Preparing edible artistry

It takes less than a minute to pat, fill, roll, slice and plate a half-dozen pieces of sushi.

Hank Ou, 26, a sushi chef at Shogun Japanese Restaurant in Cape Girardeau, said it's not even difficult. Watching his card-shark dexterity from the other side of the bar, it certainly looks easy enough. Anybody can make sushi, he said.

"It will be edible," he explained. "It's just not perfect."

He pauses long enough to offer a pithy shrug before deftly slicing and plating another roll.

"Our culture requires us to produce beautiful things," he said.

Bryan Suntrup places the final garnishes on a plate of sushi at Bistro Saffron Wednesday, March 11, 2015. (Glenn Landberg)

Ou is referring to his half-Japanese, half-Chinese heritage; he said that oriental ethos has stuck with him since he began training to become a sushi chef at age 19. He relishes the minimalist elegance of traditional sushi and sashimi preparation.

"In Japan ... people look for the taste of the raw fish itself," he said. "They want to taste the saltwater."

But at the same time, he holds a special appreciation for the American culture by which he is surrounded.

During a lull, he pulls up a photo on his phone of a tapered, unsliced roll fashioned into the Nike swoosh with "Just Do It" inked in sauce below.

He rolls his eyes.

A mixed vegetable roll at Bistro Saffron Wednesday, March 11, 2015. (Glenn Landberg)

"Just something I do for fun," he admitted.

The American yang to Ou's yin is Bryan Suntrup, sushi chef -- and manager -- at Bistro Saffron in Cape, who also had his start at age 19, about a decade ago.

Part of what drew Suntrup to Oriental cuisine was the idea that one can make great food through nuance instead of extravagance.

But at the same time, he's drawn to a more avant-garde culinary practice.

"I never wanted to have a super traditional career," he said. He recalled the times he visited his hero Masaharu Morimoto's California restaurant and saw firsthand the Iron Chef's famously innovative methods of sushi presentation.

Bryan Suntrup, top left, places the final garnishes on a plate of sushi at Bistro Saffron in Cape Girardeau while sushi chef Michael Lin, top right, plates a rainbow roll at the Shogun restaurant in town. Both say sushi-making is an art as well a culinary skill. (Glenn Landberg)

"I'm definitely always just picking up on things," he said. "Like, 'Oh, that looks a little more hip than mine, let me try to replicate that.'"

Suntrup and Ou are still learning, years after becoming chefs, in the patient, incremental way that sushi reveals itself. Ou spent three years in his apprenticeship before he was even allowed to fillet a fish.

"Every sushi chef starts off doing side jobs," he explained. "I sliced a lot of cucumbers."

The goal was to attain a kind of unrushable intimacy with his tools, the kind of understanding that would allow him to slice the meat off a salmon with no waste, every time.

"To a sushi chef, the fillet knife is like a different finger," he explained. "You have to have a good-feeling knife so you can feel right where you are."

Sushi chef Jeff Tabtiang places ingredients into a St. Louis roll at Bistro Saffron Wednesday, March 11, 2015. (Glenn Landberg)

Suntrup also attests to the inviolable relationship a sushi chef keeps with his knives.

"It's very personal," he said. "Nobody sharpens them or touches them except for you."

There's even a mythos surrounding sushi knives' origins, Suntrup explained.

In the 1870s, outlawed samurai and their suddenly unemployed blacksmiths gave up sword-forging to make precision kitchen knives, in the wake of a government edict banning swords.

Days spent slicing cucumbers become more manageable when wielding what's essentially a tiny katana, but the years of practice really pay off when you hit the big time as a chef, Ou and Suntrup agreed. Being a sushi chef is an opportunity to satisfy hungry people in a more meaningful way than just feeding them.

Bryan Suntrup slices through a spider roll after preparing it at Bistro Saffron Wednesday, March 11, 2015. (Glenn Landberg)

"In Japanese culture, food is something that makes you feel better mentally and physically," Ou said. "Emotion can make it taste different."

"People eat with their eyes first," Suntrup explained. "Then with their sense of smell, and taste is last."

The customer's experience is where the craftsmanship, ingredients and artistry converge. It only lasts for a moment. It's appreciated and then it's gone.

A spider roll at Bistro Saffron Wednesday, March 11, 2015. (Glenn Landberg)

And the chef often is too busy to watch it happen. They've already moved on, patting, rolling and slicing -- trying again for perfection.

tgraef@semissourian.com

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