Tempura Time
A visit to Tempura Tsunahachi
PC: NAS
Thank you, eel!
Tempura just after it's cooked, before coming to the diners. I like to think we didn't look too much like seals waiting for our fish.
We slipped into this restaurant for lunch and waited only a couple of minutes before being seated at the bar to watch the best tempura I HAVE EVER HAD IN MY LIFE be prepared a few feet in front of us. You watch it prepped and cooked and set onto small trays to drain off the oil, then each individual piece of tempura—in a delicate batter light as air--is delivered to your plate. The book promised as much, which was why we were so psyched to sit up at the counter. It did NOT, however, mention the how incredibly fresh the food would be. . . and by “fresh," I mean, “alive.”
The place is hopping, so the chefs are moving quickly, economically, and with an almost mechanical precision, to make everything to order in a graceful dance: dip into bins below the counter and pull up a pair of lovely large prawns (legs and antennae waving in vain protest) to display to the diner for his or her approval/admiration (good color? nice wigglers?!). Then the head is quickly snapped off between thumb and forefinger, and it’s off to the batter! The heads are served almost immediately, delightfully and delicately crunchy, almost in the way that a Pringles chip is. The smaller whitefish are retrieved, dispatched, and cleaned with less fanfare (but probably no less dismay on their part), before heading to the fryer in about a five-second turn. Descaling larger ones (the length of my hand) took maybe another five with a neat little scrubber tool. Eels were the slowest, but I would clock the full pre-fry process at 7-10 seconds. Honestly, we just stared. But the eel? Up would come the eel in the chef’s hand, lashing and writhing furiously. In a brisk arc, the chef would settle its head down on the board (body whipping his wrist), lop the head almost completely off (writhing slowed), then, with one more arc, spike the eel at the top of the spine. Swoosh, a quick saw-swipe to split it cleanly full length before gutting it with two or three deft strokes more. Done. To batter, and thence to boiling oil, before the drain and service to the bank of happy, hungry diners.