Friday, March 9 - Thursday, August 30, 2012 This thoughtful, elegant meditation on work, family and the art of perfection centers on 85-year-old Jiro Ono, the world’s best sushi chef. His restaurant, inauspiciously located in a Tokyo subway station, has been honored with three Michelin stars. And sushi lovers around the globe shell out top dollar months ahead to book one of its ten coveted seats and dine with a master still scaling new heights of culinary genius. Country USALanguage In Japanese with English subtitlesRunning Time 81 minutesDirector David GelbHip-hop star gives a masterclass in fine dining photography etiquette When you buy a video, you can watch it now, or download the video to a compatible device and watch it later. Complete info about your viewing rights are in the Terms of Use. When you rent, the viewing period is 14 days from the time of your order or 48 hours from the time you start to watch, whichever comes first.Very informative and educational loved it bought it to watch again and show the family everyone needs to see this at least once shows the real religion of sushi

You are hereHomePondering two food documentaries: Jiro Dreams of Sushi and Kings of Pastry Pondering two food documentaries: Jiro Dreams of Sushi and Kings of Pastry /blog/2012/10/01/jiro-dreams-of-sushi/ on this server. Your technical support key is: 36fe-532e-1756-6707 and be sure to provide the technical support key shown above.So, what is Daisuke Nakazawa doing in Seattle after 11 years under the tutelage of Shiro Kashiba's longtime friend and mentor? Nancy Leson tells all. DAISUKE NAKAZAWA’S grin widened when I ordered “omakase” at Shiro’s last June — giving the 34-year-old sushi chef, newly arrived from Tokyo, the go-ahead to show me what he’s got. What he didn’t have was command of the English language. Smiling and nodding, he presented me with Spanish mackerel (“sawara!”) and fresh Hood Canal shrimp (“amaebi!”), then, at meal’s end, handed-off a pair of tamago nigiri, crowing, “Jiro Dreams of Sushi!” “Yes,” I said, admiring the thick cut of his sweet omelet.

“I saw that documentary,” an homage to Jiro Ono, the elderly owner of a 10-seat sushi bar in a Ginza district subway station — and the man some call the world’s greatest sushi chef. “Jiro Dreams of Sushi!” Daisuke repeated, when it was clear I’d missed his point. jiro dreams of sushi violin I failed to recognize this smiling sushiman as the film’s solemn senior apprentice who famously recounted making tamago under the stern eye of Jiro Ono: months of failure, 200 rejections and, finally, approval.sushi san francisco sebo “I was so happy I cried,” the subtitle read.mikuni sushi online store So, what is Daisuke doing in Seattle after 11 years under the tutelage of Shiro Kashiba’s longtime friend and mentor?sushi conveyor belt nj

Shiro doesn’t have any,” explains a translator speaking for the majority owner who bought Shiro’s in 2007. “We want Shiro to keep working,” as he does three nights a week, “but we need a next generation.” “I’m a lucky boy,” adds Daisuke, recruited to sustain the tradition of edomae sushi — the classics, hold the mango-tango roll — under Shiro’s Belltown banner.samurai sushi menu jacksonville beach Since his arrival, he’s been an enthusiastic student of ESL, and learned to chide pickled-ginger-scarfing patrons with Shiro-esque wit, noting that palate refresher is meant “to change taste; umi sushi menu brighton beachit is not a salad!” He’s appeared with Shiro at community events and shared Jiro’s secrets with his colleagues, showing them how to smoke king mackerel over hay.

And he expresses his naturally ebullient character, says Shiro, when he jokes, “bluefin, the Wagyu beef of sushi!” Daisuke was 19 when he got his first job at a suburban sushi joint. He gave it up to work as a “salaryman” for an Internet company, leaving that job to take on two more: waking at 4:30 a.m. to schlep tuna carcasses at Tsukiji market, then working nights in a restaurant. He married on his 23rd birthday, about the time Jiro Ono placed a want ad for an apprentice. “Lucky boy” got the job at Sukiyabashi Jiro — which later earned three Michelin stars. For the first three months, he recalls, “It was all cleaning, all obeying, saying ‘Yes, yes,’ and never talking back.” By the fourth month he was allowed to handle fish. It was five years before he stood behind the sushi bar assisting Jiro and his son. Daisuke says working for Jiro gave him the confidence to apply for a job overseas, uproot his wife and children, and embark on a career he loves — but would not wish on his sons.

“You work too hard.” At Sukiyabashi Jiro, where patrons pay $300-plus for omakase, the experience is more about reverence than revelry. There, “their ultimate goal is deliciousness,” said Daisuke. At Shiro’s, “It’s about enjoyment and entertainment.” Shiro, 71, says his ambitious new hire has what it takes to spread the gospel of old-school sushi in America. As for Daisuke, “My dream,” he says, “is to be the No. 1 sushi chef in the U.S.” Nancy Leson is The Seattle Times’ food writer. Benjamin Benschneider is a Pacific NW magazine staff photographer.It is often said that in Japan, objects are born, not made. I came to understand this sentiment while photographing knife makers outside of Osaka for a book delving deep into the intersection of Japanese food and culture in Japan called Rice, Noodle, Fish. I was told I'd be visiting a factory where some of the finest chef's knives in the world were forged. Instead of the large-scale operation I envisioned, I found myself in a small garage, barely large enough for my translator and camera gear.

I stood transfixed, watching a blacksmith named Yoshikazu Ikeda pound and fold 1000-degree carbon steel into blades wielded by the likes of culinary masters far and wide. His approach was virtually unchanged from that of a century ago (save for the introduction of electricity to power his press), and yet in these humble surroundings he produced an exquisite level of artisanship. This, I came to understand, is part of what it means to be a Shokunin. I first came across the term Shokunin italicized over and over again in the subtitles of the film Jiro Dreams of Sushi. And Jiro, like so many other chefs across Japan, exemplifies many Shokunin attributes -— a single-minded focus on process, an obsessive but also joyful approach to work, and, with skills developed over a lifetime of repetition, a level of quality and artistry that can elevate the humble to the sublime. How else can something as seemingly simple as raw fish and pressed rice much less a teacup, kimono, or Samurai sword inspire such awe?

Perhaps it is because many of us, especially in the west, are increasingly forced to choose between speed and quality as we assess the items with which we are surrounded. Sadly, this phenomenon is not limited to cultures outside of Japan — given it takes an average of 10 years to simply learn technique, and a lifetime to transfer one's spirit into one's hands, fewer and fewer young Japanese have the patience to follow in the footsteps of the old masters. Combined with the inevitable demographics of an aging society, many of these crafts are at risk of extinction. My first experience with knife-making inspired my own form of obsession and lead deep into the rabbit hole of craftsmanship in Japan — since 2013, I have documented Shokunin in nearly 35 workshops around the country both to bring attention to their work as well as to serve as a form of cultural preservation. These are men and women who have dedicated their lives to the pursuit not of perfection (as this would be unattainable) but of refinement — and this they have honed to its sharpest edge.

As society is ever more on-demand and obsessed with instant gratification, these craftspeople continually create things with a heartbeat — the kind of products that are handed down from generation to generation, infused with both form and function. Kayu Matsuhisa, a Busshi Sculptor (and one of a small group of female Shokunin) in Kyoto, carves a statue of the Buddha for use in temples around Japan. Matsuhisa views her work with a deep respect for the spirituality of her subject, talking to the wood as she carves, asking it to yield so that the Buddha's joy can be shared with world. As with many crafts in Japan, there is a chain of Shokunin involved in the process by which kimono cloth is woven. Yuji and Masako Miyabi, married more than 60 years, met as apprentices and are loom setters — they untangle and prepare the delicate strands of thread for use on the loom — a two-person job which requires intense concentration and mathematical precision (and, in this case, near constant good-natured bickering).

Born into a legendary family of coopers and bucket-makers (ki-oke), Nakagawa carries on the legacy of his father, Living National Treasure Kiyotsugu Nakagawa, by melding art with craft and form with function.  His work is exhibited internationally and brings a modern sensibility to a 700 year old word-working tradition of objects central to Japanese life — from the all-important ritual of bathing to storing rice and miso. Kyubei Watari passed away shortly after I photographed him. The pain at throwing and manipulating the clay is evident on his face, yet as he worked he was transformed. Watari spent the better part of 50 years honing his Agano-style of ceramics in the small town of Nogata, on the southern island of Kyushu. His pottery is intensely organic, with stone, ash, and iron used to develop different glazes and contrasts. His legacy lives on in his son, Hitoshi, who represents the 11th generation of the family’s ceramic tradition. Yagi is the jovial 5th generation scion of Kyoto’s now world-renowned tea caddy producer, Kakaido, which was founded in 1875.