Continued, Tokyo New Wave

More than anyone I have come to know here in Japan, Kentaro Nakahara adores sushi. On occasion, it even moves him to tears. Nakahara marvels at the grace and beauty of his favorite sushi master’s technique as if he were sitting in a box at a Kabuki performance. Sometimes he gasps, covering his eyes in a dramatic moment of disbelief. His reverence for excellent sushi has no bounds. Yet Nakahara is not a sushi chef himself. He is a yakiniku (grilled beef) master, one of the most outstanding in Tokyo. He applies the philosophy, artfulness, and precision of the finest sushi techniques to the preparation of the finest beef at his restaurant, Sumibiyakiniku Nakahara.

Nakahara, born in San Jose, California, is a son, father, husband, and DJ, who became a chef later than most other Tokyo chefs. “I was very poor. I became a chef out of necessity, not because I had always dreamed of it,” he told me, with a disarming degree of candor. Authenticity makes Nakahara so likable; he does not pretend to be anyone other than who he is. He is also generous and caring; when I arrived in Tokyo, he persistently asked how I was settling in, and helped in any way he could. He models his life on the credo, “We are all a chain,” meaning that we are all interconnected.

The artisanal Tajima beef personally selected at auction and used in his barbecue is Nakahara’s specialty. As he ties his trademark blue-and-white scarf tightly around his head, he explains that this beef is known for its highly desirable shimofuri (the marbling of fat through the meat). He takes a cut of sirloin out of a refrigerator, unwrapping a piece of white silk fabric that helps the beef retain its color, moisture, and velvety texture.

Nakahara’s clientele is obsessed with his beef omakase (chef’s choice) menu, which includes an astonishing array of cuts for yakiniku, plus beef nigiri, bibimbap, and the imitable off-menu beef sando (sandwich). Silver and vibrant red chairs, luminous blue tile, and black touches make up the palette of the open, contemporary, and smokeless loft space that is Sumibiyakiniku Nakahara. An oversized silver outline of a Picassso-inspired bull emblazons one wall. As he prepares gyu katsu (beef katsu), the perfume of the sizzling rice oil wafts in the air. The texture of the beef is moist, soft, and, yes, buttery; and the outside is crisp and golden with just the right amount of sea salt. Nakahara stands behind the counter grinning from ear to ear, his pride, sincerity, and love for what he does as special as his yakiniku.

I was born in San Jose, California, and I lived there for four years. Then I went back and forth, living here and in the United States, until we moved back here to Tokyo when I was nine years old.

Hmm, this is difficult, because I rarely think that way. Maybe I ask myself, “Am I doing things the right way?”

I am actually self-trained. About thirteen years ago, I went to Tokyo Central Meat Market in Shibaura and said I wanted to buy meat, the same way as chefs directly buy fish at the Tsukiji fish market, but I was always turned down. For a week, I went every day at 7 a.m. and each time I was turned away. Then one day when I arrived they prepared white rubber boots and a white coat to dress me like a butcher, and they finally said that I could enter. I asked some of the vendors to teach me how to butcher. The best beef in Shibaura is just as good as the fish is at Tsukiji.

When well-known chefs come to eat at my restaurant, I feel inspired and as if I must be doing things correctly. Chefs like Hideki Ishikawa, Takashi Saito, Zaiyu Hasegawa (this page), and Keiji Nakazawa. I like focusing on one thing, like beef. I even have a special license for serving raw beef, a unique privilege claimed by few chefs in Japan.

I never dreamed of becoming a chef like I am now. But after doing this job for some time, I have had many opportunities to connect and become friends with many sushi shokunin [master artisans]. And I started realizing just how much I really love sushi. It is too late now to train myself to become a sushi chef, but I still respect them so deeply.

For you, what does it mean to be Japanese, and how does this affect your life as a chef?

The way I act. When I am somewhere else, I feel that I’m something different. Abroad, I feel like people are more focused on themselves. In Japan, we are always so worried about others and are always following the rules. We have a common sense of shared values. We all have a similar mind-set in Japan. Japanese are more stressed—we don’t laugh as much. We don’t want to appear arrogant. We don’t talk too much, just show. This is also how I cook and run my restaurant.

My parents lived for many years in California, my dad for thirty years. I also went to a Christian school in Aoyama, and many of my earliest friends were Japanese but felt American because they had lived in America, like I had. Because of these things, I picked up some American attitudes. I realized that I wanted to be more direct, honest, and true to myself rather than follow the crowd, which is more typically Japanese.

The Godfather. I like it because of the family story and the rules they followed: never go against the family. It’s the ultimate story of humanity.

The original meat for katsuretsu or katsu was beef rather than pork. Deep-frying was introduced to Japan from Europe back in the Meiji period, so this is inherently a Western, or yōshoku, dish. The crispy coating keeps the juiciness of the beef sealed in; the inside is buttery. It’s a simple dish but the quality of the beef is incredibly important. I find that rice bran oil is the best for frying. You can present it simply with finely shredded cabbage or in a sandwich (katsu sando) between slices of white bread.

Rice bran oil, for deep-frying

1 piece round cut of Wagyu beef tenderloin, sliced ½ inch thick, at room temperature

½ cup flour

2 eggs, lightly beaten

½ cup panko bread crumbs

Salt and freshly ground pepper

½ cup finely shredded cabbage

Fill a 6-quart pan with about 2 inches of rice bran oil and heat over medium heat until it reaches 325°F.

Put the flour in a shallow bowl, the eggs in a second bowl, and the bread crumbs in a third bowl. Season both sides of the beef with salt and pepper. Dredge the beef in the flour, shaking off the excess. Dip in the egg, then dredge in the bread crumbs.

Deep-fry the beef cutlet for about 4 minutes, until golden brown. Use chopsticks to transfer to paper towels and let rest for 2 to 3 minutes.

Cut the cutlet in half and place on a serving plate with the cabbage. Serve right away.