The World’s Most Dangerous Food: Fugu

I cannot see her tonight.
I have to give her up
So I will eat fugu.
Yosa Buson (1716–1783)

From mid-December until late February or early March, one of the tastiest dishes you may ever have the luxury of devouring is in season. Time is fleeting, and I cannot encourage you more to rush out at your earliest convenience to sample the delicious flesh of the fugu, if you have the stones for it…and you may not. Every year between 20 and 100 people actually die from eating it.

This creature’s liver, gonads, and, in some cases, its skin, all contain the nerve poison, Tetrodotoxin. There is enough of it in a single fish to kill 30 adults, and a death from this substance is not fun. Being a neurotoxin, it acts to paralyze the muscles while the victim remains conscious. You will be fully aware as you slowly asphyxiate. There is no known antidote for Tetrodotoxin poisoning.

Fugu chefs must train rigorously for two to three years in order to be fully licensed to prepare the fish for consumption; it is not an easy task to remove the toxic organs from the animal. The real experts actually take the trouble to add the barest hint of Tetrodotoxin to the meat itself. The idea is that if the meat makes your lips and tongue go numb, you know how close you came to death.

Nevertheless, it is a highly prized delicacy, and Americans are just catching on to the subtle and elegant flavor and texture of the fugu. Last year as an early birthday present my girl took me to one of New York’s boutique restaurants where fugu was being served for a tidy sum. We had it butterflied and grilled with a hint of salt and a trace of chili pepper. The quiet burn on the lips and tongue was exquisitely matched to the delicate nuances of the meat itself.

As the American pallet is generally less ballsy than that of the Japanese, I doubt that the chef will be so daring for us this week when Joel and I head to Bar Masa to sample their bill of fare, but we can hope. And pray.

Should Dethroner stop short one day soon, you’ll know what happened…

Grub Street [nymag.com]