That's How It Happened

I'm reading "To Die For: 100 Gastronomic Experiences to Have Before You Die", which is far superior to the BBC's "Gastronaut". The final "experience" chosen in To Die For is raw fugu. Stephen Downes writes:

"Apparently they have a bland taste, chewy texture, and can numb the lips nicely. I say "apparently" of course because I haven't tasted fugu, and probably won't. You'll one-up me comprehensively if you do."

Oddly the GF and I have had fugu; entirely by accident. We would never be brave enough to order it, but we got served it at a restaurant called Uosue in Kyoto. It's a tiny kaseki place, run by a husband and wife team, who together do all the cheffing and waiting. They speak no english at all, and only offer omekase or "chef's choice" each night. We had a succession of fantastic tiny unidentifiable fish courses. As each dish was served the Madame brought out a japanese picture book depicting different fish, with translations into french, german, and english. She pointed at the appropriate fish, and we said "Ah hammerhead/geoduck/hamachi" etc, and then chowed down hungrily. The final course was a fish skin salad, not utterly dissimilar to Nobu's rather ubiquitous salmon skin salad. We knew it wasn't salmon though, because the flesh was translucent white, and very gelatinous. It was delicious, and I failed to notice any lip tingling. Only after we had finished it did the chef announce that it was fugu, and point out how ugly blowfish are. As far as I know there isn't a single fugu-trained chef in London, so it might be a while before I have any again.

Tags: fugu