American chef-turned-writer Matt Goulding examines Japan through the prism of food and drink

Many think of Japan as a land of outrageous fads, visionary technology, and ancient temples. But for others, Japan is the Land of the Rising Meal, a country punctuated by food-focused shokunin, artisans deeply devoted to their craft. (Jiro Ono, title character of 2102 documentary Jiro Dreams of Sushi, is one of them.) These food artists populate Japan’s restaurant culture – take for example, a 80-year-old tempura man who’s spent the past six decades gauging the subtle differences that come from certain temperatures and motion. American food and travel writer Matt Goulding spent two intense years experiencing and exploring the island nation through the prism of food. He discovered that devotion to artistry has made Japan one of the most intriguing and layered food destinations in the world. Given that Tokyo has 300,000 restaurants (compare that number to New York’s 30,000 and you will quickly understand the national level of food obsession), Goulding broke out his chopsticks and went to town (and country) for a non-stop feast of food, culture and psyche. His new book, Rice, Noodle, Fish: Deep Travels Through Japan’s Food Culture, takes us from the counters of the sushi masters of Tokyo, to the street food stalls of Osaka, and the ramen kiosks of Fukuoka. He talked to Alison Gee about room service in love hotels, fermented sea cucumber intestines, and his friendship with Anthony Bourdain.

What first fascinated you about Japan?

I first travelled to Japan in the winter of 2008, looking to eat and drink as much as possible in 10 days. I had a lovely time, but the real revelation occurred years later, when I came with my wife on our honeymoon. It was a cup of coffee that did it – at an old-school kissaten where a guy named Katsuji Daibo turned the simple act of roasting, grinding, and filtering a cup of coffee into a religious ceremony of deep personal significance. Between hand-selecting the beans and removing any that had the slightest imperfections, roasting them slowly over a live fire in a metal canister he turned by hand, and executing the most mesmerising slow-drip pour overs I’ve ever seen. It took 45 minutes and cost US$10 for a thimble of coffee. It was one of the best coffees I’ve ever tasted, but it was so much more than that. It was a full conversion for me, a line in the sand of my life that will forever mark a fundamental shift in my understanding of the world. I had never seen anyone dedicate so much time and attention to something as seemingly simple as a cup of coffee. The Japanese have a special gift for illuminating the complexities of the world’s simplest pleasures.

Why did you decide to write about the country through the prism of food?

Food is the language I understand best, and it’s the one I try to speak no matter where I find myself in the world. And in a country such as Japan, where the culinary traditions are so deep and so intrinsically tied to its history and culture, there is no better way to understand the country than through its food. You want to understand the complicated history of a place such as Hiroshima – one defined by equal measures of tragedy and resilience? Look no further than okonomiyaki, the savoury pancake that was born out of the ashes of the atomic bomb, when survivors used pieces of scrap metal as makeshift griddles to cook whatever food they could find – cabbage, bean sprouts, and, as the American presence increased in the country, flour. Food is nothing if not the convergence of history, culture, and environment. For me, it’s always been the most complete expression of time and place, and the key to understanding anywhere I travel. Of course, we begin to lose that the more the flavours of the world meld, but even that is an important story to tell.

You spent a night and ordered room service in a love hotel. What possessed you?