Toshiro Suzuki, the Japanese Ambassador to Egypt, lives in a fine art deco house with extraordinary gates. The interiors are simple and decorated with flowers in the Japanese ikebana style by the ambassador's wife. Having received an invitation for lunch with the ambassador, I confirmed that I loved Japanese food. I had no idea of the surprise awaiting me. During the lunch I was seated next to the ambassador who was facing Miriam Tamari, the Japanese-Palestinian soprano. The table was decorated with colourful models of animals that I thought were made of metal, but later discovered were made of paper in the famous origami style. The food arrived in small dishes, and upon the arrival of each dish the ambassador explained the contents and if it had any special meaning, as well as the different drinks served with the food. A crystal glass arrived with green vegetable leaves inside and topped by a creamy material. I caught the word molokhia. As we all know, molokhia is a quintessentially Egyptian dish and is prepared as a green soup. It has a long and distinguished history. There was the mediaeval Fatimid Sultan Al-Hakim Bi-Amr Allah, for example, who banned eating molokhia. On a more personal level, there was also the chef in Tunis who served up a bitter dish of molokhia when he heard that I was a visiting Egyptian. Molokhia has always been a part of Egypt. However, on this occasion I could not see the typical green soup. I asked about it, trying to be as diplomatic as the situation allowed. After I left, I contacted Hideaki Yamamoto, director of information at the Japanese embassy, and he told me that the ambassador would be inviting me again, this time for a lunch made up almost entirely of Japanese-style molokhia. Mrs Kayoko Suzuki was present, and I discovered how she made the origami animals that I had so admired on my previous visit. I asked about the Japanese dish of raw fish, and she explained that the wasabi, the green spicy stuff served with sushi, is designed to keep the food fresh. I began to photograph the dishes we were served. I took a few shots from a side angel, and I was reminded that everything on a Japanese table should be straight. Lunch started, and I was told that a Japanese chef, Masato Tsuki, had cooked the meal. The ambassador said that it was important to have a Japanese chef at the embassy, since part of his job was to introduce people to Japan, including its cuisine. Some guests did not like fish prepared in the Japanese way, and Arab tastes sometimes excluded fish or sea weed, meaning that the chef cooked Japanese food but with less of the authentic Japanese flavour, he added. I mentioned my experience at a Japanese restaurant in Sharm Al-Sheikh, where the cook had made a great deal of noise knocking a grill with his tools in order to scare evil spirits away as he was cooking. The ambassador said that teppanyaki was a form of traditional Japanese food grilled in front of guests, but that the noise had been invented to intrigue Americans and then had spread worldwide. He added that no such noises were made in the ambassador's residence. Were there kinds of food that were not served at the residence, or outside Japan, I wondered. Mrs Suzuki suggested soba/ udon, a sort of noodle soup. Many non-Japanese people find this difficult to eat with chopsticks, and they may experience problems eating soup of this sort, especially on formal occasions. Another example was fermented beans, she said, which smelled like French blue cheese. The ambassador said he often ate this, but he had never come across a foreigner who liked it. Finally, we talked to chef Masato Tsuki, who had cooked the various sorts of molokhia served. He said that he had worked for the ambassador in Syria before moving to Egypt. In Egypt, he said, his job had been easier, since it was less difficult to find imported ingredients, though the Syrians were sometimes more open to new taste experiences, among them raw fish. He said that even in Japan fish was more popular among the older generations, with younger people preferring meat. Fish was the main dish in Japan, he said, because Japan was made up of an archipelago of islands surrounded by sea. Tsuki said that he bought his ingredients, especially vegetables, from supermarkets, but that he bought fish at the Ataba or Obour markets where there was a bigger variety. I found it very tempting to ask him what distinguished Egyptian streets from Syrian or Japanese. “The chaos,” he answered. Egypt was very crowded, he said, but what struck the Japanese visitor most was the disorder. Japan was definitely much calmer. He added that Syria was also crowded, but only in Egypt did people use their car horns so much and drive in the wrong direction in the streets. “I can't stop wondering,” he said, “how fish arrive on time at Ataba market. They come all the way from Alexandria through all the traffic, but they do not seem to be delayed.” Another thing that characterised Egyptian markets was the bargaining. Even in Syria, they did not bargain so much. It was not a problem to shop in Cairo as most of the merchants spoke English. We reached molokhia, which was not unknown in Japan, though it was relatively new to Japanese palates, Tsuki said. He had invented the recipes he had used, he said. In fact, all the kinds of molokhia we had eaten were his inventions. What is your favourite Egyptian food, I asked. Molokhia soup, he said. Although many families cook it, it never tastes quite the same. Molokhia soup with duck meat balls 1. Mince duck leg, skin, heart and gristle and add Miso, soy sauce, sansho (Japanese pepper), egg and green onion. Shape them into balls. 2. Boil 1 in Bonito and Konbu seaweed soup with soy sauce and Mirin or sugar. 3. Boil Tofu in soup 2 with another Bonito and Konbu seaweed soup and salt. 4. Boil molokhia in salted water and mince them. Add molokhia to soup 2 with another Bonito and Konbu seaweed soup, soy sauce and salt. 5. Put meat balls, Tofu, soup 4 in the bowl and put minced leek, red paprika, yellow paprika and sansho (Japanese pepper) above.
