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ลำดับตอนที่ #86 : The secret to Japanese grilling
http://www.bbc.com/travel/story/20160317-the-secret-to-japanese-grilling
Wakayama
Prefecture, a sparsely populated region
in Japan’s Kansai region, is renowned
for its plums and mandarin oranges. Less known is that it produces what might
be the world's finest cooking charcoal.
No
ordinary cooking agent, Kishu Binchotan has been marketed as everything from an
air and water purifier to a mood enhancer. A white charcoal made from the indigenous ubame oak, it considered the world’s
best fuel for grilling, especially Japanese dishes such as yakitori (grilled chicken skewers) and unagi (grilled eel), and chefs around
the world swear that it imparts
meat and seafood with a flavour unachievable using other charcoals.
In
Wakayama City, I headed to the yakitori restaurant Mitsuboshi (4 Chome-70
Misonocho; 073-425-0666), and ordered five chicken skewers and a beer. When I
asked the chef why they use Kishu Binchotan rather than a cheaper variety of
charcoal, he listed the reasons in a well-practiced routine, emphasizing his
points with the skewers as he turned them on the grill. The white charcoal, he
said, burns at a lower temperature, doesn't release smoke or odours into the
meat, and most incredibly, he claimed, it emits far infrared waves – which
sounded far-fetched. But, I had to admit, the chicken started to taste better
the more I let myself believe it all might be true.
The
next morning I took a coastline train from Wakayama City to Minabe to meet and
observe one of the region’s finest Kishu Binchotan makers, Mitsuo Okazaki, at
his workshop. This small coastal town of 14,000 – surrounded by mountains and bifurcated by a river
that bears its name – is the country’s main producer of Kishu Binchotan, thanks
to forests full of ubame oak not found anywhere else in the world. It’s also
the largest producer ofume, Japanese plums. I was lucky enough to arrive at first bloom
and the mountainside orchards
were already white with flowers, their gentle fragrance carried on the breeze.
At
Okazaki’s workshop, he and his assistant were busy making Kishu Binchotan,
reaching into the kiln
with long metal rakes suspended from hooks. Ash floated in the air, creating a haze that diffused the
glow of the kiln, before settling on every surface it could find.
I
introduced myself as Okazaki wiped his face with a towel and grabbed a bottle
of water from a huge supply behind the piles of oak. In winter, he said, the
warmth of the kiln makes work rather pleasant, but during the humid Wakayama summers,
the intensity of the heat becomes almost unbearable. As he waited for the batch of charcoal to
finish its first burn, he explained the basics of the Kishu Binchotan process.
First,
ubame oak is baked at low temperatures in the handmade clay kiln. The
temperature is then rapidly increased before the embers are starved of oxygen by shutting the
opening to the firebox, thereby protecting the carbon in the wood. It’s that
last step that differs most from typical charcoal making.
Okazaki
explained that he knows the wood has reached the right temperature when it
turns a lemon yellow. The men then use the rakes to drag the glowing links of
wood from the oven and shift them toward the piles of ash. Okazaki
demonstrated, sending sparks into the air. Once buried, plumes of dust puffed
from the embers below, making the grey smoldering pile seem alive. The ash gradually cools the Kishu
Binchotan and gives the wood its distinctive white appearance.
I was transfixed by the
process. The combination of warmth and light lulled me into quiet observation. I felt the primal appeal of this work
and understood why family Kishu Binchotan operations have continued in this way
for hundreds of years.
But
Kishu Binchotan’s recent popularity as a household and health panacea – it’s
thought to absorb harmful chemicals better than other charcoals – has increased
demand to unsustainable levels, straining artisans like Okazaki who rely on the
limited supply of native ubame oak. Kishu Binchotan is the active ingredient in
many cosmetics, shampoos and toothpastes; the unburned charcoal is put in
closets and refrigerators to improve the air quality and absorb odours; and,
most dubiously,
it’s thought to be a mood-enhancer, due to the minus ions that are constantly
released from the activated carbon and thought to increase serotonin levels in
the brain.
When
the men finished their next batch of charcoal, I asked Okazaki what he thought
about these claims. He shrugged and said Kishu Binchotan should really be used
for its original purpose: cooking. As to which foods benefit most from Kishu
Binchotan, Okazaki rattled
off a list including wagyu beef, lamb and yakitori, but landed on saba
shioyakai (salted
mackerel) as the dish he thinks best reveals the subtle aroma of wood. The
smell of fish cooking on Kishu Binchotan reminds him of winter meals as a
child.
According
to Okasaki, the next generation will keep producing Kishu Binchotan, but not in
the same way. It’s too labour intensive and there are industrial ovens that can
now be used. But he also believes these ovens burn the life out of the wood,
noting that each bundle of branches is different from the next. It takes a
human touch to
recognize those differences, to cut only the branches that are ready, adjust
the burn time and transform ubame from simple hardwood to charcoal without
destroying that life force. The basics of making Kishu Binchotan can be learned
in a year or so, but perfecting the consistency of the charcoal is an instinct
that takes decades to develop.
The
white charcoal makers of Wakayama are more than traditional artisans. They are stewards of the ubame
forests, carefully selecting branches to maintain the health of the trees and
working collectively to prevent ubame from being exploited beyond its limits. Okazaki and his
fellow makers care deeply about creating a sustainable, high-quality product,
and about passing those ways on to the next generation. And it’s that
commitment to the entire life cycle that leads to some fantastic tasting meat.
Prefecture
(n.)
a political region or local government area in some countries, for example Japan, France, and Italy
sparsely
(adj.)
small in numbers or amount,
often spread over a large area
Renowned
(adj.)
famous for something:
indigenous (Adj.)
naturally existing in a place or country rather than arrivingfrom another place:
imparts (v.)
to communicate information to
someone
to give something a particular feeling,
quality,
or taste:
bifurcated (v.)
(of roads, rivers, branches, etc.) to divide into two parts:
orchards (n.)
an area of land where fruit trees (but not orange trees or other citrus trees)
are grown:
kiln (n.) a type of large oven used for making bricks and clay objectshard after they have been shaped
haze (n.)
something such as heat or smoke in the air that makes it less clear, so that it is difficult to see well:
(v.)
to play tricks on someone, especially a new person in afraternity or sorority
humid (Adj.)
(of air and weather conditions) containing extremely smalldrops of water in the air:
batch (n.)
a group of things or people dealt with at the
same time or
considered similar in
type
a group of students who
are taught together
at school,
college,
or university
embers (n.)
a piece of wood or coal, etc. that continues to burn after a fire has no more flames:
smolder (v)
to burn slowly with smoke but without flames:
If a problem or
unpleasant situation smoulders,
it continuesto
exist and
may become worse at any time:
If a strong emotion smoulders, it exists, but is preventedfrom being expressed:
gradually (adv.)
slowly over a period of time or a distance:
transfixed (Adj.)
(of a person or animal)
unable to move,
usually because of great fear or interest in something:
lulled (v.)
to cause someone to feel calm or to feel that they want to sleep:
(n.)
a short period of calm in which little happens:
dubious (adj.)
feeling doubt or not feeling certain:
rattled (adj.)
stewards (n.)
a person whose job it is to organize a
particular event, or to provide services to
particular people, or to take care of a particular place:
a person who serves passengers on
a ship or
aircraft
a person who organizes the
supply and
serving of
food at a club:
exploit (v.)
to use something in a way that helps you:
to use someone or something unfairly for your own advantage:
(n.)
something unusual, brave, or funny that someone has done:
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