Buri Daikon

Japanese yellowtail and daikon simmered in dashi, soy and mirin: the quintessential winter dish of the Edo table

Origin: Edo (Tokyo) & Kanto region, Japan

From the journey of Radish.

Buri daikon is a winter nimono, a simmered dish, of extraordinary seasonal precision. Buri (yellowtail, Seriola quinqueradiata) is at its most prized in midwinter, when the fish has fattened on its migration south through the cold Sea of Japan waters, its flesh dense and oily and sweet. Daikon is at its peak in the same season: the cold-weather root grows slowly in the frosted soil, developing a density and sweetness that summer daikon lacks. The two are brought together in a broth of dashi, sake, mirin, and soy, the four liquid pillars of Japanese savoury cooking, and simmered slowly until the daikon becomes saturated with the fat and flavour of the fish, and the fish is penetrated with the clean, sweet depth of the daikon and the dashi. The result is a dish in which neither element dominates. The daikon is the quieter partner but, in a certain sense, the more remarkable one: it begins as a sharp, pungent root and ends as something silky, unctuous, and completely transformed. Buri daikon is a dish of the Edo period (1603–1868), when the cooking traditions of the Kanto region around Tokyo became codified into what we now recognise as classical Japanese cuisine. It is eaten in lacquered bowls with hot rice, the broth poured over both, in the contemplative silence appropriate to a meal designed to honour two ingredients at the exact moment of their annual perfection.

Ingredients

Fish

  • 600 g buri (yellowtail) fillets or collar pieces, skin on, cut into 4–5 cm chunks (or substitute with salmon or sea bass collar)
  • 1 tbsp sake, for blanching

Daikon

  • 600 g daikon, peeled and cut into 3cm rounds

Broth

  • 600 ml dashi (kombu and katsuobushi, or a good-quality instant dashi)
  • 4 tbsp sake
  • 3 tbsp mirin
  • 3 tbsp soy sauce (koikuchi, regular Japanese soy)
  • 1 tbsp caster sugar

Aromatics

  • 1 piece fresh ginger (3cm), peeled and cut into thin matchsticks

To Serve

  • steamed short-grain rice, to serve
  • sliced spring onion, to garnish

Method

  1. Pre-cook the daikon: place the rounds in a pan with enough cold water to cover and add a splash of sake. Bring to a boil and simmer for 15 minutes until just tender enough to pierce with a chopstick but still slightly firm. Drain and set aside. This step (called shitayude) removes the raw bitterness of the daikon and allows it to absorb the broth more readily.
  2. Blanch the fish: bring a pan of water to a rolling boil. Add the fish pieces and blanch for 30 seconds; they will turn white on the outside. Remove immediately with a slotted spoon and rinse gently under cold water. This removes the fishy odour (called kusumi) and any blood. Pat dry.
  3. In a wide, shallow saucepan or donabe (clay pot), combine the dashi, sake, mirin, soy sauce, and sugar. Bring to a gentle simmer over medium heat. Add the pre-cooked daikon rounds and the blanched fish pieces in a single layer. Add the ginger matchsticks.
  4. Place a drop-lid (otoshibuta) directly on the ingredients: a circle of parchment paper cut to fit the interior of the pan works perfectly. Simmer gently over medium-low heat for 20–25 minutes, occasionally spooning the broth over anything not submerged, until the daikon is fully tender and has absorbed the colour and flavour of the broth.
  5. Remove the drop-lid and increase the heat slightly for the final 3–5 minutes to reduce and concentrate the broth slightly. The daikon should be deep amber-brown on the outside. Serve in deep bowls with steamed rice, ladling the broth over both. Garnish with spring onion.

Notes

Buri (Japanese yellowtail) is available at Japanese fishmongers and some Asian supermarkets, often as collar pieces (kama), which are the most prized cut for this dish due to their high fat content. Hamachi (young yellowtail) is a lighter alternative. Salmon collar or sea bass belly are good substitutes. Good dashi is fundamental to the dish: make it from scratch from kombu and katsuobushi (dried bonito flakes) if possible. A good instant dashi (Ajinomoto Hondashi, or equivalent) is an acceptable substitute. The dish requires patience: the long, slow simmer is what produces the characteristic deep flavour of the daikon.

The Gastrographer

The Gastrographer

Mapping Culinary History

To explore — select an ingredient below.

Journey Point Map Key

Ingredient originTrade or transit route
Became a culinary stapleColonial / trade control
c. 1780 CE
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12 of 12 stops
1780 CE
2700 BCE710 CE1500 CE1780 CE
Radish

Radish

Raphanus sativus

VegetablesBrassicaceae

🌍Origin

🌱Domestication

The radish (Raphanus sativus) is amongst the very earliest vegetables to enter human cultivation, and it carries the distinction of being one of the first plants whose use is recorded in writing at all. Inscriptions at Giza dated to approximately 2700 BCE record that radishes, onions, and garlic were issued as rations to the labourers who raised the Great Pyramid of Khufu, placing the root in the documentary record of human diet earlier than almost any other vegetable. Its wild ancestor is generally held to be a form of Raphanus raphanistrum, the wild radish native to the eastern Mediterranean and western Asia, a plant still common as a weed of disturbed ground across that whole region; the cultivated radish is so thoroughly a creature of the garden that its precise wild progenitor remains a matter of scholarly debate, and no truly wild population of R. sativus is known. Cultivation appears to have developed along at least two distinct axes that produced two utterly different vegetables from one species. The Mediterranean and Near Eastern tradition selected the small, quick-growing, sharply peppery roots familiar to ancient Egypt, Greece, and Rome, the ancestors of the little spring radishes and the elegant French Breakfast of the European garden. A parallel East Asian tradition, whether arising from an independent domestication or from the early eastward transmission of seed along the trade corridors that preceded the Silk Road, developed an entirely separate lineage of large, long, white, mild-fleshed roots, the daikon of Japan and the mooli of India, vegetables that can weigh many kilograms and bear little resemblance to their fiery Mediterranean cousins beyond the shared botanical name. By the Han Dynasty (from 206 BCE to 220 CE) the white radish was fully established as a field crop in China, set down in the agricultural manuals under the name luóbo and valued in the early pharmacopoeias for its digestive virtues. From these Chinese varieties descend the daikon and the Korean mu, the radish reaching Japan no later than the Nara period (from 710 to 794 CE), where the chronicle Nihon Shoki records its cultivation and where the root was honoured as one of the seven herbs of autumn. Across both its traditions, the radish shares a single defining quality: it is fast, hardy, and obliging, a root that grows almost anywhere and matures in weeks, which is precisely why so many cultures took it up so early and have never since let it go.

Global Voyage

The radish traces two great arcs across the world, a western and an eastern, that between them carried a single species into very nearly every cuisine on earth. The western arc began in the radish's Egyptian and Levantine homeland and moved north and west into the Greek city-states, where the root was held in a regard bordering on the sacred: the Oracle at Delphi reckoned it worth its weight in gold, and golden replicas of radishes were dedicated to Apollo in his temple as votive offerings. From Greece it passed to Rome, where Pliny the Elder devoted an extended passage of his Natural History to its varieties, its flavours, and its medicinal powers, and the cook Apicius dressed it with the fermented fish sauce garum; and from Rome the legions carried its seed north and west across Europe, planting it at their winter camps and seeding the European garden tradition that Charlemagne's ninth-century estate ordinances would later codify. In the cold lands of Central and Eastern Europe the radish found a winter role, the great black-skinned Rettich grated with onion and dressed with fat through the dark months, whilst in Bavaria the long white Radi became the canonical companion to a Mass of lager in the beer garden. The eastern arc was the journey of an altogether different vegetable. The large white radish travelled the trade corridors into China, where by the Han Dynasty it was a major field crop, and from there it divided again. Northward and eastward it passed into Korea and Japan, where it was transformed into the mu and the daikon that underpin those cuisines at the most fundamental level, the daikon simmered in dashi, grated raw beside tempura, and fermented into the bright pickles of the Japanese table, the mu cubed and fermented into the kkakdugi of the Korean. Southward and westward the root moved through the hands of Arab and Indian Ocean traders, riding the monsoon networks into the Indian subcontinent, where it became the pungent mooli of the Punjabi paratha, and onward into Southeast Asia, where the quick-pickled daikon threads through Vietnamese, Thai, and Filipino cooking and gives the bánh mì its sharp, sweet crunch. The radish's last great voyage was a return westward across the Atlantic, carried by Spanish missionaries to the Americas in the sixteenth century, where it took such root in the soil of Oaxaca that it became at once a standard condiment of the taco stand and the centrepiece of a civic festival. France, meanwhile, refined the small garden radish into the elegant, white-tipped French Breakfast variety and raised the simplest of all its preparations, the fresh radish with good butter and salt, into a small canon of disciplined simplicity. From a golden offering at Delphi to a carved tableau in a Mexican square, the radish has gone almost everywhere, and reinvented itself at nearly every stop.

🍽Modern Culinary Role

Few vegetables span so enormous a range as the radish does today, and fewer still carry that range under a single name. At one end stand the small, sharp, magenta-skinned globes of a French spring salad and the slender, white-tipped French Breakfast; at the other, the two-kilogram white giants of a Japanese winter harvest and the colossal Sakurajima of Kagoshima. Between them lie the sweet, green-and-rose watermelon-fleshed beauty-heart radish of northern China, the jet-black-skinned winter Rettich of Central Europe, and the long, fiery mooli of the Punjab. They are eaten in every manner a root can be: raw and crisp, pickled and sour, simmered soft, fermented fiery, fried into cakes, and grated into condiment. By sheer volume of consumption the daikon is the most eaten radish on earth, and it is fundamental to Japanese cooking in three distinct guises, as a simmered vegetable in the dish family of nimono, as the raw grated relish oroshi that accompanies tempura and grilled fish, and as a whole genre of pickle within the tsukemono tradition, of which the bright yellow takuan is the most famous. Elsewhere the radish is no less indispensable to the cuisines that know it. In Korea the denser, more pungent mu is the foundation of kkakdugi, the cubed radish kimchi, and a structural ingredient of countless soups and braises. In India the mooli is grated, spiced, and sealed into the millions of parathas griddled every morning across Punjab, Rajasthan, and Uttar Pradesh, and pickled into the fierce oil-cured achar of the summer larder. In Vietnam the quick-pickled daikon brightens the bánh mì and the grilled-meat plate; in the Levant the magenta turshi sharpens the falafel wrap; in Bavaria the shaved Radi accompanies the beer; in Mexico the sliced raw radish arrives unbidden with every order of tacos, its cold, watery crunch cutting the richness of carnitas and barbacoa. Nutritionally light, swift to grow, and forgiving of poor soil, the radish is the most genuinely universal of root vegetables, at once ubiquitous, unpretentious, and quietly irreplaceable in every tradition that has taken it up.

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