Hibachi on Holidays
Unlike most of my peers who were likely disgusted by sushi until their early teens, I grew up going to one specific sushi restaurant. When I was a toddler, I used to order tuna sushi, remove the top piece of tuna, slap it all around the table, and then eat it. I’ve never been grossed out by the dish; in fact, tuna sushi is still my go-to order whenever I have the pleasure of getting Japanese food.
The same restaurant had a few Hibachi tables upstairs where my family and I would dine when we got the chance.
For those who are unaware, Hibachi is a style of Japanese food where they cook the food on a flat top in front of you. It makes both for a wonderful and dynamic dining experience. On top of that, you can rest assured that nothing unpleasant was slipped into your meal without your knowledge. Hibachi dinners are some of my fondest culinary memories.
These memories still remain wonderful in my mind, however, I can’t help but wonder how they may be tainted with the pleasant colors of nostalgia.
Robert Ji-Song Ku, a professor of Asian studies, wrote a book titled Dubious Gastronomy, which focuses on how true authenticity is nearly impossible to reach due to the subjective nature of the concept. He wrote that he found the very concept of authenticity to be “troubled, troubling, and troublesome.” I think he was saying that true authenticity of any kind is simply unattainable as it is merely a conceptual ideal, impossible in practice.
Even though I believed I was experiencing true authenticity in my childhood, it’s likely that I deemed Ota-Ya the most authentic Japanese experience one could have only as far as I was concerned. With Ji-Song Ku’s work in mind, it may be that the authenticity I imagined myself to be experiencing was painted as such only by my own subjective, Americanized picture of Japanese cuisine.
My memories are still pleasant, though, and I can’t help but look back to the otherworldly sensory experience of Hibachi: nostrils filled with the delicious smells of eastern-Asian cooking, humidity in the air from the steam of cooking fresh vegetables, a fire exploding on the table making your face hot solely for your enjoyment. The fried rice always has been one of my favorite foods. For an entrée, I always go for the steak cooked medium-well. All of the food, piping hot and plated just for you, makes up one of the most delicious dining experiences I can personally imagine.
One year I invited all of my friends to the Hibachi restaurant for dinner. Many of them had their first Hibachi experience there on that December night. I can only imagine how tedious and expensive that dinner was, but I wanted to share my favorite experience with as many people as I could. Regardless of the objective or subjective authenticity of the meal, it was still food that was just good. It made your mouth water and kept you full for hours afterward. But can’t all food do that?
A trend I’ve seen recently is the booming business of ‘Asian’ restaurants. The popping up of these restaurants that label themselves only as ‘Asian’ is hugely problematic in my eyes. Do they mean Indian? Korean? Japanese? Chinese? Thai?
I find this idea of restaurants to be troublesome in the sense that it takes a major market and variety of food and squeezes it into one box in order to maximize potential profit. Ji-Song Ku writes that ‘Asian’ is not a static term, but “rather, Asia, like the rest of the world, is in a state of continual flux and perpetual mutation, hybridization, and transmogrification.” I believe this can be easily applied to the idea of a restaurant labeling their food as ‘Asian’ in the way that Asia as a whole is not one invariable mass. It is a dynamic continent with many different cultures and types of cuisine.
Labeling one restaurant such a broad category of possible foods to me indicates that very little of it is authentic.
The food from my local Asian-Fusion restaurant is certainly still good, though.
No, it does not compare to the food cooked in small servings and prepared in front of you, but I’m a sucker for some fired rice and dumplings.
One good thing about this category of Asian restaurants is that they can cater to everyone. Not everyone likes Japanese food; not everyone finds raw fish placed on top of sticky rice appealing (for some reason) and not everyone has the luxury of sitting down for two or more hours to have their meal cooked right in front of them. Fast, good ‘Asian’ food just fits into the modern lifestyle better for the average Joe.
I’ve hinted at the idea of the notion of food being just good. Obviously, food being good is an entirely subjective thing, but so is authenticity. Each individual person has an entirely different palate of what they enjoy. For a lot of children, the only good foods are chicken nuggets and fries. I, however, would have been able to tell you from a very young age about tuna sushi and Hibachi being very good foods. Why is that?
A major part of it is simply having the experience to try new foods from many different cultures. Kwame Anthony Appiah, a philosopher and author, spoke about cosmopolitanism in his interview with Julian Brookes and stated plainly that “We have lots to share and gain from one another, whether we have exchanges based on shared identity or based on the fact that we have different identities.”
Appiah spends this interview explaining cosmopolitanism and how it’s based on the ideals of universal understanding and the preservation of certain inalienable rights. As it pertains to the goodness of food, I feel this topic showcases that one should not judge types of food from different cultures. You must go into each culinary experience with a sense of understanding. Anyone could scoff at raw fish on a plate, but they may feel foolish doing so after learning about sushi’s rich history (and tasting how good it is).
Whether or not food is good is something determined by a plethora of different things. Even still, a dish could be totally fresh and made with the highest-quality ingredients while still not being deemed as good by someone who consumes it. But why?
If I flew to Italy right now and had the best quality pizza available to me there, I would likely not feel that pizza back in the states is authentic as I once did. Based on Ji-Song Ku’s piece on authenticity, we can say that if someone experiences the most authentic version of a dish, their view of other versions of that dish would be altered.
This same idea is transferable to the goodness of food; if you have the best, the most-good, your standards are raised, and you may view what you had in the past as worse-than.
If someone has food that is in every way objectively good, but they still dislike it, this could be due to their past experiences with that dish. Whether it be that nostalgia makes a past experience seem better or that they have already had better, not everyone is going to find specific things good. The same is true for authenticity; not everyone will find the same dishes to be of the same caliber.
Hibachi is still my favorite meal and favorite special occasion. Once the pandemic comes to a close, I look forward to having it again and getting the opportunity to really think about three distinct flavors: authenticity, goodness, and nostalgia.