Review of Jiro Dreams of Sushi (2011) by Melissa P — 01 May 2012

Two fingers are pushing on firm flesh, tender flesh, molding and massaging, manipulating the cool fillet across a pillow of warm rice.

A basting brush dabbed in soy sauces, sesame oils, secret concoctions that complement and contrast, runs its thin fingers down the fishy back. The meat shimmers and smiles at the camera. The meat is white, pink, red.

"Jiro Dreams of Sushi," a film directed by David Gelb, is a ballet of hands (set to a soundtrack of Philip Glass). 85-year-old sushi chef Jiro, his dance expert, chases perfection. Find your talent, he tells the camera, and do it exactly the same every day - and you will get better and better.

His sons, his staff, practice their pirouettes in the shadows, sorting and shaping according to Jiro's instructions and his perfected palate, massaging octopus until hands ache, hand-wringing the steaming towels until skin is dry and red.

Like the rice that is pummeled, scrubbed, starchy grain against wood grain, rinsed, vinegared, and weighed down until it is perfected, apprentices at Jiro's restaurant perform the same task for more than ten years before he will "even let them make the eggs." At 50, his son still waits for his father to retire to assume control of the restaurant, to work for himself.

The story of Jiro, like the fish he serves, is muddy and sweet, briny and oily, lean and fat. It is the story of a child abandoned early to a life of labor, the story of a boy who turns into a hard, but disciplined man. But it is also the story of redemption and reputation - respect. It's the story of a culture's tradition, kept alive in the kitchen, and passed down to sons and to staff.