My inner Mothra would be so proud. I had no fears that the gorgeous Icelandic woman sitting next to my husband at a dinner party was any competition for me, but that didn’t stop me from engaging the table with jokes told in rapid-fire English that I was sure she couldn’t get. It’s not bad to remember in this, the sappiest of all months, that there is a dark side to love. My dark side happens to be defined by monster movies along the lines of King Kong. Mothra may be my jealous side, and surely Gamera is present on my “less calm days.” But in every dark side there exists the glimmer of good, as in Godzilla. At first he may seem to want to pillage and burn urban centers of commerce and hydro-electric plants, but he can be turned and tamed, for the good of all.
This strange and spicy side of love is often ignored, and certainly not explored by amateurs, much like the wasabi sitting on that Bjork chick’s plate. I’m sure she saw it as merely a green glob of pasty yuck that need not be introduced into her safe meal. In fact, she seemd to be refusing to try it at all. As for the rest of us monsters, we choose to dance with the Japanese condiment’s bright heat and dinosaur roar.
These days it’s easier to find wasabi than a good print of Godzilla. Not only has the proliferation of sushi restaurants throughout the country raised wasabi awareness, but the word itself has been turned into a moronic ad campaign by those clever marketeers at Budweiser. And while more and more people are embracing the neon green, sinus-clearing paste of love, few really understand what it is. An informal dinner-party poll yielded these speculations as to what wasabi might be: fish guts, seaweed, Japanese mountain grass, flower pollen, and—my personal favorite—spicy wheat. Time to cut off the sake, I’m afraid.
Wasabia japonica is, as its scientific name implies, indigenous to Japan. It is not a member of the “spicy wheat” family, but a perennial herb of the Cruciferae, or mustard, family. It grows wild along stream beds and on river sand bars in wet, cool river valleys in the mountainous regions of Japan. The geographic range of wild wasabi runs from the northernmost islands to the southernmost, but production of the plant is centered on the interior section of the Izu peninsula and the Azumino plain tucked between the Japanese Alps in Nagano. The plant produces a rhizome, or an above-ground root-like runner, which is harvested and grated to form powders and pungent pastes.
While the plant occurs naturally in the wild, cultivation for commercial use is a trickier matter. For high-quality wasabi to flourish, it needs to be continuously washed over with pure, cold water. Obviously, glacial run-off allows for great irrigation in the upper regions where it is grown in terraces on sloping hills. But the plant is also being grown in the plains, with flat beds which must be banked by streams or diverted waters. Soil cultivation of the plant is also being explored, but this method has real problems. Even in ideal conditions, a wasabi plant will not reach maturity for 15 months—an awful long wait in the plant world, and an eternity in the human one.
Time is of the essence, because, like the three-headed alien Ghidrah, wasabi is taking over the world. Demand is up and there is high competition for the goods. In order to meet the needs of the current marketplace, there have been some adjustments to the traditional recipe. In fact, chances are the wasabi you’re eating contains no authentic wasabi whatsoever. Most commercial pastes sold in supermarkets and used at sushi restaurants are made from horseradish powder, mustard, and food coloring.
Compounding the demand for real wasabi is the mounting research that tells us how darn good the stuff is for you. The same compounds that provide the nostril-searing rush are known to be an effective treatment for food poisoning—thus it’s no accident that the Japanese use it so prevalently with raw fish. Asthma, blood clots, and even stomach cancer have all been treated successfully with wasabi, which has been used medicinally in Japan since the 10th century. Then there’s the really important application of wasabi—as a snack food. Dried wasabi peas and peanuts are invading markets across the country, and making special inroads in the coop community. The spicy little bar snacks can be found locally at Schuang Hur market on Nicollet Avenue in Minneapolis.
Wasabi may just be the monster crop of the new millennium. Pacific Farms in Oregon is currently the only producer of fresh wasabi in the USA. Their moist climate has proven to be a boon to farmers looking for a fresh crop. New Zealand is also exploring their wasabi growing potential, and even looking for people to come over, start a farm, and take a chance. If you think you want to start small, The Frog Farm will provide you with seedlings and cultivation instructions. (They glibly make it sound like a piece of ricecake).
Chino Latino, in Minneapolis, is currently using fresh wasabi from Pacific Farms with their sushi creations. Compared to the wasabi found in most joints, it does have a brighter snap and a grainier texture. Mainstream sushi-eaters often mix their wasabi into their soy sauce and then dip their fish. This masks the green monster’s potency a bit. The truly daring and the super-heroic plop a dollop right on top the fish, and go head-to-head with the dark side.
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