#7270 [2005-07-01 10:46:42]
Tsukudajima survives beneath concrete and steel
by
kitsuno
Weekend Beat: Tsukudajima survives beneath concrete and steel
06/25/2005
By MICHAEL KLEINDL, Contributing Writer
Tsukudajima is a neighborhood unlike any other in Tokyo. It survived
unscathed the Great Kanto Earthquake and the fire bombings of World
War II, but other pockets of the city share that good fortune. What
sets Tsukudajima apart is the sense of community that has survived
for four centuries.
Originally a grassy island at the estuary of the Sumidagawa river,
it was settled at the beginning of the Edo Period (1603-1867), at
the invitation of Tokugawa Ieyasu, by a group of fishermen from
Osaka whose descendants still fish the waters of Tokyo Bay. They
called it Tsukudajima, an area that roughly corresponds to Tsukuda 1-
chome.
Tsunenari Tokugawa, 18th Head of the Tokugawa Shogunal Household,
looks at least 10 years younger than his 65 years. For 38 of those
years he worked at Nippon Yusen Kaisha (NYK Line), but retired as
vice president two years ago to devote his time and energy to
establishing the Tokugawa Memorial Foundation.
"Do you mind if I smoke?" he asks, sitting in his NYK office, where
he still works as a consultant. "This is the only room in the whole
building where smoking is still permitted," he says and
shrugs. "Executive privilege," he says with a smile.
Tokugawa explains that Ieyasu once needed to visit a shrine in the
Osaka area, but the trip was made difficult because of a flood.
Fishermen from a nearby village, Tsukudamura, provided boats and
provisions and helped him reach the shrine. Ieyasu was grateful for
their help and when he moved into Fushimi Castle, he asked them to
provide fresh fish to the castle.
After he became shogun and began to govern, Ieyasu invited the
fishermen to Edo, gave them the island, which they named
Tsukudajima, and granted them fishing rights to all of Edo Bay. He
asked them to provide fresh fish every day to Edo Castle,
particularly shirauo, whitebait.
"They brought virtually all of them to the castle and this continued
for 260 years," Tokugawa says.
The Tsukudajima people were still providing shirauo to the Tokugawa
family after the start of the Meiji Era (1868-1912).
"On March 1, four or five representatives of the Tsukudajima people
come to my home to present a quantity of shirauo," Tokygawa
says. "It is a small, transparent fish that turns white when you
cook it. Very delicious," he says. "Especially as tempura. That's
how my wife fixes it for me."
"But, alas, no shirauo are left in Tokyo Bay," he says. "The last
were caught, I believe, in the late 1950s. Since then they've been
going to Tsukiji fish market to get the best shirauo they could
find."
On a more hopeful note Tokugawa says that the water quality in the
bay has improved tremendously and that researchers have succeeded in
hatching shirauo. "If that fish comes back to Tokyo Bay it will be a
victorious day for the ecology."
"This is not a dream," he adds. "Some sushi-quality fish you get now
come from Tokyo Bay. I'm crossing my fingers that someday the
shirauo will be back."
Tsukudajima still retains the slow-paced atmosphere of a rural
fishing village. The houses, many of which are superb examples of
mokuzo kaoku, traditional wooden timbered structures, are crowded
together with only narrow passageways between them. A few long-
handled water pumps, which still work, are scattered throughout the
neighborhood. Docked at a rickety peer in a canal off the river are
several fishing vessels and a traditional yakatabune, a tatami-
floored party boat, which can be hired out for special occasions.
The small neighborhood is bordered on two sides by nine towering
apartment buildings, with more on the way. But if you turn your back
on the high-rises and look toward the river, nothing looms on the
horizon.
The heart of the neighborhood embraces a post office, a liquor
store, a barber shop, and a general store that sells everything from
scrubbing powder and dishwashing liquid to jump ropes and penny
candy-100 kinds that attract a constant parade of neighborhood kids.
These shops have been run by their respective families for
generations. The neighborhood also boasts three shops that
specialize in tsukudani, an Edo-Period delicacy.
Tsukudani is a salty-sweet preserve of tiny fish, shrimp, shellfish,
seaweed, or other edibles that have been simmered in soy sauce,
sugar and salt. Often eaten as a topping on rice, tsukudani
originated in Tsukudajima.
Kenji Kobayashi, the voluble sixth-generation proprietor of Marukyu,
a tsukudani shop open since 1859, stands behind his small counter
lined with red lacquer boxes containing various types of tsukudani.
"Each item is simmered for three or four hours in a huge iron pot,"
he says, spreading his arms apart, "large enough for two men to
stand inside."
His tsukudani is made exactly the way it's always been made, he
points out. The exact balance of salty and sweet is a secret varying
from shop to shop. "We make new batches every two to three days
depending on what's needed," he says.
"Once all our raw material came from Tokyo Bay," he says, gesturing
toward the river. "The fish, the seaweed, the shrimp-but now only
asari (clams) come from the bay."
The apartment towers don't seem to bother him much. "We've got three
generations of customers coming here," Kobayashi says. "Even those
new apartment buildings are not bad for us. Many young people are
living there and some of them come in to try our tsukudani."
There are two other old tsukudani shops on the same street, Tenyasu
and Tsukugen Tanakaya, each in business for about 160 years.
Another member of the community is Yasuhide Nakajima, an 11th-
generation master craftsman of Edo-style lacquer work.
"My ancestors started in Nihonbashi at the time of Tokugawa Iemitsu,
more than 300 years ago," says the 61-year-old artisan.
The war destroyed his family workshop. About 40 years ago his father
moved the atelier to Tsukudajima. The old wooden shack that serves
as his workshop is perhaps the oldest building in the neighborhood.
One of Nakajima's best-selling items is eight-sided chopsticks made
from teak or purple rosewood. "These chopsticks will last 20 years,"
he says. "And I'll repair them for free, if they need it."
"I make real things," says Nakajima.
His family is famous for the luminous dakkanshitsu (Japanese sweets
dish). It is painstakingly crafted layer by layer of hemp linen,
washi paper and coatings of red lacquer. Creating a set of five
takes three years.
Lacquer painting is a tedious process. "It's paint-dry-paint-dry,"
Nakajima says. "You brush on one coat of lacquer and that's it for
the day," he says with a grin. "Young people don't have the patience
for this kind of work."
Patience is most important, stresses Nakajima. It takes time to make
something strong, beautiful, and useful-until aji ga deru, the
deeper quality, is revealed.
Something similar, perhaps, happens to neighborhoods. Four centuries
of remembrance and appreciation have helped to define the unique
sense of community that thrives in Tsukudajima.
High-rise by high-rise, the city slowly encroaches on Tsukudajima,
but life still goes on pretty much as it has for generations.
A tofu peddler, a young man in baggy jeans and a baseball cap, pulls
a cart through the narrow alleyways and occasionally blows two
forlorn notes on a small brass horn announcing fresh tofu for sale.
A housewife stops him to purchase something for the evening meal.
Then he is on his way again-his tune floating on the evening air.
*
*
*
Marukyu (1-2-10 Tsukuda, Chuo Ward, 03-3531-4823). Tenyasu (1-3-14
Tsukuda, 03-3531-3457). Tsukugen Tanakaya (1-3-13 Tsukuda, 03-3531-
2649). Yasuhide Nakajima's workshop, 1-4-12 Tsukuda, 03-3531-6868.
(IHT/Asahi: June 25,2005)
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