Fat, at the
right measure.
No skewers. Only chopsticks.
Not for show — but to leave the fat
exactly where it ought to be.
Not a flourish. A matter of measure.
The fat is the flavour
Let us say this first: the fat of an eel is its flavour. The better fed the fish, the softer the flesh and the deeper the taste. A lean eel, however carefully grilled, will only ever taste thin.
So we do not set out to drive the fat off. Drive it all off and the sweetness goes with it.
Not removed.
Measured.
But if that fat pools on the flesh while it grills, the matter changes. Held over the coals it keeps cooking, and in time it turns to odour — and the flavour beneath is lost under it.
Fat remains as flavour.
Soft flesh, fragrant skin.
Excess sits on the flesh.
Odour rises; flavour is lost.
Too much and it turns; too little and the fish goes thin. Somewhere between the two lies the right measure for that particular eel.
No two eels are alike
An eel differs from its neighbour in how it carries fat and how it carries flesh. Even from the same water on the same day, no two match in the thickness of the back, the fat of the belly, the firmness of the meat.
There is no rule here that says how many minutes to grill. There is only looking at the fish in front of you and deciding.
We follow where the fat is running, see where the heat has gone too far, change the angle, shift the position — tilting it gently toward the line along which the excess will fall away.
It is because the fish is never pinned that this adjustment is possible at all. That is why we use no skewers. It asks for a delicate hand.
Crisp skin,
yielding flesh
An eel taken off at the right measure has fragrance in the skin and fat still held in the flesh as flavour. If it does not sit heavily when you eat it, that is not because the fat was taken away, but because it was left at the right measure.
We have grilled this way for a hundred and sixteen years, since 1910. There is nothing showy in it. One eel at a time, watched, and turned by chopstick. That is all it is.