Kazuo Sunaga, the consul general of Japan in Atlanta, has had a long, distinguished career that has not only taken him to postings throughout the world, but allowed him to eat very well. Among his favorites were Dijon, the largest city in France’s Burgundy region, and New York.
So far, he’s had little opportunity to explore Atlanta’s restaurants, but he likes what he’s tried. Then again, he doesn’t have much need to go out, as the perks of his job include a personal chef.
After I met Sunaga at an event, he suggested I come over for lunch, and before long an email invitation arrived from his office. I showed up at the stately Buckhead home that serves as the official residence one afternoon. We chatted briefly in the living room, and then he led me to lunch at a formally set table that could easily accommodate 20 people. It was all very “Downton Abbey.” A liveried staffer poured me a glass of Chablis.
I think I made the obvious joke (“Do you eat like this every day?”). He laughed politely and said, no, but he wanted me to see what his chef could do. The first course arrived, and as desperate as I was to start taking cellphone pictures, I tried to remember my manners. It was, more or less, like the course called hassun that kicks off a formal kaiseki meal: a gorgeously arranged assemblage of small dishes on a lacquer tray to reflect the season (which was fall). I found steamed abalone, simmered squash and fried bundle of sea urchin and seaweed.
The courses that followed played off traditional Japanese flavors. There were slippery white somen noodles with myoga (a pungent rhizome-like ginger), and kelp-cured flounder slivered to transparent thinness.
Then things took a left turn. Deep-fried sea bass in a dashi fish broth arrived with a poached fig, a joyful and unexpected garnish. Next was a gorgeous, rough-hewn bowl cradling pieces of beef, braised vegetable and foie gras in a sauce that danced between French and Japanese flavors. It was the chef’s take on tournedos Rossini.
Who is this chef?
At the end of the meal, he came out: a culinary wunderkind named Ryosuke Murakami, who wears spiky hair and bluejeans. He explained that he makes all kinds of food for the consul general and his wife, Yukari. Often, they want a simple meal at home, such as a steaming bowl of udon noodles — Yukari’s favorite specialty from her home on Shikoku island.
But when the Sunagas entertain, which they do frequently, Murakami likes to do it up. In particular, he is passionate about the new cuisine emerging from Japan that uses Western ingredients showcased with Japanese sensibility. I asked if there was any chance I could come back to watch him cook.
A few months later, Murakami invited me back to the residence to join him in the kitchen. It was the first week of January, and he had to prepare a traditional soup for a New Year’s party. Called o-zoni, this soup is drunk to bring good luck during the new year.
He started by preparing dashi — the all-purpose soup stock made by boiling shaved dried bonito fish flakes and umami-rich kelp in water. After the dashi was ready, he strained out the solids and prepared his soup. He seasoned it with light soy sauce, sake and the sweetened cooking sake called mirin.
Then, he added the luck-bringing ingredients for the new year. A bamboo shoot, because it grows quickly and brings vitality. A reconstituted dried shiitake, its sides cut to look like a long-lived turtle. Red tiles of blanched carrot and daikon, adding the colors of good luck. A sliver of kamaboko fish sausage cut to look like a fan so your fortune opens up like the coming year.
Finally, the chef added a chunk of mochi rice taffy, puffy and blistered from a few minutes in a toaster over, for strength. Indeed, this chewier-than-chewy ingredient has so much elastic strength that a very few New Year’s observers choke to death on it each year. I loved it.
Then, Murakami turned his attention to the passed appetizers he was preparing for the party. He seared duck breasts in a pan until the finely scored skin crisped and the flesh had turned a rosy red medium rare. He sliced it thin and rolled each piece around a length of seared scallion and turnip. He placed each rollmop in a ceramic appetizer spoon, topped it with a cube of foie gras terrine and sided it with a candied kumquat. It was a big mouthful, and also one that made you just stop in your tracks and let the pure, clean flavor talk directly to your brain. Western ingredients, Japanese sensibility.
As I was enthusing to Murakami about how much I liked his food, his wife, Kei, and 3-month-old daughter, Hino, came into the kitchen, having just emerged from the apartment they keep at the residence. Little Hino was the most preternaturally smiley baby I’ve ever encountered in a long career of baby appreciation. She seemed to think there was something funny about my face. She might be right.
Standing around the kitchen table, we all drank cups of green tea. The new year felt very auspicious indeed.
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