![]() Fish prints line the walls of his home in the picturesque fishing village of Cadgwith and a chunky silver ring in the shape of a fish hugs his little finger. Simon Bradley also works for Kernowsashimi and learned ikejime from Yoshinori. View to a kill Simon Bradley appreciates the speediness of ikejime It too snaps between the teeth and while there’s depth to the flavour because the umami has had time to develop, it still tastes freshly caught. To follow is a plate of turbot usuzukuri, sliced to translucence. The texture is extraordinary: silky but crunchy, like microscopic bubble-wrap. Yoshinori serves me a bowl of turnip purée, garnished with caviar and draped with slices of raw Arctic char, a cold-water fish from the salmon family. No-jime can delay rigor mortis for an hour, standard ikejime for about eight hours and shinkei-jime for up to 24 hours. ![]() Whereas sushi is best once the fish has passed through rigor mortis – when the flesh has become tender and the concentrations of umami acids have risen – the best time to eat sashimi, according to Yoshinori, is before rigor mortis. Shinkei-jime is the most effective because it destroys nerves that would otherwise encourage the build-up of lactic acid. All three methods delay the process of putrefaction. Or, like Wood, you can feed a wire along the fish’s spinal cord in between spiking and bleeding ( shinkei-jime). You can stun the fish, immediately spike them in the brain and leave them to bleed out in water through an incision in their gills (standard ikejime). You can simply submerge them in ice water (a method known as no-jime). Japanese chefs will tell you that there are three variations on ikejime. The first cut An incision is made in the gills What’s better for the chef is also better for the fish: ikejime involves ending the fish’s life in the least stressful way, as soon as it comes out of the water. Ikejime prolongs the length of time for which the flesh remains fresh beyond other methods of slaughter, meaning chefs can take advantage of a greater range of textures and control the development of umami as the fish ages. The development of innovative ways of killing and preparing fish had been encouraged by Japan’s 1,200-year-long ban on eating meat, which wasn’t lifted until 1872. Ikejime, which translates as “closing the fish”, was refined about 200 years ago during Japan’s Edo period. ![]() Yoshinori was determined to bring ikejime to Britain, and, five years after getting in touch with Kernowsashimi, the Cornish wholesaler that employs Wood, he finally convinced a handful of their fishermen to practise the fiddly and time-consuming technique. Even if the fish is treated well – kept cool, handled carefully – its freshness rapidly diminishes, along with its taste. Unless a boat comes in the same day as it goes out, a catch might have already lingered for a day in the hold. “When fish comes to London, it’s already a question mark for me,” he says. The fish you eat at a restaurant in Kyoto, where Yoshinori trained and worked, might have been caught as recently as six hours beforehand – even live fish can be delivered to order. As he sips espresso in his wood-panelled restaurant, he laments the freshness of fish in Britain compared to Japan. ![]() Yoshinori is a trim, energetic man, whose little free time is filled with artistic pursuits like flower arranging, calligraphy and kintsugi (the Japanese art of repairing broken pots). “Ingredients are most important in Japanese cuisine.” Bay of plenty The Lizard is the southernmost tip of mainland Britain When Yoshinori arrived in Britain from New York nine years ago, he was appalled by the quality of produce available. Wood was taught ikejime by Yoshinori Ishii, the head chef at Umu, a restaurant in London with two Michelin stars. ![]() Wood, dressed in a sun hat and a thick camouflage-print jumper under heavy-duty yellow waders, is one of a handful of British fishermen practising ikejime, a Japanese way to kill fish which – its advocates claim – is both more humane than other methods and likely to result in tastier fish. It’s a calm day in Cornwall and we’re drifting in Wood’s boat, Orca, just off the Lizard, the southernmost tip of mainland Britain. Wood removes the wire, checks the incisions at the tail and gills and submerges the bass in a bucket to bleed out before transferring it to a cooler filled with a slurry of water and ice. When the filament reaches its cranium, the fish relaxes. Its fins flare, its mouth gapes and its body spasms as the metal filament proceeds along the length of its spine, destroying nerves. As the wind whistles eerily through the fishing lines, the dead fish seems to spring to life. “I’ll have to have a pair of glasses to do this shortly,” says Daniel Wood as he threads a wire through the spinal cord of a dead sea bass. ![]()
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