The Tsukiji Fish Market is serious business. Countless motored trolleys whiz around the isles, delivering identical white, sealed, styrofoam boxes to vendors. There is no bantering among the fishmongers. No haggling with shoppers. Everyone seems to be focused on the day ahead of him.
Then the drama begin at about 6 a.m. at the carefully orchestrated tuna auction.
Fish merchants inspect the fresh catch, assess their needs and make their decisions within minutes. There’s no RSS feeds, no graphs, charts or any aid to help them decide. They watch, they think, they listen and then hedge their bet for the day.
The second act belongs to the hungry shoppers and tourists. By 6:30 a.m. more than 20 people have lined up patiently outside a tiny sushi restaurant Daiwa, waiting impatiently to taste the fruit of the sea. The host speaks little English and you do what you’re told. Groups of twos, threes or however many, have to line up in a certain way, so that some order is formed out of the chaos. You don’t order, you don’t choose. You sit, smile and eat and everything is perfect.
Few people at the restaurant talk as we are all under the spell of the sushi master, handing out glistening uni, thick slabs of toro and assorted maki. If room temperature fish is too much for you, warm up with a bowl of fresh fish broth.
The blissful food adventure last all but 20 minutes before the wave of diners push though.
You write very well.
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