(gentle music) Welcome to my world. Two escargot fonte. Two green salads. Okay, pan and sauce here. Lamb chops, steak frites. Shouldn't you be
doing something? Two sole fillet
and a pepper steak. C'mon, make the dessert. Chocolate tart please. As a cook, tastes and
smells are my memories, and now I'm in
search of new ones. So I'm leaving New York
City and hope to have a few epiphanies
around the world, and I'm willing to go to
some lengths to do that. I'm looking for extremes
of emotion and experience. I'll try anything,
I'll risk everything, I have nothing to lose. Tokyo, Japan is
ultra-fast ultra-modern, and completely 21st century. Japan, with a
grande triple latte. The amount of neon and activity, it's an overwhelming
dose of things Japanese, but also some things familiar. Coca-cola in the morning,
that's a breakfast of champions. I'm a New Yorker, I'm
very aware of the fact that I'm someplace else when
I'm not in New York City. Yet Tokyo, somehow, still
seems to make sense to me. It's a modern urban experience. I wanted to explore
elements of Japanese cuisine more alien to the
Western palate. I thought it was a very good
idea to get out of Tokyo. It was something I
hadn't done before. We're going to
Atami to a ryokan. A traditional country inn
with onsen, hot springs for kaiseki, which is again
a very old and refined style of dining. We're taking the bullet train,
I believe, the Shinkansen. So we're going to
take a very fast train to a very slow place. Look at that. Looks like the space
shuttle, doesn't it? I love the compacted
insect life on the front. I think that gives you an idea of how fast this thing moves. I'm a little intimidated,
I have to say. It's very formal. This is about as far away
from the urban experience as I could imagine. I'm hungry, I could
go for a bento box. Prepare for lift-off. This is a little bento box. It's what I just
bought on the train. The nice lady who came
along in the uniform. In this case I'm having a
little unagi, that's eel, sticky rice, and some pickles. There's a nice little
container here. Bento box deals like this one
are very popular in Japan. Sort of like brown bag
lunch meets fast food, only instead of a Big Mac or
PB&J, you get rice and fish. We should have this in America. The scenery whips by my
window at 150 miles per hour. That's a (bleep) fast food. (train tracks clanging) Did you just feel
that blast of air from that other
train that passed? It's incredible. 55 minutes later, having
whipped through rural Japan past Mount Fuji,
glimpses of the ocean, we find ourselves in a
mountainous seaside resort town popular for its many
ryokan with hot springs. (traditional
Japanese music plays) My first thought
driving through the pass was that the bullet train
must have gone so fast it broke the time-space barrier. How do you get yourself
as far away from the work-a-day bustle
of Tokyo as you can? You go back to the
15th, 16th century. From the minute I set
foot in the ryokan, I feel like a
Japanese feudal lord. I'm definitely being
treated like one. (greetings in Japanese) This ryokan is no Motel 6. It's basically an exclusive
getaway for affluent Japanese. With humility befitting
a Japanese emperor, I'm served a small snack,
candied date and hot green tea. Mmm, good. We are living large, man. I'm reliving every Kurosawa
film I've ever seen right now. It's a very cinematic
experience, particularly if you're a samurai
buff like I am. You really feel like you're
in another time completely. You might as well be
in 16th century Japan. This ryokan in particular
offers kaiseki cuisine, which is a cuisine dating
back many hundreds of years. It is viewed by most
as the most refined style of Japanese cuisine. It grew up around
the tea ceremony, which is incredibly elaborate
and seen as the apex of grace and sophistication. Using almost
exclusively ingredients from the local hills and water, the kitchen staff has
been busy for hours. Everything has to be
immaculately cleaned and prepared long before
any cooking begins. This isn't a style of cooking
as much as it is a discipline, but before I can nose
around in the kitchen, it is strongly recommended
that I go take a soak in the hot springs. In kaiseki cuisine, the food is inseparable
from the environment. That's very much
part of the meal. One has to be relaxed,
when sense is fully primed to appreciate it, so
goes the thinking here. So as my food is
being prepared for me, I'm being prepared for my food. When they're not
working in Japan, they give a lot of thought of
how best to relax and enjoy. Ryokan is the boiled-down wisdom
of generations of thinking about how best to relax. Who am I to disagree? (Japanese wind
instrument playing) When evening comes,
a zen-like stillness settles over the whole mountain. It's dinner hour. Now, supposedly other guests
are being served somewhere. I haven't seen any of them. In my tatami room, for
all intents and purposes, I'm the center of the universe. I'm going to have
a tremendous meal. And be entertained. This is about the most formal
experience you can have. The possibilities for rudeness and looking silly are enormous. Most of us are reasonably
familiar with a formal meal. The way one behaves at the
table, the way one dresses, the way we handle
knives and forks. But here the etiquette
is even more rigorous. (drink pouring) So you know, for a
clumsy New Yorker, completely ignorant, it can
be pretty damn intimidating. (greetings in Japanese) Fortunately, I have help. Two experienced and talented
geishas to navigate me through the meal and entertain. Believe me, I need all
the help I can get. This is like the
beginning of 2001 where they throw the bone in
the air, that's how I feel. I feel like an ape
learning to walk erect. Geishas are basically
professional hostesses. They are not call girls
like many Americans think. (greetings in Japanese) The women who have
dedicated their lives to the traditional
Japanese arts. This is highbrow service. This is good. A little sake, and I'm ready. First up is the kaiseki
equvalent of the sampler plate. There's dried mullet
eggs with radish. Wonderful texture. Oyster cooked in soy sauce. We have nothing like it. Smoked trout with lotus root. This like discovering a
new planet, a new world. And sea cucumber seasoned
with its own liver. I'm afraid to eat it,
it's so beautiful. It's like a Thomas Keller dish. Oh, wow. This is so good. I'm told the next dish
contains fish liver. That pasty lump you
see in the center? I jump right in, to
everyone's embarrassment. The proprietor who's sitting
in the wings is mortified. [Proprietor] Mix, mix. Okay, a little bit in? [Proprietor] Mix it together. It turns out this
is like getting an order of fries and
just eating the ketchup. You're supposed to dip the
fish fillets into the liver. Okay, spectacular. The dishes get
increasingly exotic, like slightly grilled squid
or soft shell turtle soup. The centerpiece of
the meal arrives. Grilled local lobster. Trying to tunnel that
out of this shell is going to be very,
very difficult. Look at this. I don't think I'll
be very good at this. I will definitely need help. Okay, this is Mount Everest. My chopstick skills
are not that good. The geishas once
again come to my aid. One of the many things we
make fun of when customers ask for a lazy lobster,
you're so stupid and so inept you can't even pull meat
out of a lobster shell. Well I can't, not
with chopsticks. (laughing) (discussing his chopstick
difficulties in Japanese) Any great cuisine grew
up around the idea of using what's local. You know, American
culinary traditions have been to make the
food the same in New York as it is in Los Angeles. And that's hurt us, I think. We have a lot of good food,
but we're afraid to show local pride, that's
what this is. This is something
from the neighborhood. You know, they're
very proud of it. This is very New England. Mmm, oh, wow. Spectacular. As I finish off my meal with a
soup of fresh local mushrooms and miso broth the
geishas treat me to a private
musical performance. (traditional samisen music) (singing in Japanese) Dinner at the ryokan. I've been just
completely seduced into the entire experience. Another couple of
days in this place, and I'd start spouting
new age psychobabble, talk about sitting
on top of a mountain contemplating a tangerine
for the rest of my life. Breakfast is another matter. This is not bacon
and eggs over easy. Now, I don't know
what the hell this is. What are these? This is seafood? There's some sort of little
sea worms or something on it and what I believe is mountain
potato dumpling underneath. Now my tongue is sounding
out violent alarm bells. This is natto, and it's
like a fermented bean. This is a really
frightening texture. I mean, it's mucilaginous. This is like eating out of
a spit cup at the dentist. And it takes every bit of
strength and grit I've got not to let my face show it. Really, I'm speechless
it's so good. Despite breakfast,
I leave the ryokan more relaxed than Perry
Como on tranquilizers. (thanking in Japanese) Now I was ready for some
cuisine with an edge. Something dangerous. Thank you very much. We're on the road back
from Atami to Tokyo. We pull over to make a pit stop. You know, a little bathroom
break, pick up a few snacks. Ah, the great American truck
stop, I feel right at home. This is not the Vince
Lombardi service center on the New Jersey turnpike. It's a vending machine paradise. The Japanese love
building complex machines for simple tasks. A cup of Acapulco, a
cup of Tom and Jerry. What to do, what to do,
they all look so good. I decide to start
with a ticket machine. It will spit out a ticket you
can then bring to a counter and get a nice bowl
of udon or soba. Plain, udon, udon with fish. That's noodles for you
bridge and tunnelers. (greeting in Japanese) (taking order in Japanese) Mm, that whet my appetite. Decisions, decisions. Fries, hot dog, the other thing. I think the fries, the safe bet. Is there a Fryolator in there? That's so cute, it's got
a tiny little basket. Can I get my fries
with that, sir? How do I open this? (machine buzzing) That doesn't look right. (machine whirring) Your fries are up, sir. Oh man. Okay, oh man. This could cause serious injury. It's like hot steam
coming out of there. Mmm, soggy. Let's see, for dessert,
nothing hits the spot like marble cheesecake
ice cream cone. The Japanese love convenience
and they love machines. It sounds ominous. It's like a body being
dropped from a great height. There's almost nothing
that can't be done by a vending
machine, apparently. Mm, cheesy. I don't know how far away
a dentistry machine is. Maybe a little
coffee with dessert. But I foresee that in
the very near future. I have a mountain blend,
a mocha Kilimanjaro, mocaccino,
Frappuccino, Al Pacino. Starbucks is in real trouble. (can opening) (slurping) Cappuccino-y. That night in my hotel
room back in Tokyo, I'm having trouble sleeping. I've been thinking about the
deadly and dreaded fugu fish. Known to us as
blowfish, or pufferfish because it can blow itself
up like a big balloon. It's trump card is a
highly lethal poison. So naturally, the Japanese
consider it a delicacy. If fugu's properly prepared
by a licensed chef, it is supposed to
be completely safe. Yet every year, at
least 10 fatalities are attributed to this delicacy. I've told all my friends in
New York I'm going to eat fug... I've told my wife I'm
going to eat fug... Now that it was time for my
appointment with destiny, I'm having second thoughts. This is the stuff of legends. You eat fugu, you
turn colors, go numb, pitch over on your face on
the table and it's all over. But for me, it's kind of like
climbing culinary Everest. It's an obstacle
to be surmounted. If people are willing
to risk death, it must taste phenomenal. And I'm guessing that if
maybe you have a little bit of the poison you
might get a nice buzz. Fugu has a limited
season and this is it. That's how I find myself at
Nibiki Restaurant in Tokyo. Inside Nibiki Fugu
Restaurant, I find myself face to face with Mr. Yoshida. (greetings in Japanese) I'm not sure yet if he's
my chef or the Grim Reaper, but he definitely holds
my life in his hands. The danger of fugu comes
in its preparation. One must be licensed,
extensively trained, and handle it in certain
ways as prescribed by law. It's a fairly
complicated business to tell which parts are
toxic and which parts safe. And there's apparently no
telling how much of this toxic substance is present
in any particular fish. Every edible ounce must
be washed obsessively to make sure it doesn't contain
a single micron of poison. Once ingested, there
is no antidote. He explained that
the discarded organs must be placed
under lock and key, sent back to the Tsukiji
Market and disposed of there so that there's no possibility
of this potentially dangerous material being misused or lost. As I sit down at the table,
Mr. Yoshida assures me as long as the fish is handled
and prepared correctly, there is next to no risk. Notice that's next to no risk. The chef has just informed me
that if you do start feeling the numbness in your
extremities you're in trouble. If this is such a delicacy,
where is everybody? I feel like the victim
of some gruesome joke. Before I can slip out the
back door, the meal begins. This is the - I
think it's sashimi. Thin slices of raw fugu
served with soy sauce, chives, and ground radish
with red pepper for dipping. Mm. This is really good,
I could do this. Next up is fugu, nabe style. A simmering soup of fugu,
tofu, mushrooms, and cabbage made in a pot right
at your table. Mm, it's wonderful,
it's very subtle. I finish off the meal
with batter-fried fugu, not unlike Arthur
Treacher's Fish and Chips. You know, I could
eat this regularly. There's nothing here that's
going to really weigh you down. Here the whole idea is
you don't want to distract from the taste of the fug... It's an extraordinarily
subtle tasting fish. Okay, so fugu actually
tastes rather bland. I guess the thrill of eating
fugu is all in the risk. I mean, this is a great
cocktail party story. "Yeah, I ate the poisonous
blowfish and I survived." So I was a little disappointed. I was kind of looking
for a buzz, frankly, and maybe a little
numbness around the lips. Once again I've been laboring
under many misconceptions. You know, the fugu story I
guess it's the Japanese version of the urban legend when people
talk about it in New York as if it were something very
different than what it is. Like with most things in
Japan, the terror factor is really overrated. I mean yeah, the cuisine
in Japan is different, there's no two ways about it. But food's like art. I mean, just because
we're not Italian it doesn't mean we can't
appreciate Michelangelo. It's the same thing with food. Yet another in one of many
remarkable experiences in this incredible town. Someday in around 10
years of constant practice I think I will be a suitable
dinner companion in Japan. Until that time, I'll
have to bumble clumsily through one terrific
experience after another. (fast-paced music)
