CHARACTER

HONOR

It is true that sushi chefs tend to glow; they have a superclean, buffed sheen to them, including their oft-shaved heads. Takaaki Sugita most certainly glows. He looks as if he emerged not long ago from a detoxifying sauna. His close-cropped hair is visibly coarse and prickly, and he is dressed in all white, down to his tabi (split-toe) socks. Historically, strict cleanliness has always been of utmost importance within the discipline of sushi. One of the tenets of a proper sushi chef is isagiyosa, which means to be brave, pure, clean, and manly.

I visit Sugita at his eponymous restaurant, located in a subterranean space. It is traditional but feels brand-new, dominated by a Hinoki cypress counter. Ten chairs are covered in cream-colored cotton upholstery, and eclectic handmade pottery is displayed. In just a few minutes, I hear the scurrying of wooden geta (traditional footwear). It is Sugita.

As Sugita greets me, he smiles and bows; his voice is both powerful and warm. There is a sweetness in his eyes and the tilt of his eyebrows; he radiates kindness, wholesomeness even. He exudes an air of grace and correctness, all of which makes Sugita, at forty-three, a much loved 
and admired talent within Tokyo’s highly discerning gastronomic corridors. He is implicitly trusted as the steward of a cuisine that is closely linked to the essence and history of Japan—a cuisine that holds purity, simplicity, and minimalism in high esteem; a cuisine where nothing is hidden.

Tokyo chefs often tell me that sushi is the food they prefer on their days off. It runs deep in the country’s collective consciousness. Sugita is where many of the city’s finest chefs come to eat magnificent sushi—it is booked nearly a year in advance. It is not in the guidebooks, and Sugita himself is not all over social media. Not one for self-promotion, he functions below the fray, unconcerned with accolades, and would prefer to stay in Japan rather than travel abroad. Highly respected as both a sushi master and individual, for his skills and his character, Sugita is guided by bushido (the way of the warrior), which stresses self-discipline and honor. This may explain Sugita’s centered and solid energy.

Eating at Sugita is about more than enjoying exceptional sushi. It is a transcendent experience as powerful as music or fine art, exceedingly moving and otherworldly. It is about the discovery of the soul of a country.

Did you grow up in Tokyo?

I am from Chiba and was there until I was eighteen. After high school, I came to Tokyo. I knew I wanted to be a sushi chef, so I knew I had to come to Tokyo, the most important city for sushi.

Why a sushi chef?

When I was in junior high school, I saw a TV drama based on the life a young sushi trainee becoming a sushi chef, Iki no ii-yatsu. It seemed both beautiful and cool to me—how the sushi is made, the movement. And also the appearance of sushi chefs appealed to me.

When I was in high school, a friend of mine worked in a sushi restaurant. He asked if I could replace him part-time. When I worked in the back preparing tea, there was a little boy who came and the sushi chef served him. The little boy smiled so broadly, and this made me feel great, to see that people could have this reaction. I knew then this would be my job.

Tell me about the significance of sushi in Japanese culture.

With sushi, the chef uses his own hands to serve people directly. We don’t hide anything behind the counter. Communication is important, not just the cooking. Sushi is such a big part of Japanese identity, especially for Japanese chefs.

Sushi is very simple—rice, fish, soy sauce, vinegar. We have been eating this for so many years. Sushi cuts out anything that is not necessary. In and of itself, it is pure and brave.

Reisetsu [propriety] and the relationship between the master and apprentice are important; so, too, with the master and customer. There are rules for a sushi chef—every sushi chef prays to gods, greets everyone in a certain way. Bushido [the way of the samurai] is also a part of sushi cuisine.

What is your earliest food memory?

My mother cooked; she was not a great cook, but I liked her food. My father used to go the mountains to collect the Japanese yam called jinenjo—it’s big and long. They are hard to find. My dad would grate it to make tororo [a sticky form of the yam], and I thought it was tasty but also itchy around my mouth.

If you could meet anyone in public life, who would it be?

Ieyasu Tokugawa, a shogun in the Edo period. He wasn’t so talented, but he was very patient and learned a lot. He was known for making an effort. At the time, there was a lot of fighting, and he worked for peace. He must have had a very strong spirit. I admire this.

Is this what it means to you to be Japanese?

Not only strong spirit, but patience, the ability to learn. A sense of honor. Not to be too snobbish. To be centered. Even if you want to celebrate in front of someone who lost, you just don’t show your exuberance in front of the loser, for example. You don’t taunt them and brag. If you are centered, you can be kind to others. This way, you can be stable no matter what.

What is your favorite word?

I have a phrase that I like:

Keikoutonarumo gyugotonarunakare.

“It is better to be a big fish in a small pond rather than a small fish in a big pond.”