Before Gordon Ramsay and Guy Fieri dominated the Food Network, food television was about the how-to of preparing a meal. Boeuf bourguignon and chocolate soufflé were demystified in step-by-step guides narrated by likes of Martha Stewart and Lidia Bastianich. Slowly, food shows became less about culinary education and more about kitchen drama.
In no show was this switch better demonstrated than in Iron Chef America. After the original Japanese Iron Chef series finished its seven-season run in ’99, the Food Network aired a handful of specials modelled on the culinary battle royale. Although the format was pretty much the same — two chefs are given one hour to whip up five dishes that showcase one surprise ingredient — only one chef from the Japanese Iron Chef was brought over as a regular member of the American pantheon of iron chefs: Masaharu Morimoto.
Back in 2000, foodies frequenting Chowhound were not impressed by these early Iron Chef specials. A commenter compares the first showdown that pitted Bobby Flay against Morimoto to a “WWF meets Julia Child” mash-up disaster.
The 15-year-old special is more confrontational and less polished than the show’s Japanese precursor. Nowhere is this clearer than in the competition’s final minutes. As the clock ticks down its final seconds, Flay jumps onto his cutting board, raising his fists in what would prove to be a premature celebration of victory.
Flay’s braggadocio repulses Morimoto, who snaps into a mic: “He is not a chef.”
When pressed by the on-floor reporter, Morimoto explains his assertion: “Cutting boards and knives are sacred to us [chefs].” As Flay sullied his cooking tools by standing on them with his dirty shoes, he disrespected the culinary craft and his opponent.
Out of the dozens of Iron Chef showdowns in which Morimoto has partaken — from battle asparagus to battle sablefish — this seems to be a rare, raw moment for the Hiroshima-born chef. When this Bobby Flay encounter took place, Morimoto was still new to TV. Morimoto is the anti–Guy Fieri. He is a chef who cooks while in front of a camera, rather than a television personality who sometimes cooks. Off screen, Morimoto is more charming, looser than his steely TV persona would lead you to believe. The 60-year-old even wears prescriptionless specs to differentiate himself from his small-screen self.
“I’ve always had good eyes,” explains Morimoto, who readily cops to “wearing glasses as a fashion.”
As a child, he had no interest in becoming a TV star. “I had two dreams,” says Morimoto, who aspired to be either a professional baseball player or a chef. His young love of food was born from scarcity.
“I grew up without enough food because of a food shortage,” he says, referring to post-war Japan. Later, when the economy began to recover, Morimoto would look forward to his family’s monthly sushi dinners.
“I discovered the enjoyment of eating in a true sense. Such a thought as that food gives people pleasure may be the very base of my culinary philosophy,” says Morimoto.
Shortly after being drafted to Japan’s major league, Morimoto’s budding catcher career was cut short by a shoulder injury. At 18, he decided to dedicate himself to studying sushi and kaiseki. For the next few years, the cook lived with his teacher. The demanding apprenticeship had Morimoto cooking, cleaning and serving from dawn until dinnertime (he even cooked the family meal every night). Despite his unwavering dedication, the teen’s “main event of the day” was sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night to cavort with his pals.“Oh, I was young,” he says.
Since opening his own restaurant at 24, and then selling it to travel the U.S., Morimoto has had little down time. He headed up the Sony Club and spent seven years as Nobu’s exec chef in New York. Then in 2001, chef opened his own sushi mecca in Philly. Here, he flexed his creative muscles, blending traditional Japanese techniques with the global flavours that had come to shape the American palate.
“I never thought about fusing Japanese and American food. I would use whatever was available here and cook food utilizing my Japanese cooking techniques,” says Morimoto. “The results may look like fusion of Japanese and American food, but I was never conscious of it.”
Although chef might not explicitly use the F-word to describe his process, his menus fuse flavours and techniques from across the globe: Italian (daikon fettuccine, blowfish carpaccio, tuna pizza); Indian (lobster masala, duck masala); and Singaporean (black sesame king crab).
This spring, he announced he’d be teaming up with restaurateurs-about-town Hanif Harji and Charles Khabouth to open a restaurant in T.O.’s Theatre Park building.
“At every Morimoto restaurant, I create some new dishes that reflect the local ingredients and cuisine,” says Morimoto, but he refuses to divulge what, exactly, he has planned for his two-storey King West restaurant. We’re hoping to see some daring Canadian-Japanese dishes: perhaps some bison sashimi or an elevated poutine that does more to the Québécois staple than simply top it with foie gras.
“Opening a restaurant in a new city is not declaring war on an enemy country,” says Morimoto, who does plan on serving some of his signature dishes — like sushi made with Japan-imported fresh fish — at his new T.O. restaurant.
“I always think about how to make my guests happy with my food. That’s my goal: to learn what Torontonians like.”
