of Taillevent to Ferran Adria of El Bulli have dined there.Tom Cruise is a famed Ono fan, and Hugh Jackman tweeted about the “unbelievable” meal he had.

But no matter who walks in through the doors, Ono remains expressionless — or rather, his normal expression of self-discpline and dedication never wavers. He rarely makes small talk with the customers, with the exception of a few long-time regulars. When he cracks a smile, it shows he’s in an exceptionally good mood, which indicates the fish procured that day has met with his aesthetic approval. Otherwise, it’s just him and his sushi, and his concentration is intense. In 2008, a young man from New York strode into Sukiyabashi Jiro. David Gelb was 26 years old at the time and was accompanied by famed food critic Masuhiro Yamamoto, who was given to understand that Gelb — son of Metropolitan Opera manager Peter Gelb — was making a documentary about sushi. But as the two began to eat Ono’s legendary omakase (leave-it-to-the-chef) plate, the younger man from America fell silent. What he was about was much too serious, his taste buds seemed to be exploding with ecstatic joy.

By the time the meal was over, Gelb’s mind was made up: His film was going to be about Ono and none other, and he told Yamamoto so right away. “I come from a family that values art, food, music — we always celebrated culture,” says Gelb, whose childhood memories are studded with spectacular meals both in restaurants and at the family table. “So I have this innate, inbred appreciation of good food. But I was floored by the experience at Jiro.” So floored, in fact, that when his request to film Ono at work over a four-week period was flat-out denied by the master himself, Gelb politely asked again. And again. Ono was skeptical about the young filmmaker’s assurance that the shooting would in no way disrupt the work flow behind the counter. The minute that happened, Gelb said, he would stop the camera and go away. Ono was in a quandary. Since earning a three-star Michelin rating the same year, the sushi master had been inundated by media requests and he found the whole thing so distracting he refused to grant any interviews — period.

But Gelb’s gentle persistence won out, and Ono found that the young director was as good as his word. Gelb was never disruptive, was unfailingly polite and Ono could sense his deep sincerity. In the summer of 2010, Gelb came to Tokyo again for another month, to film the tuna auction at the Tsukiji wholesale market. This time, Ono consented to have Gelb along on a rare (albeit brief) holiday trip to his hometown in Shizuoka Prefecture. To the average Tokyoite, eating at Jiro’s restaurant just does not happen, perhaps in the same way the average Parisian can live and die without ever dining at La Tour d’Argent. At Jiro’s reservations must be made at least three months in advance and the price starts from ¥30,000 per person. The place is open seven days a week and it’s full every night. Ono must be no stranger to wealth and all its privileges, but there’s no evidence of that in Gelb’s documentary. “He could open 100 restaurants if he wanted to. He could have retired to any exotic location on the globe decades ago,” says Gelb.

“But for Jiro-san and thousands of shokunin like him, work — or their chosen craft — is its own reward. I find that fascinating.” Ono’s two sons feature in the film (his eldest son, Yoshikazu, works in the main restaurant alongside his father, and his second son, Takashi, had opened a more relaxed venue in Roppongi Hills) but no one so much as mentions the existence of Ono’s wife. Roger Ebert wrote in his review that he couldn’t help but wonder whether when making love to his wife Ono regretted the time spent away from his sushi. Indeed, Ono says anything in life not pertaining to work is pretty much a time-waster. Strange as it may seem to a Western perspective, the Japanese mindset will accept this as natural. A real shokunin will immerse himself in the lake of his profession and never come out, as personal emotions and concerns fade into an obscure background. The Japanese have an inherent understanding that this is what it takes and there’s really no tradition for analyzing the reasons why.

Consider that in the Edo Period (1603—1867) caste system, the artisan class ranked higher than merchants — they were respected and protected as contributors to tradition, whereas the merchants were a little despised as nothing more than moneymakers. “Still, I know that Jiro-san loves his sons deeply,” says Gelb. “You can see it in his face in some of the scenes. His own father had never been there for him, and I think that kind of experience can drive a man in two different directions — repeat the cycle of misery, or try to be better. I get the feeling that once Jiro-san chose to go the latter route, he has striven every day to be better on multiple levels. As a father, as a sushi master, as a craftsman and a human being.” Or maybe for Ono, there simply is no distinction. “Jiro Dreams of Sushi” opens in cinemas on Feb. 2. For more information, visit (English), or the restaurant’s website at .

Documenting Jiro Ono's quest for the perfect sushi | The Splendid Table Documenting Jiro Ono's quest for the perfect sushi Share Share Share3 Jiro Dreams of Sushi Another side of the sushi that we pick up at the takeout counter is the subject of a quiet and fascinating new documentary: Jiro Dreams of Sushi . Jiro Ono is 85 and he’s considered the finest sushi maker in the world. His life has been about finding perfection in sushi above everything else. Sukiyabashi Jiro , his Tokyo sushi bar, is in what looks like a subway tunnel of an office building. There are only 10 seats and you wait months to get one of them. Filmmaker David Gelb followed Ono as he worked with his son and talked about this life. Lynne Rossetto Kasper: Who is Jiro-san? Jiro Ono crafts sushi at Sukiyabashi Jiro (Photo: Jiro Dreams of Sushi) David Gelb: Jiro is a sushi chef who works in the basement of an office building in Tokyo, and he’s known by chefs around the world as being the world’s greatest sushi chef.

He’s 86 years old now and he was a child during the Great Depression in Japan. His parents could not afford to support him, so they essentially told him, “Go get a job; you’re on your own from now on.” He became an apprentice at a restaurant and had to work incredibly hard just to survive, because there were many young people who also needed jobs. If he were ever to screw up, they would have kicked him out. Ever since he was young, he’s had to work incredibly hard just to survive. He only discovered his talents years into his apprenticeship and grew to truly love what he does. LRK: From watching the film, there’s no gimmick. We think of sushi in this country and we think of rolls and combinations, but he’s doing fish and rice. DG: Yes. This is the great misunderstanding about sushi. Nigiri is the traditional Tokyo style of sushi, which is where the fish is on top of the rice -- it’s the classic appearance of sushi. These large rolls like California rolls and Philadelphia rolls are all American creations.

But sushi is a lot more than just fish and rice, and Jiro through decades and decades of trial and error has managed to create the perfect balance between the rice and the fish. The temperature of the rice, the type of rice, the process of cooking the rice -- which is cooked in a very high-pressure situation -- and the preparation of the fish requires years and years of experience. The preparation of the fish requires years of trial and error to age it just the right amount, to marinate it for the perfect amount of time and in the perfect type of vinegar. If they’re marinating it in vinegar, they salt some of it; some of it is simply aged in a refrigerator for the appropriate amount of time. All of these factors come together to produce what is really the perfect bite. LRK: It was interesting to see the years of apprenticeship by the people in his kitchen before they could make an omelette, and the amount of perfectionism that’s at work in that kitchen. Jiro-san does not seem to be someone who is extraordinarily open. What was the most difficult part of the process? DG: The most difficult part was the language barrier between myself and Jiro and Yoshikazu, his son.

Getting them to accept me and to allow me to make the film was actually easier than I thought it would be, and this is all thanks to Yamamoto-san [Masuhiro Yamamoto], the food critic who appears in the film as something of a narrator. He convinced Jiro-san that I would be the right guy to make this kind of movie, simply because I came in as a blank slate. I had no agenda specifically other than to tell the story of Jiro and Yoshikazu from their perspective. I’ve learned that patience is the key to earning the trust of your subject. I managed to find a way to embed myself into their daily routine but without influencing them or distracting them. LRK: As I was watching the film unfold -- seeing the level of dedication that Jiro-san had for his work, he lived and breathed sushi, and demanded that of his son -- I felt rather sorry for his son. It didn’t seem his son had any choice about what his life was going to be. DG: Jiro-san once said that sometimes you don’t choose your job, and your job chooses you.

There were many things that Yoshikazu wanted to do; he wanted to be a race car driver and he wanted to be a fighter jet pilot. But I think that he is very proud to be where he is and to do what he’s doing by the side of his father. From This Episode: In ‘Jiro Dreams of Sushi,’ chef’s philosophy is reflected in filmmaker’s approach - The Washington Post In ‘Jiro Dreams of Sushi,’ chef’s philosophy is reflected in filmmaker’s approach The inside track on Washington politics. Be the first to know about new stories from PowerPost. Sign up to follow, and we’ll e-mail you free updates as they’re published. You’ll receive free e-mail news updates each time a new story is published. You’re all set! Jiro Ono and his son Yoshikazu in ‘Jiro Dreams of Sushi.’ (Magnolia Pictures) By Mark Jenkins By Mark Jenkins March 22, 2012 David Gelb went halfway around the globe to make his first feature, a documentary about master chef Jiro Ono, whose 10-seat Tokyo restaurant boasts three Michelin stars.

But in a way, “ Jiro Dreams of Sushi ,” which opened in Washington on Friday, is a homecoming. “My parents took me to Japan for the first time when I was 2 years old,” Gelb said by phone from Los Angeles. That was in 1985, when the filmmaker’s father, Peter Gelb, was assistant manager of the Boston Symphony Orchestra. Its music director at the time was Japanese conductor Seiji Ozawa, and the orchestra performed in Japan frequently. “I would come along with my mom, as well,” the filmmaker said. “So I started eating cucumber rolls when I was 2 years old.” Sukiyabashi Jiro, which has a tiny space in the basement of a Ginza office building, does not serve cucumber or any other kind of roll (“maki” in Japanese). “Real sushi chefs don’t even see that as sushi,” Gelb said. “It’s a whole different category of food.” The restaurant charges about $300 for 20 pieces of nigiri, which balance toppings (usually but not always raw fish) on hand-shaped lumps of delicately flavored rice. Each of the 20 pieces in a course is different.

“It’s just an incredibly satisfying and thrilling sensation to eat a perfectly balanced piece of sushi,” said Gelb, who admitted to a squalid past in which he regularly ate low-grade sushi. “After working on this film, I began to realize that the true art of sushi lies in these high-end restaurants. So now I go maybe once a month, but I pay five times as much.” Like many high-end Japanese businesses, Sukiyabashi Jiro didn’t encourage non-Japanese patrons. “Originally, Jiro didn’t really like foreign customers that much,” Gelb said, “because they didn’t know that much about sushi.” Since Michelin published its first guide to Tokyo eateries in 2008, however, Ono now “loves to show foreigners the potential of sushi,” Gelb said. “If people are willing to come to the restaurant and try sushi his way, he’s always glad to have them.” Sushi made Ono’s way is the essential subject of Gelb’s documentary, which was filmed mostly in Sukiyabashi Jiro.

(There are side trips to a spinoff location and to Tokyo’s massive Tsukiji fish market, as well as to a reunion of Ono’s childhood friends.) Ono and his apprentices, who include middle-aged sons Yoshikazu and Takashi, demonstrate everything from making egg custard to massaging octopus flesh to make it tender. Jiro Ono’s 10-seat Tokyo restaurant boasts three Michelin stars (Magnolia Pictures) Originally, Gelb planned “a movie about sushi, in all of its different forms.” Then he was introduced to Ono by a Tokyo food critic, Masuhiro Yamamoto. “Everything that I wanted to convey about sushi could easily be presented from Jiro’s perspective,” the director said. The film became more personal when it came to focus on Ono, who was 85 when the movie was shot in 2010, and older son Yoshikazu, who will someday inherit the business. “It’s a human story, set in the world of sushi,” Gelb said. The director never filmed when the restaurant was in operation, although he does include one scene in which Jiro prepares a meal for invited guests.

Rather than emphasize the bustle of the restaurant business, Gelb highlights Ono’s craftsmanship. The depiction of the chef’s work and outlook is surprisingly intimate, especially since it was accomplished through translators. (Gelb described his Japanese as “poor.”) Gelb prepared the translators with the topics and questions to be covered and did pre-interviews with Ono and his staff. “The first few days of the production, I didn’t even bring the camera with me,” Gelb said. “This was just so they could get used to me being around.” The filmmaker also enlisted Yamamoto to ask some of the questions. “I knew that their rapport, and their history together, would bring out more candid answers from Jiro,” Gelb said. “If we missed something,” Gelb added, “we would shoot another interview, until we got it right. That’s something we kind of picked up from Jiro. Keep doing it over and over again until it’s right.” The director owes more than a taste for sushi to his father, now the general manager of New York’s Metropolitan Opera. The elder Gelb, who has produced numerous TV shows and documentaries about classical music and musicians, indirectly introduced his son to filmmaking.

And, of course, to classical music. But the use of compositions by Bach, Mozart, Tchaikovsky and Philip Glass in “Jiro Dreams of Sushi” is not simply a matter of personal taste. “It was all about elevating the elements of the movie to [Ono’s] level as much as possible,” Gelb said. “The way that Philip Glass’s music is repetitive but always building on itself and escalating — Jiro’s work ethic is sort of analogous to that. He is doing the same routine every day and looking for that one step of improvement.” Ono’s “whole ethos is about mastery of simplicity,” Gelb said. “So we don’t use any sort of graphics, or any special effects in the film, beyond speeding things up and slowing them down. It’s just a very simple movie, with elegant camera work and music. We want the film to feel like a movie that Jiro would make, if he were a filmmaker. Just very simple and pretty. But deep at the same time.” So Ono’s sushi is a metaphor for the director’s approach to filmmaking? “I see his philosophy,” Gelb said, “as a metaphor for everything.” Jiro Dreams of Sushi This question originally appeared on Quora .

Answer by Sheila Christine Lee , I prefer "food geek" over "foodie": Advertisement My response to my friend's message immediately afterward: "As expected, which means slightly disappointing, but I'm glad I went." I dined at Sukiyabashi Jiro (the main restaurant covered in Jiro Dreams of Sushi ) in the Ginza district of Tokyo in January. Reservations are essentially impossible to get, especially for a foreigner: You must make the reservation in Japanese with a Japanese address and a Japanese phone number. Jiro takes reservations on the first of each month for the following month and books up within days. A friend's mom called the restaurant countless times—we're talking hours on the telephone—in the first days of December and landed us a reservation for mid-January. The exterior of Sukiyabashi Jiro Courtesy of Sheila Christine Lee Approaching the restaurant was surreal, having seen the documentary twice. It was thankfully not too hard to find and looks just as expected. Jiro Ono and his first son, Yoshikazu, were there in uniform, ready for us. I was told that I could take photos of the food but to please not take any photos of people.

We had: Advertisement Courtesy of Sheila Christine Lee Advertisement I tend to be indifferent about boiled shrimp sushi, but the kurumaebi (boiled prawn) was so sweet and wonderful. Hamaguri (clam shell) Courtesy of Sheila Christine Lee The hamaguri (clam shell) is apparently something not easy to obtain and a treat. Uni (sea urchin) Courtesy of Sheila Christine Lee Uni (sea urchin) has always been one of my favorites, and this was the best uni I've ever eaten. The sweetness and smoothness was surreal. Tamago (egg) Courtesy of Sheila Christine Lee Tamago. The famous egg conclusion in the movie, and it's as good as it's talked-up to be. The spongy texture was completely different from other tamago I've had (this was more cakelike), and the hint of sweetness was just perfect. Advertisement The meal lasted about 30 minutes, which makes it the most expensive meal I've ever eaten in dollars per minute. We got to keep our napkins, and after payment, we were sent out on our way. Was it the best sushi I've ever eaten?

The standout pieces absolutely were for those specific fish and egg, but taking into account the entire meal and experience, I'm hesitant to say Sukiyabashi Jiro was the best sushi meal I've ever had. I had sushi a good number of times during my trip and enjoyed some of those other meals at least as much. More questions on Restaurants : Jiro Dreams of Sushi | Times Higher Education (THE) Times Higher Education (THE) Last Name * Email * A valid e-mail address. All e-mails from the system will be sent to this address. The e-mail address is not made public and will only be used if you wish to receive a new password or wish to receive certain news or notifications by e-mail.

Password Higher education updates from the THE editorial team World University Rankings news New offers, products and services from THE/TES Global Choose your profile * GO Jiro Dreams of Sushi A documentary about a Japanese Michelin-starred perfectionist has tasty titbits but not enough meat for Barak Kushner’s taste January 10, 2013 Itamae-san: Jiro Ono, the subject of David Gelb’s documentary, reflects on his Tokyo sushi restaurant’s extraordinary Michelin-starred success via gnomic pronouncements such as ‘simplicity in taste is purity’ Starring Jiro Ono Released in the UK on 11 January The premise is simple - how much would you pay for a meal of small strips of raw fish on top of finger-sized portions of subtly scented rice? This essentially defines sushi, and it is the dilemma that presents itself in the documentary Jiro Dreams of Sushi. For the past six years, one of the best-known sushi restaurants in Japan, tucked away in the basement of a Tokyo office building and housing a mere 10 seats, has maintained three coveted Michelin stars.

Unfortunately, while attempting to answer why people will pay exorbitant amounts for this delicacy in a setting that is arguably far from the normal Michelin standard, this film continually departs from the main story and gets fixated on repeating the same mantra over and over - informing the audience that to be a great chef you need consistency, love of work and several other forgettable key elements. For viewers who have enjoyed the sizzling pace, excellent sound editing and sultry narration of the UK television show MasterChef, Jiro Dreams of Sushi will disappoint as much as it intrigues. With prices starting at ¥30,000 (£222) a person for a set menu of about 20 pieces of sushi (and the restaurant accepts only cash), the food had better be good. No, it had better be something transcendent to be worthy of such expense - and the film goes to great lengths, with extensive shots of food preparation and sombre moments of reflective classical music, to prove it. The story is more interesting than we suspect at first because we learn that Jiro Ono had a fairly disrupted pre-war childhood, marred by a drunken father who left the family early and parents “who did not take care of me”.

Perhaps it is because of his exceedingly poor background that Jiro developed a unique approach to his career as a sushi master, continually pushing himself to perfect his technique. But with sushi, what precisely does that mean? Is it enough to claim that “simplicity in taste is purity”, as a Japanese food critic and Jiro himself both state, or is this nonsense? A few years ago in Japan there was a popular TV show, whose title is best translated as Can You Discern the Difference?, in which celebrities who thought they knew a thing or two about fine food and wine were put through their paces. To our viewing delight, most of these self-professed gourmets failed to distinguish between the equivalent of an £8 and a £500 bottle of claret. It is well known that over the past several decades Tokyo has become a Mecca for international foodies and that customers there will form long lines for dishes ranging from ramen to hamburgers and even Krispy Kreme doughnuts. And such behaviour is no longer found just in Japan - it is a trend taking over East Asia.

Last month in Taiwan I spent every morning and evening walking by a cake stand no bigger than a large closet where two men slaved away over hot stoves to serve a line of people that never seemed to abate. I wondered - were the snacks that good or did people wish to participate in a public ritual that made them appear as if they were in the know and could share in something superior? Although I enjoy sushi now, I found it revolting when I first moved to Japan in the early 1990s, and my disgust was shared by many other Westerners. Decades later, we have to admit that by this point in time, even in the West, an appreciation of sushi is considered almost de rigueur for the cosmopolitan and the poseur. While the film does not enter that discussion, it occasionally treats us to exciting scenes in the world’s biggest fish market auctions, which happen in the early morning at Tsukiji. It is marred, however, by torpid scenes of Jiro sitting with his eldest son, Yoshikazu, who is waiting to take over the family restaurant, or with his second son, who already runs an outlet restaurant in another part of Tokyo, discussing why their father is the best.

Jiro certainly embraces the Japanese concept of ganbaru, perseverance against all odds and until the bitter end, but we never quite fathom why. In the course of the film, we learn that a master chef really handles only the last 5 per cent of the process, squeezing the rice into shape and mounting the small piece of fish with a lacquer of sauce on top before reaching over the counter to serve it to the now financially drained customer. The other 95 per cent of the preparation before the fish makes its final journey derives from the selfless efforts of all those in the kitchen, Jiro admits. In addition, for fresh fish and the best rice the master relies on his long-standing personal relationships with various vendors throughout the city. Jiro may receive the public accolades, but his performance depends on the support from below of those he has trained. In underlining the hard work and dedication required to succeed, the film continually references the fact that aspiring sushi chefs need to apprentice for 10 years before being considered a shokunin, a professional craftsman in their trade. It is similar to what my brother-in-law used to say when he taught karate - “When you obtain your black belt, you have just started to become a student.

All those years of preparation to get to that point just form the base of becoming a master.” In Japan, traditional occupations such as cooks in Japanese restaurants still follow the iemoto system. In this strict hierarchy, a version of the lord-vassal relationship, the ultimate reward will be the official recognition of one’s talents that can be used to enter a tightly controlled guild. It is at once both a demanding and a destructive structure, helping to lift some individuals to exacting heights of ability and at the same time crushing the hopes of many by allowing a form of bullying to govern personal relationships. Given the structural changes of the Japanese labour market, the value of such experience, whatever its merits or demerits, is growing less compatible with the demands of contemporary lifestyles. The famed sociologist Max Weber may have waxed poetic about the Protestant work ethic, but he certainly could not have envisaged 85-year-old Japanese chefs with a similar drive. It is interesting to note that even though we admire and criticise the Japanese for their fantastic work effort - as evidenced by Jiro and his attitude towards perfecting sushi - this is a fairly recent if not mostly post-war phenomenon.

During the early years of the Meiji era, in the 1870s and 1880s, foreign bosses in Japan complained that the Japanese lacked a sense of time, commitment and a positive attitude towards work. How things can change over just a century. This documentary poses more questions than it answers but not always in a way that makes viewers hungry - either to eat or to know more. We learn how a top-class sushi restaurant runs but cannot fully appreciate the explanation because the scenes are never truly enticingly filmed in a way that allows us to savour either the spectacle or the story. You've reached your article limit Register to continue Registration is free and only takes a moment. Once registered you can read a total of 6 articles each month, plus: Sign up for the editor's highlights Receive World University Rankings news first Get job alerts, shortlist jobs and save job searches Participate in reader discussions and post comments Or subscribe for unlimited access to: Digital editions

Question: What type of food does Jiro dream of?
Answer: Sushi