Rice, Noodle, Fish by Matt Goulding

tradition, and Japanese formalities. And yet he was a lover of the tea ceremony, the most formal and traditional of all Japanese endeavors, which he used as a civilized way to discuss politics. When Nobunaga was betrayed and killed in 1582, Rikyu’s talents with tea were employed for a new boss: Hideyoshi Toyotomi, a former servant to Nobunaga who would go on to be one of Japan’s three great unifiers.
    During his time serving Hideyoshi, Rikyu began to reshape the dynamics of the tea ceremony. Building on the Japanese idea of wabi-sabi , appreciation for the imperfect and the inconstant, Rikyu worked to bring the tea ceremony back down to earth, to replace the ostentatious public ceremonies held by the Kyoto elite with private, reflective experiences designed to tease out in participants a deeper appreciation for the finer points of the moment—the shadows in a rock garden, the brushstrokes on a scroll, the gentle bitterness of the tea itself.
    Rikyu achieved this by stripping away all nonessentials from the ceremony. He traded lavish halls for wooden huts, golden kettles for iron pots, elaborate ceramics for simple wooden cups. Free from fancy distractions, participants could achieve the deeper meditative state the tea ceremony was supposed to evoke.

    Most students will spend decades studying and still not become official tea masters.
    (Michael Magers, lead photographer)
    In 1591 Rikyu’s relationship with Hideyoshi turned sour. Some scholars speculate Hideyoshi grew resentful of Rikyu’s growing influence in Kyoto; others point to a statue Rikyu erected of himself in Hideyoshi’s compound as the source of the ruler’s ire. Whatever the rift may have been, Hideyoshi ordered the grand tea master to commit seppuku, death by his own blade, which Rikyu did after serving up one last cup of tea to students and friends.
    Four hundred years later, Rikyu is not only viewed as the father of the modern tea ceremony but he is also by extension one of the chief architects of kaiseki.
    It has been said by more than a few smart people that to truly understand Japanese culture, you must first understand the Japanese tea ceremony. Packed into this single event you can experience the purest expression of the cornerstones of Japanese culture: flower and garden arrangements, calligraphy and scrolling, architecture and dress. And, of course, cuisine. Food became a part of the tea ceremony as a way to line the stomach before drinking strong beverages, but what started out as a light snack gradually grew to a meticulous multicourse feast.
    Today kaiseki exists as a stand-alone experience, separate from the elaborate four-hour tea ceremonies that still take place in many corners of Japan, but appropriating many of the same aesthetic anchors—scrolls, flowers, rock gardens—to carry on Rikyu’s enduring vision: an experience of gentle nourishment, a meditation on imperfection, a communion between man and nature.

    ç±³ 麺 魚

    The morning after the Nakahigashi dinner, I find Ken waiting in the lobby. “Well?”
    â€œA beautiful meal from a beautiful man,” I tell him, before running through a few of the highlights. But he senses something in my voice, some distant reservation that even I don’t register.
    â€œBut?”
    â€œNo buts. No, no. How could there be buts when there’s a six-month waiting list? The rice was lovely. The guy is obviously a genius.”
    He arches his eyebrows, cocks his head slightly.
    â€œOkay, maybe there is something. I’m not really sure what it is, but it just feels like I’m missing something, like maybe I don’t have all the pieces of the puzzle. Or maybe I’m just ill suited to kaiseki.”
    We both stand there in the lobby in silence. Finally Ken speaks up.
    â€œWhat are you doing tonight?”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBe here at ten p.m. There’s something I want to show you.”
    A few ticks after ten,