We almost missed the entrance to the restaurant which was nondescript except for the flapping dark blue curtains above the door. It doesn’t help that the Furusato sign outside is small and carved out of wood, unlike its neighbouring restaurants which blazon their names in neon. Inside, the rooms were rather somber and, unlike the other Japanese restaurants in Manila, we got none of the boisterous "Irrashaimase!" greeting from the waiters and waitresses.
We were ushered by Hitoshi Shimase, Furusato’s Executive Vice President, into one of the private dining rooms, the kind where shoes are left at the door and guests sit on the tatami covered floor. The room was sparse but tastefully decorated. As we sat down and kimono-clad waitresses started placing the exquisite plates and table settings, my hopes for a sumptuous meal of sushi, sashimi and tempura began to fade. This was going to be something else, I thought. Something special perhaps.
While we were sipping a light aperitif, shokuzenshu, made of plum wine and lime soda, Mr. Shimase began explaining the culinary experience we were about to have. The lunch was going to be kaiseki food. "The word kaiseki comes from warm stones (seki) which Buddhist priests put in their robes to forget they have empty stomachs (kai) while praying or meditating," he explains. "During the 18th century in Kyoto, the eighth Shogun, Yoshimasa Ashikaga, built a rustic teahouse to entertain foreign guests. With the tea ceremony, he started serving small meals on elegant plates. These minimalist dishes came to be called kaiseki because they served the same purpose as the warm stones did."
Minimalist dishes are cute and probably tasty, I thought, but are they filling? Nevermind, the amiable Mr. Shimase was an engaging conversationalist and at times very funny too. The first small dish, sakizuke, was brought in: a delicious combination of grilled mushroom, grated raddish with peanut sauce and a tiny deep-fried rice cake. Then the other appetizer came, zensai, made up of smoked salmon, steamed chicken meat with cheese, fried genku nuts and salted cuttlefish. The dish was delicately designed and laid out on a beautiful farmhouse ceramic plate which my friend Jacintha couldn’t help but admire.
"We spend 50 million yen for Furusato tableware," Mr. Shimase reveals with pride. That’s about half-a-million dollars, I immediately calculated. "The plates, bowls and cups used for kaiseki food must conform with the nature of the food. Although the origin of the kaiseki is Buddhist, the philosophy behind this particular cuisine comes from Shinto beliefs on the primacy of nature. The four seasons and the foods of each season are the cornerstones of the cuisine. The kaiseki menu and tableware therefore vary according to the spirit of the season," he explains.
Next came the soup, owan, a tasty sea scallop shaped like a kiku flower (chrysanthemum) and included real kiku petals. "The soup’s base is the broth from bonito (boiled fish) and sea kelp. This is the base of Japanese food taste, not ajinomoto," Mr. Shimase declares with authority.
The hot soup seemed perfect for the autumn kaiseki fare we were having. I was also beginning to get full, having finished everything that was served so far. "How many more dishes to go?" I inquired of our host. "Only eight more dishes to go. Kaiseki meals usually include 12 or 13 dishes." Mr. Shimase proudly declares. Jeannie, Jacintha and I exchanged astonished looks: "Are we going to survive this culinary feast?" we all seemed to say behind our smiles.
Then surprise! I got my sashimi, but this time it was called tsukuri, an array of raw seafood–cuttlefish, tuna, winter shrimp and salmon roe served on a bed of basil leaves and raddish shavings. Mr. Shimase explains, "Furusato imports almost all of its seafood from Japan and they are of topmost quality and always fresh." Japan in turn imports most of its seafood from the United States, China, Norway, Korea, Thailand, Taiwan and Indonesia. The Philippines used to be a big supplier of tiger prawns until the industry collapsed in the early 90s due to technology problems. The Japanese are great seafood eaters, consuming 8.5 million tons every year.
We were all full at that junction but the cold sake served on dainty stoneware cups helped lighten the load. Next came the nimono or boiled dish, consisting of chicken boiled in cornstarch with gabi, eggplant and beans. The dish was served in an exquisite bowl, blue and white inside, individually handpainted outside in green, brown and earth colors. Each bowl, according to Mr. Shimase, costs $50. We handled our bowls with admiration–and extreme care.
The next dish was also served on a beautiful ceramic plate shaped like a green leaf. It was the yakimoto dish of grilled beef with mushrooms, ground raddish and pickled ginger. The food arrangement on the plate was delicate and elegant, finely illustrating how French nouvelle cuisine was derived. Next came the agemono or fried dish consisting of deep fried lobster marinated with ginger and soy sauce and served with sweet potato. The ginger made a nice tingling touch to the otherwise very rich dish.
Lest the readers think at this point that we were having a culinary bacchanalia, each of the dishes really had very small servings. Nonetheless, we were really full and were barely able to finish the next two dishes–the sunomono or vinegared dish of sea urchin and spinach and the shokuji or main dish consisting of half grilled lapu-lapu boiled in rice. I think Mr. Shimase noticed our predicament and decided to skip serving one of the prepared dishes.
To complete the fare, we were served kanmi or dessert of Japanese rice cake with matcha (green tea) flavor and mongo beans. The meal ended with a scoop of green tea ice cream.
Whew, we made it!
What I learned from this Furusato experience is that kaiseki is more than Japanese food. It goes beyond the style of cooking and food preparation. Mr. Shimase sums it up, "A kaiseki meal is imbued with the spiritual hush of the tea ceremony, its serene balance of food and utensil, and the visual celebration of nature’s delicious bounty. It is the tongue-tingling zenith of the Japanese dining experience." As I struggled to rise from the floor and plod back to my car, I couldn’t help but agree totally.