DALLAS SUSHI -- -- SOMETHING TO YAK ABOUT By Chris Mathison 2000

    Several lives were risked for the sake of this story. Details within.

    My former Japan Times colleague, Rick Kennedy, doyen of Tokyo food critics, once wrote:

    "Good sushi cannot be made without exuberant interaction between the men behind the counter and their customers. This is why all great makers of sushi are unabashedly demonstrative and genuinely friendly people."

    Having eaten sushi in nearly every country that serves it, I naturally wonder how pumped the counter jam is over here.

    A whirlwind tour results in a recurring theme: Dallas sushi is abundant, delicious, incredibly fresh and wonderfully innovative -- -- because the city is landlocked and lacks Japanese.

    Huh?

    "D/FW's the country's most efficient airport," asserts Scott Melton, owner of two Deep Ellum establishments. Several nearby customers eagerly explain that this has resulted in Metroplex sushi bars being daily supplied with red snapper from New Zealand, scallops from Boston, sea urchin from San Diego, King crab from Russia, salmon and yellow tail from Japan. Their list goes on and on.

    All over town I encounter aficionados who can literally taste each item's origin, and will squawk if it's from the wrong pond.

    At Sushi Nights, I'm immediately joined by long-time Roger "The" Man fans.

    Lynn and Lisa, two former New York actors and sushi diehards, have flown in from Taos to get the first of three planned fixes on their pilgrimage. "New Mexico is sushi nowhere. Roger always takes care of us," they say.

    Roger's signature dishes spring from his background: sushi combined with Chinese wok stir-fry or Vietnamese peanut-plum and oyster sauces.

    On my right is New Orleans jazz musician, Allyn, who is feasting on Roger's famed "Volcano" eruption and will be performing down the street just after dinner. Between mouthfuls of baked scallops heaped upon California Rolls, he makes it sound like Louisiana should stick to gumbo.

    Our chef concurs, adding that there's not a single item on his menu -- -- or anyone else's he knows of -- -- originating from the Gulf of Mexico. Then "The" Man does his thing with panache, offering a customer-invented "Channel 8 Roll."

    Owner Melton joins, explaining that patrons frequently devise new concoctions, hoping one day to "make the menu." I later learn that this is de rigueur all over town, a sure sign that Dallas is swarming with sushi sophisticates.

    Over at Mr. Sushi, another small legion: Dana from St. Louis, followed by Karen from New Jersey, followed by Rene from San Antonio.

    What do these women have in common?

    Well, they're all gourmets who disdain sushi dining in their hometowns, "or any city without a hub." They frequently travel on business, and always make a point to be served by chef Akira "Scott" Omae whenever they come to Dallas.

    Easy to see -- -- and taste -- -- why.

    Scott serves up one spectacular creation after another, the most memorable being his star-shaped tribute to the city's Stanley Cup triumph.

    Dana and Karen echo what I've been hearing all over town: You're unlucky if you love sushi and live by the ocean, because your platters will likely consist of mainly local fish, some varieties of which are inferior. Far better to be in a city between both coasts where the fish flies in from everywhere and turns over fast, they say.

    In my seventeen years in Japan, I'd heard a lot of counter yak, but nothing like this.

    Authoritatively, they rate Denver and Atlanta as sushi cities on a par with Dallas.

    Lots of folks here tonight are still buzzing over the sensation actor Chuck Norris caused with his public praise of the Addison restaurant. "For months afterward," owner Eiji Okura said, "people rushed in all the time asking, ‘Where's Chuck? Where's Chuck?' like they expected him to be eating here everyday."

    Rene improvises a spiel about Walker, Texas Ranger, roaming the high plains in search of ninja outlaws and a decent nigiri assortment.

    Next stop: Kazy's Gourmet, where I talk fish curing with Kazy Kurokawa, a North Dallas wholesaler who has supplied Japanese restaurants in Dallas and Houston for over twenty years.

    Kazy asserts that sushi sophistication is one barometer of how cosmopolitan any city truly is. He rates Dallas as tops (again, the airport), certainly far above Houston. Says he tracks the turnover in high-grade items in each city to validate his view.

    He also claims to know every sushi chef in town. Views the ideal Dallas one as being "Japan-classically trained but with the soul of a hippie artist." Kazy's passionate but objective: he refuses to nominate chefs from the two Arlington restaurants he himself co-owns. Says they're too straight laced.

    If your chef's hair-dye job approximately matches the bright red hue that properly cured blue fin tuna eventually reaches, then both are ideal to serve, would roughly be his credo.

    Among his favorites: Shoichi Oruki, who prepares fugu (blowfish) at Awaji in Plano. A preparation foul-up and this item can kill you. While Oruki-san starts to ready mine, I spin my recurring fantasy to nearby diners:

    My friends, I'm a wrongfully accused, death-row inmate ordering my last supper. Of course it's mounds of exotic jalapeño rolls and fugu -- -- a first for the Texas state penitentiary. But predictably the prison cook's got no idea of how to prepare blowfish safely.

    So before they can strap me in and throw the switch, the poison gets me and I ascend to Fish Heaven. A few hours later they catch the real perpetrator, whereupon I'm enshrined in Texas sushi folklore.

    Local tattoo parlors chronicle my saga in a commemorative set of engravings. Miscooked fugu becomes the execution of choice for gourmet prisoners who bravely follow in my steps. Several mournful country tunes are recorded in my honor. They play nightly from Deep Ellum to Addison to Frisco to the sushi hinterlands of southern Oklahoma.

    "Don't worry," grins Sho-chan, presenting his official Tokyo blowfish-cooking license complete with photo.

    This prompts the couple seated next to me to likewise take the plunge. Hank can't wait to prove to the gang back at the Lexus dealership that he survived the deadly encounter. Tracy looks lovingly at a photo of their two small children, finally sighing ... oh, what the heck, she'll bite. My Japanese wife fortifies herself with another gulp of sake, bangs her cup resolutely down, saying she's in.

    We hold collective breath and spousal hands for support. Out come two imposing platters bearing the deadly entree. The bar falls utterly silent. Chopsticks hover, treading the thick midair. ... But there's no turning back. Pair-by-pair the utensils slowly descend.

    A Hawaiian tourist, another of Sho-chan's regulars, watches nervously for changes in vital signs. We sample the raw slivers in a Chinese chili sauce, the remainder cooked in a crisp tempura batter -- -- and (high fives!) survive to tell the tale.

    Then we learn that in truth the FDA requires that all blowfish entering the US must first have its poison removed. Rats!

    "How many people die in Japan each year from blowfish poisoning?"

    This is what Tsutomo Sanada, Japanese owner of Sushi on McKinney, says his customers are always dying to know. Ask any insider what catapulted Dallas to sushi stardom and Sanada-san and his establishment always come up -- -- usually first and foremost. The proprietor, however, refuses to take any credit for the 1987 invention of the legendary "Devil Roll" (salmon, cucumber and extra spicy Japanese mustard), now served nationwide.

    In fact, when an eager chef first presented the breakthrough piece, it took only one bite for Sanada-san to tell him, "If we ever served this, we'd have to close the restaurant."

    But somehow the fiery concoction managed to get into the mouth, down the throat and inside the belly of a paying customer. One was all it took. Within minutes the counter was mobbed with requests for more. Within days every Japanese restaurant in town was besieged with requests for their version. Within weeks Sanada-san's phone was ringing off the wall with calls from New York and LA sushi bars begging for the recipe.

    Today Sushi on McKinney is still famous for creative combinations -- -- like jalapeño octopus rolls -- -- whose secret Sanada-san says is to always "combine the familiar with the unfamiliar" to tempt adventuresome diners.

    "It's true that many restaurants copy our dishes," he sighs, "and often they make them better."

    Sanada-san echoes the praise of the Metroplex's strategic location and D/FW. But he believes there's another equally compelling reason why sushi has triumphed here.

    "Dallas has always had a severe shortage of Japanese chefs," he tells me. So many nationalities were trained to work behind the counters. Each brought marvelous elements of their own cuisines into sushi.

    "Thanks to strong creativity, sushi here is driven by necessity and customer demand," not by a rigid Japanese definition. Too many Japanese have a "mental barrier with regards to sushi," he said. "They often make it boring."

    Still, sometimes I'm a traditionalist, so I head for Masami in Richardson, owned and operated by Naoshi Iida, who has been doing unpretentious, yet consistently four-star sushi in Dallas for twenty-five years.

    Nobody here tonight is from out of town, but the cowboy-attired family of three on my left is relishing (gasp!) the dreaded natto (fermented soybeans), signifying the most advanced palates in sushidom. On my right, Robyn and Clay, like wholesaler Kazy, claim to know every sushi joint, chef and specialty in town -- -- yet are self-described "average customers." After a couple of hours of listening to this bunch, I feel like any one of them could be writing this article.

    Yep. Based on freshness, the ingredients, exquisite presentations, talented chefs and knowledgeable customers with great counter yak, I'd definitely rate Dallas sushi as world class.

    What I really miss, though, are the burgers in Tokyo.