When I first moved to Osaka Prefecture (大阪府), I dined exclusively at chain restaurants serving items on menus with pictures so I could see exactly what ingredients I would be consuming. There is a mysticism about Japanese food that I think frightened me, but luckily on the road to demystification, there was Torikizoku (鳥貴族). Born in Osaka, this restaurant chain had a simple premise, every dish and beverage on the menu is ¥370. For this price, I tried every part of the animal on offer. Torikizoku was my introduction to proper yakitori (焼き鳥) and although I still love the chain, they do not offer some of the truly wild, lesser-known, and more mysterious parts of the everyday chicken. The restaurant opened up the world of yakitori and today I would like to share my findings with you.
Yakitori are chicken skewers roasted over coals. It is working-class food meant to accompany beer for tired businessmen after a long day in the office. What makes yakitori different to chicken in Western countries is the attention to detail and the level of chicken butchery in Japan. Separating just the wings, breasts, and thighs of a chicken simply will not do and although those cuts of chicken are well-represented in Japanese cuisine, today we look at the less-explored cuts available on skewers in Yakitori restaurants.
Bonjiri (ぼんじり)
Bonjiri (ぼんじり) is the plump triangle of meat at the tail end of the chicken. Also known as sankaku (三角), tail (テール) or hip (ヒップ) meat. In some countries, it is known as the pope’s nose and is not often used for culinary purposes outside of boiling for stock. Luckily, this oversight has been corrected in Japan and this delicious and flavourful piece of meat is butchered to perfection, removing most of the excess pieces of cartilage before skewering and roasting over coals. The crispy skin provides a toothsome crunch and the high proportion of fat means that these chicken-y morsels quite literally burst with juice as you dig in.
Kokoronokori (こころのこり)
The level of detail in yakitori can be truly staggering. Take for example the kokoronokori (こころのこり), hatsunomoto (ハツモト) or gocha (ごちゃ). This is quite literally the part of the chicken that connects the heart and liver of the animal. Meticulously separated, lined up on wooden sticks and cooked to perfection. Kokoronokori is slightly gamey but did not have the pungent flavour of organ meat. The shape and fat marbling on the meat meant that there were some crunchy bits, and an unctuous mouthfeel that almost reminded me of grilled chicken skin.
Sode (そで)
Although slightly embarrassing, I must admit that I never stopped to consider that chickens had shoulder muscles. The wing and the breast were the only parts of the bird that I ever saw on restaurant menus growing up in the US. In Japan, this meat is also gathered and sorted for skewering and grilling under the name sode—the Japanese word for sleeve. In yakitori terms, this refers to the muscles that connect between the breast and the wing. The meat has such an interesting contrast, part meaty where the bite connected to the breast, and crunchy and fatty where it connected to the drumette of the bird. The added texture complexity made this dish an absolute pleasure to eat.
Often in the modern world stereotypes are considered negative, but in my opinion extraordinary effort to produce great things can hardly be considered a bad trait. Good yakitori is exactly what the first-time traveller to Japan would expect from Japan. The painstaking lengths restaurateurs go through to reveal the huge variety of flavours available in an ingredient that most take for granted. Finding the beauty in the mundane, the art in the everyday; this is what I see in a truly well-crafted piece of yakitori.
Header image credit: Haruka Lee
