The best meal fits. It fits with the season, with what your tastebuds want, with what you did five minutes ago, and with what you want to be doing five minutes from now. There's no point in cooking a burger for a Hindhu, or Irish stew in the middle of August. Our best meals are those which mesh with the rest of our world, in one particular moment of our lives.
Think of a strawberry ice cream cone on the hottest afternoon of the year: it's the definition of good licks.
Consider this photo. Would you like to eat this at 6AM? You roll out of bed, make the coffee, open the drapes, feed the dog, spend an hour meticulously preparing this sashimi and rolled egg omelette, eat it amidst the whining of your children (who just want cereal), hop in the shower, then run off to work. Does that work for you?
Instead, picture the following: You are ruthlessly jet-lagged but excited to be in Tokyo. Hopelessly awake at 5:00 AM, you decide to head out to that 'Tsukiji Fish Market" you have read so much about. After snagging a saccharine coffee from a vending machine, you navigate through the foreign (but well sign-posted) Tokyo subway system. The 'salarymen' on the train fix their bleary eyes on you, wondering where on Earth you could be headed, and then continue their pre-dawn naps.
If it swims in the sea, it's for sale at Tsukiji. Endless tanks of scaly or shelled creatures, many still looking at you, are being bought and sold in this mecca of fish and seafood. You see a monstrous crab foaming at the mouth and a tuna bigger than your German Shephard. Thousands of sea-creatures: squiggling, squirming, and splashing away. You make sure to mind your toes: brine can form a mini-tsunami down the narrow aisles, and in jumping out of the way you might just get nailed by one of the hundreds of motorized trolleys whizzing around.
You note that this football-field sized market full of fish does not smell 'fishy', and that fortunately, most fish don't make any sound when they are killed. While you are clearly in the way, the vendors just wait patiently for you to move... no scoffing or raised eyebrows here.
You are stunned. The vendor stalls just go on and on and on, each overflowing with fresher fish than you've ever seen in your hometown. By 7 AM all the shiny briny creatures start to blur together, and you've had your fill of the market. And you are hungry for....uh...fish. Heading outside, you stop at a mini-restaurant abutting the market. You need to drag the somewhat surly owner/chef outside to order off the picture menu, since your Japanese vocabulary is very limited. (Sayonara? Konichiwa?)
It's brisk outside and you scamper into the warmth of the restaurant. You are served steaming cups of roasted green tea, and then a big bowl of the tastiest miso soup. Then your breakfast: raw salmon, scallop, octopus, fish roe, crab. Wasabi, two types of cooked egg, daikon pickle, all on rice. As you pack it back, you remember the eyes of the fish that were staring at you balefully only 15 minutes ago. Your feet are still damp from that brine-wave you didn't manage to escape. The soup is thawing your chill.
It may not be strawberry ice cream in August, but it's good licks, to be sure.
