Ma nouvelle en question, « Au-dessus de Shibuya », propose une translation géographico-temporelle distillé en un mélange de futur proche, de Japon et de réalités augmentées. Les plus impatients se réjouiront d’apprendre que le texte vient de paraître sous forme audio dans l’épisode 40 d’Utopod, le podcast désormais culte de Lucas Moreno & consorts.

Les autres se laisseront peut-être tenter par un extrait:

La biche explosa en un nuage de cœurs roses au contact de la petite fille. Les enfants autour d’elle éclatèrent de rire et se mirent à sautiller pour les attraper. Un garçon se retourna et cria quelque chose : la biche était réapparue derrière eux. Ils la prirent en chasse, maladroitement, leur kimono trop ample flottant dans le vent.

Adrian les regarda s’éloigner, fasciné. Il isola la séquence, la compressa et routa le flux vers la console qui dormait à près de dix mille kilomètres de lui sous la table de son salon, dans le XVIIIe arrondissement. Claire la verrait à son réveil. Il n’avait pas réussi à la convaincre de quitter Paris pour l’accompagner, mais elle lui avait fait promettre un compte rendu détaillé de son reportage.

Le recueil est disponible à la commande sur le site de Rivière Blanche, ainsi que dans les diverses librairies qui ont le bon goût de proposer les volumes de Rivière Blanche, ou encore dans vos festivals préférés (Imaginales, Utopiales, etc). A ce propos, les anthologistes et un sous-ensemble conséquent des auteurs de ce recueil (dont votre serviteur, décidément) seront présents aux Imaginales à Epinal pour en parler, le signer, boire des verres jusqu’à pas d’heure, etc.

L’occasion de nous dire bonjour, d’acheter Dimension Suisse, et pourquoi pas de poursuivre la découverte de la SF suisse avec le recueil « Défricheurs d’Imaginaire » de Jean-François Thomas, chez Bernard Campiche, et « Cygnis », le nouveau et brillant roman de SF enneigée de Vincent Gessler (oui, l’anthologiste de Dimension Suisse, c’est bien vous suivez) à l’Atalante!

Et pour conclure, j’adresse un immense merci à Anthony et Vincent pour leur excellent travail sur cette anthologie, ainsi qu’à Lucas Moreno pour avoir retenu ma nouvelle pour Utopod et Sylvain Demierre pour l’avoir lue avec toujours autant de talent!

PS: Pour couronner l’inceste, c’est Sylvain Demierre qui a réalisé cette belle couverture. Ou quand la lenteur légendaire helvétique fait place à l’ubiquité.

(Yes, there will be spoilers, which leaves you with the amusing conundrum that you need to see the film before you can know why you needn’t have seen it.)

Avatar has been largely celebrated by the masses and the media. That it has been enjoyed by many is a fact that cannot be refuted. In fact, even I enjoyed it to some extent: the cutting-edge technological prowess, the lush colourful fantasy world, the immersive eye-candy. It would be pointless to call Avatar anything but bliss for the senses.

Even the overall action follows a pattern so predictable and well-proven that it couldn’t possibly have failed to overwhelm the viewer with adrenaline-fuelled excitement.

But as soon as the 3D glasses are taken off, the effect wears off and evolves into one of two possible feelings: most people leave with a dreamy head; I left with a profound taste of unease in my mouth, as if I had been cheated in ways I couldn’t yet put my finger on. So I turned to the Internet.

Naturally, critiques abound, usually raising valid issues all related but in my opinion only peripheral to the central flaw. The recurrent comments include:

• It’s Pocahontas in Space/Fern Gully/Dance with the Ewoks or the white guilt complex all over again.
• The confrontation is strictly manichaean and all the characters are one-dimensional and never truly challenged.
• The action is littered with incoherences (Na’vis chat in the no-comm zone, etc).
• The plot is simplistic and the world greatly under-used (awkward human/na’vi interaction, etc).
• The hippie, green, anti-capitalist message is at odds with the blockbuster nature of the work ($1B mark in three weeks, good job).
• It’s bad quality science-fiction.

All of which are obviously accurate and described in enough details elsewhere. The converts typically counter these arguments by arguing that they are inevitable because of the budget and by claiming the freedom to use archetypes to structure the story (as does Lionel Davoust in his convincing essay, in French). I personally refute the idea that a big budget is ever an excuse for a simplistic development (e.g. Matrix, Lord of the Rings, The Dark Knight, Wall-E, etc), and while I have no problem with archetypes, I found their use too superficial to convey any kind of message.

However, one particularly interesting article details what Avatar could have been, based on a much earlier script codenamed Project 880. It’s interesting because it addresses most of the issues above and fills in the numerous narrative blanks which anyone who stopped staring at the wonders of Pandora for over a second couldn’t help noticing.

For instance, in Project 880, humans are fascinated by Pandora as an Eden compared to their ravaged Earth, which is shown and the motivation of several characters. The human-Na’vi relationship is also more complex (in Avatar, it is awkward and skilfully avoided, at best). And Jake Sully gains respect from the Na’vis by sweating and performing well in a hunt, possibly thanks to his past marine training (character building, how exciting!), not by dropping on the back of a giant orange dragon and magically riding it at the other end of the narrative ellipsis.

Project 880 had a broader scope, developed human and Na’vi characters with actual motivations, more interesting plot twists and a richer background that tied everything together. And at some point during the production, this vast science-fiction script was transformed into a one-dimensional manichaean naive fantasy film.

Note for the purists: this is not to suggest science-fiction is superior to fantasy. There is bad science-fiction and good fantasy; this just isn’t it, and it’s worth pointing out that a paradigm change happened along the way.

It is easy to imagine why: simplifying the film alleviated any risk of confusing viewers and helped maximize the audience. Nevertheless, there was definitely a risk that by streamlining the concept to death, people would be disappointed by its superficiality.

But they weren’t. They loved it.

Partly thanks to the distraction of the spectacular world they were placed into and the steady pace at which they were led through it. But most of the trick consisted in tapping one of the fundamental weaknesses of humans today: their laziness.

And here comes what I consider the central problem with Avatar: it is a tremendously passive film.

Cinema, like any art, isn’t a passive medium. The spectator engages with the piece emotionally, intellectually. Art plants seeds in his mind and lets them flourish through his imagination. He inhabits the characters, feels their doubts, struggles, joys and tears. He immerses himself in the story and might even end up changed in his own self at the end of the journey. It is a celebration of human nature and life.

This is why good films need rich, human characters and a powerful story to shake them.

But because Avatar is so shallow, because its story is so linearly binary and its characters uni-dimensional, it requires all the power of its fantastic visuals to stun the viewers into a wonder-induced stupor so that they can be guided passively through the bump-free narration. They can fully engage with their senses, but not their human emotions, let alone their intellect. It elevates the whole film to a state of dreamy fantasy, a happy ending fairy tale for adults.

It’s a happy tale indeed, in a black and white world where no sacrifices, no hard choices have to be made, where efforts are unneeded (Jake succeeds at everything without much pain), where small tribal minorities and Mother Nature (Good) win over a fully-equipped technological army of trained warriors (Evil), where only minor characters nobody cares about die and where the hero wins everything at the end without any loss (or any psychological change). Even when the great Hometree falls, the utmost catastrophe moments ago, laments last but a few minutes before the matter is set aside and everyone hugs below the backup Tree of Souls.

No wonder so many people claimed they “wish they could go to Pandora.”

But nobody can go there because it doesn’t exist, cannot exist, outside of a dream. Dreams, like funfair rides, are beautiful, free of disappointment, and in them the spectator can happily veg out.

Sadly, Avatar marks our time, not as a technological milestone, but as the ultimate product of an era in which society is so disillusioned with its responsibilities that it welcomes total abandonment to passive fantasy narratives which elegantly conceal our denial to marvel at true human nature and reality.

Indeed, in order to maintain the illusion, Avatar is soothing, devoid of any asperity that would let some humanity in. It brings no answers, no questions, no disturbance.

It is a bright, vivid but passive journey into an ephemeral dream world everybody would rather live in than our own.

The question is, who will take care of our world then?

As always, I call bullshit on people who pretend that no good music is released anymore. Here is my own subjective proof, in the form of a 2009 top 10 albums (followed by drop-outs from the short-list), accompanied by their respective Twitter-length micro-review.

10. Bill Callahan — Sometimes I Wish We Were An Eagle

Intimate stroll with a lone crooner and his humble orchestra. Simple, deep, human songs.

9. Florence + The Machine — Lungs

More than pleasant hipster pop, its tunes either catchy or naive.

8. The Dead Weather — Horehound

Jack White’s new supergroup and latest genius iteration of rock’n'roll, conjuring a sexier vibe, sharper sounds.

7. Phoenix — Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix

Strongest instalment of Gallic pop-rock yet. Tighter, richer, more daring and referential than ever.

6. Bat For Lashes — Two Suns

Natasha Khan steps outside and embraces a broader musical scope in her mystical journey.

5. Au Revoir Simone — Still Night, Still Light

Casio-pop elevated to a new level, where naive words dance with trivial melodies and shine.

4. Sufjan Stevens — The BQE

Beautiful mini-symphony swirling from Tchaikovsky to Gershwin, seamless wedding of orchestra & electronica.

3. The XX — XX

2009’s revelation of minimal rock, haunting production of dry beats and clear guitar and tense duets.

2. Dinosaur Jr. — Farm

Conquering guitars, fuelled by a rare melancholic humility. A new gem of classical rock.

1. Fever Ray — Fever Ray

Incense and lasers. Soundtrack for a pagan celebration of drums, synths & obsessive, forbidden melodies.

Besides those, a number of albums didn’t make the cut but are still definitely worth a listen.

On the discovery shelf, the dark ballads of Soap&Skin (Lovetune For Vacuum), the catchy vintage funk/hip-hop of General Elektriks (Good City For Dreamers), the tender and clever pop of Peter Von Poehl (May Day), the spatial laments of Sébastien Schuller (Evenfall), the irresistible dance beats of Tiga (Ciao!).

Existing bands I only started listening to in 2009 include the ultimate hip combo of Animal Collective, for its panoramic ethno-electronic experiment in Merriweather Post Pavilion, and Grizzly Bear, who outsmarted pretty much everyone with their odd, fakely retro chamber-pop capharnaüm Veckatimest. Both would probably have deserved a spot in the Top 10 if I had invested more time listening to them.

Time which was instead spent on catching up with new releases from artists I already loved.

Some turned out slightly disappointing: Patrick Watson, who got a bit lost in the expansion of his musical universe (Wooden Arms); Fischerspooner, too hectic and cheesy to hit the target this time (Entertainment); Röyksopp, as desperately cheap as always save for a few highlights (Junior); Zoot Woman, clubbier but not as tightly poppy (Things Are What They Used to Be); Sonic Youth, traditional and predictable (The Eternal).

My own long-time favourite, Air, didn’t really deliver either with Love 2, too naive, too free of tension to capitalize on their ideas and renewed synth army.

Archive, on the other hand, successfully reconciled their trip-hop legacy with their recent experimental electro-rock on the dark and modern Controlling Crowds. Positively surprised too by both The Flaming Lips, with its very raw assemblage of rock cuts that was Embryonic, and Super Furry Animals, bringing a new selection of catchy pop (Dark Days/Light Years). More conservative, Junior Boys kept refining their minimal-dance in Begone Dull Care, unsurprising but nevertheless quite essential. More daringly, Jamie Cullum went further than ever in his blend of pop/jazz, reaching out to new ears with broad, spatial tunes interleaved with more intimate jazz classics (The Pursuit).

Also of note, a couple of new bands born from the recombination of established artists: Moderat (Apparat + Modeselektor), serving a sublime mix of fat beats, swirling soundscapes and spoken rhythms on Moderat; Jónsi & Alex (with Jón Þór Birgisson of Sigur Rós), premature leak of the soundtrack of your ascension to paradise, complete with layers of strings and boy choirs, in the form of Riceboy Sleeps; and Danger Mouse & Sparklehorse’s Dark Night of the Soul, brilliant collage of collaborations resulting in a coherent kaleidoscope of ideas.

In a totally different genre, I recommend the dreamy soundtrack of Moon by Clint Mansell, as icy, spatial and mysterious as the film.

Or at both ends of the “ethnic” range: very classical and flawless Latino pieces by Quantic & His Combo Barbaro (Tradition In Transition) or the inspiring curiosity of African spirits channelled through a European production of The Very Best (Warm Heart Of Africa).

See? Music is not dead. Far from it.

Just shut up and listen.

I was really going to write a review for this fantastically surreal gig, but the Guardian’s review simply says exactly what I had in mind, conjuring such appropriately evocative images as “a pagan ceremony with lasers”.

Fever Ray, at Shepherds Bush Empire, London, by theefer

Her live band are only dimly visible, their faces painted or masked. They are equipped with keyboards and computers, rattles and shamanistic paraphernalia. In their midst is a strange, heavily cloaked figure which may be Andersson or may not – we cannot say for sure until this great cloth chrysalis releases a slender woman with long blond hair.

Fever Ray, at Shepherds Bush Empire, London, by theefer

Untreated, as on the haunting “Keep the Streets Empty For Me”, Andersson’s voice evokes a demonic Björk; processed, it can become disconcertingly masculine, and part of the effect of seeing Fever Ray live lies in the disjunct between Andersson’s appearance and the ungodly sounds she produces.

Fever Ray, at Shepherds Bush Empire, London, by theefer

See the full Flickr set for this gig.

Max Tundra @ Cargo, London / rave with a mouth keyboard, by theefer

Le concert à proprement parler était tout à fait chouette, et m’a permis de découvrir que:

1. Max Tundra est très petit
2. et très sympa
3. et très à l’aise pour chanter et improviser aux claviers sur ses chansons
4. et pour transformer un clavier à bouche en son rave (sur The Entertainment).

Et comme je lui ai promis de faire de la pub: pour les suisses, il passera au Bad Bonn à Düdingen le 21 février… Allez-y!

Max Tundra @ Cargo, London, by theefer

De quoi faire le plein des oreilles dans les minutes restantes avant 2009!

10. Cut Copy – In Ghost Colours (Modular)

An uptempo melange of influences, In Ghost Colours coherently blends sweaty stadium-sized synth pop and intimate indie electronica. Explicitely reminiscent from the 80’s, Cut Copy escapes the suffocating darkness of that era (unlike fellow Melbourne-based Midnight Juggernauts) by throwing swirling melodies on it, in reference to 90’s disco tunes. Or how to make disco music for hipsters.

9. Cobalt – Domestic (Urbanseed)

Thick, organic electronica layering mysterious melodies on top of an industrial machinery of rhythms, a fugitive violin and the hoarse voice of the singer lost inside this oppressive but carefully crafted debut album.

8. The Raconteurs – Consolers of the Lonely (Warner Bros.)

The easiness with which The Raconteurs reinvent rock’n roll in 2008 is almost indecent; tunes rock, melodies swirl in your ear, and forty years of rock pass by, from blues to ballads, from Led Zeppelin to The White Stripes. Rare genius of disconcerting perfection.

7. Stereolab – Chemical Chords (4AD)

This is Stereolab: playful melodies, clean guitar riffs, a Farfisa organ jumping around and, in the middle, Laetitia Sadier’s imperious voice. One more album that proves their astonishing ability to reinvent themselves within their universe, each time opening the doors of a new realm, building on top of their discography without repeating themselves.

6. Beach House – Devotion (Carpark)

On Devotion, the melancholic dream pop of Beach House unfolds in the vast space of a timeless musical box, halfway between an eery, black-and-white funfair and a choir of gentle ghosts. A timid guitar dancing around Victoria Legrand’s vocals, soothing organs floating above the muffled drums, the atmosphere is conflict-free and yet, sublime.

5. Ladyhawke – Ladyhawke (Modular Recordings)

Synths and beats stolen directly from the eighties, Ladyhawke escapes the traps of tedious revival nostalgia thanks to her strong presence, both vocally and in the upbeat melodies and rhythms throughout the album. Quality electropop, rockier than Zoot Woman, and borrowing some funky frenzy from the French touch but only to combine it immediately with some sort of movie-like, Californian prom night naiveté.

4. Cat Power – Jukebox (Matador)

In the shadows of a smoky bar, Cat Power’s voice emerges above the thrifty bursts of guitars, above the tremolo chords of Rhodes and Wurlitzer, a voice filled with pain and courage, mirror of a soul caressing nostalgia and, sometimes, hope.

3. Max Tundra – Parallax Error Beheads You (Domino)

Pitchfork brilliantly summed up the album as “[a] reality show where XTC, Prince, Aphex Twin, and George Gershwin have to live together inside the sound chip of an aging Game Boy.” Indeed, its cheap computer banks would put Mika to shame, but Max Tundra still exponentially surpasses the latter by glorifying his lo-fi instruments, crafting complex songs on them without any inferiority complex.

From the stroboscopic pop of “Orphaned” to the dancing swarms of digital synths on “Which Song”, Parallax Error Beheads You opens the door of an unsuspected musical universe, in which a geeky musician could overperform most the yearly production from inside the heart of a vintage console.

2. M83 – Saturdays=Youth (Mute)

Embracing the nostalgia of a fantasized imagery of the United States in the 80’s, M83 conjugates its shoegazing roots with late night pop reverie, voices reverberating amidst vintage drums and guitars. This powerful feeling of longing for an iconic past reaches its climax on “Couleurs”, a progressive nightscape stolen from some dreamed of silent chase scene in a yet-to-exist Michael Mann movie.

1. Portishead – Third (Island)

After ten years of silence, Portishead comes back with an album so coherent and evolutionary that it feels like they never left, but only muted their sound for a while.

While Dummy and Portishead were urban westerns, their mechanical texture softened by the humanity of their hip-hop roots, Third is resolutely post-apocalyptic, its coldness only salvaged of complete desolation by the flickering flame of Beth Gibbons’ voice. As if all hope had been forsaken, as if humanity had already failed and beauty was now to be looked for in the depth of darkness, in the industrial caves of abandoned factories.

Down there, spectral ballads evolve into obsessive electronica (“The Rip”) and laments are rhythmed by automatic weapons (the fantastic “Machine Gun”).

Oscillating between alarmed urgency and numb despair, Third brutally forces us into a universe populated with tribes of drumming machines, shadows of ghostly survivors, scaring us and, simultaneously, comforting us that everything is over, but it’s okay…

Naturally, many other albums were struggling for the Top 10 without making it, for whichever reason.

Some beloved bands scored an album that simply didn’t hold the comparison with their previous works: My Morning Jacket’s Evil Urges is no Z, Sébastien Tellier’s Sexuality was very enjoyable but not outstanding, as were Ladytron’s Velocifero, Miss Kittin’s Batbox or Frida Hyvönen’s Silence Is Wild.

Other formerly discarded bands also brought positive surprises: Oasis‘ Dig Out Your Soul (it’s kind of okay, seriously) and Emilia Torrini unexpected Me and Armini, featuring the haunting “Gun”.

A couple of disco-oriented acts also deserve attention by straying away from conventions: Neon Neon’s Stainless Style retro-homage, The Presets‘ rough but highly effective Apocalypso and the unimaginable disco reunion of Anthony Hegarty’s androgynous presence, Nomi Ruiz’s ultrasexuality, and Andy Butler’s mixes on Hercules and Love Affair’s eponymous debut.

Finally, excellent new names arrived in my audio universe with Calexico (Carried to Dust, for a dusty journey in American folklore), Fujiya & Miyagi (Lightbulbs and its funky electropop), Grace Jones (Hurricane, contemporary tribalism) and, yes, Scarlett Johansson (Anywhere I Lay My Head, borrowed from Tom Waits and stretched to fill the space of a magical funfair as filmed by Jim Jarmusch).

My flash fiction, Fork Bomb, appears in the episode entitled Aural Delights No 50 Paul di Fillippo. It’s a geeky story about a post-humanist future, starting around 6:10 in the episode (that also features a story by Paul di Fillippo!).

Many thanks to Tony C. Smith, the inimitable host of the show, for picking this story, and to Ray Sizemore, for his amazing narration!

And be sure not to miss “The Engine Room No 8 France Gonzo” episode about the Utopiales, as well as the upcoming interviews Tony did in Nantes!

Le shabu-shabu consiste à tremper de fines tranches de bœuf dans un bouillon. Divers autres ingrédients prennent aussi part au bain: tofu, chou chinois, algues, oignons, carottes, champignons, œuf cru, etc. On peut même y ajouter des udon, du porc, du poisson.

Sukiyaki, by toyohara

Dans l’esprit, le plat fait penser à une traditionnelle fondue chinoise. En pratique, cependant, on relève des différences autant logistiques (forme de la marmite, usage des baguettes à la place de fourchettes pointues) que culinaires (type de légumes utilisés, bouillon, type de viande, etc).

kani-shabu in hokkaido, by w00kie

En particulier, le goût du shabu-shabu est assez fin, en raison de son bouillon préparé à base d’algues (kombu, 昆布).

Dans un registre très similaire, le sukiyaki (すき焼き) offre des saveurs plus relevées et sucrées, grâce à son bouillon rougeoyant de sauce soya, mirin, sucre et sake.

SUKIYAKI, by y_katsuuu

Avec un peu de chance, il est possible de déguster les deux en même au restaurant en demandant une marmite double où ils se complètent tels le yin et le yang, tant gustativement que visuellement.

shabu shabu, by Gustty

Ces deux plats, que d’aucuns se dépêcheront de ridiculiser sous l’appellation “fondue japonaise”, appartiennent en réalité à la catégorie des nabemono (鍋物), soit les plats mijotés dans une casserole, traditionnellement en terre cuite ou en fonte.

On trouve typiquement deux types de sauces (tare, たれ) dans lesquelles tremper la nourriture mijotée:

ponzu (ポン酢)

Sauce salée et légèrement acide à base de sauce soya, de jus de type citronné (de yuku ou autres), de mirin et de kombu.

gomadare (胡麻垂れ)

Sauce à base de sésame (goma, 胡麻), de sauce soya, de kombu, de sake et de sucre. Plus douce et onctueuse que la première.

Au Japon, comme dans tous les autres pays où l’on ouvre la bouche tant pour manger que pour parler, il existe tout un vocabulaire associé aux pratiques gastronomiques. Il est toujours pratique de savoir balbutier quelques mots pour conforter le cuisinier dans son succès ou héler les serveurs pour en reprendre.

veggies are ready for shabushabu as well!, by perago89

Comme le veut le rituel des langues étrangères, le premier mot à apprendre c’est “santé!”, soit “kampai!” (乾杯) en japonais. Ensuite, si vous avez faim (“onaka ga suita“, お腹がすいた, litt. “mon ventre s’est vidé”), il faut attraper un serveur.

Contrairement à la pratique européenne, qui consiste pour le serveur à feindre que le restaurant est entièrement vide, et non pas plein de clients qui souhaiteraient être servis et qui s’en plaignent à voix basse au gré d’appels de main de plus en plus nerveux, contrairement à cette pratique donc, il suffit au Japon de lancer un “sumimasen!” (“s’il vous plait/pardon!”) retentissant pour voir accourir un ou plusieurs serveurs.

sliced beef for shabu shabu, by perago89

Deuxième étape de l’apprentissage d’une langue étrangère: commander une bière. Ici: “bīru o kudasai” (ビールを下さい, “une bière s’il vous plaît”). On remplacera kudasai par onegaishimasu pour passer du langage poli à très poli.

Plus tard, une fois la nourriture servie, n’oubliez pas le pseudo-équivalent de notre “bon appétit”: “itadakimasu” (戴きます), i.e. “je reçois [humblement]“. En disant ces mots, joindre ses mains et incliner légèrement la tête en signe de profonde gratitude.

sukiyaki, by nyaa_birdies_perch

Si vous trouvez la nourriture délicieuse, il est bon ton de le faire savoir à son entourage à l’aide d’un “oishii!” (美味しい, “délicieux!”) extatique (rajoutez des “i” pour varier le degré — surtout les filles). Si vous trouvez la nourriture délicieuse ET vous êtes un homme, vous avez gagné le droit d’utiliser “umai!” (美味い) à la place, un peu plus viril.

Si vous avez mis tout le repas pour vous rendre compte que c’était délicieux, vous pouvez encore vous rattraper avec la forme au passé de l’adjectif: “oishikatta!” (美味しかった).

Dans le cas où vous en êtes déjà à votre quatrième bol de nattō (納豆) commandé au hasard sur un menu tout en japonais, vous pouvez jouer votre joker en demandant une suggestion à la serveuse à l’aide d’un “osusume wa?” (お勧め, “[votre] suggestion?”) inquisiteur.

IMG_0956, by wukong 悟空 (Xuemin Guan)

Une fois rassasié (“onaka ga ippai!“, お腹が一杯, “[j'ai l']estomac plein”), demandez l’addition (“okanjo” ou “chekko“), puis faites semblant de partir; en fait, on paie à la sortie donc vous n’aurez roulé personne.

Pour achever la cérémonie, lancez un dernier “gochisōsama deshita” (ご馳走さまでした, soit “c’était un festin” assorti d’au moins trois formules de politesses différentes) au cuisinier avant d’écarter les pans de tissus de la porte de sortie!

DSC00040, by Max Choong

Ce petit lexique est d’autant plus utile que manger dehors est une activité prédominante au Japon. Plutôt que de s’inviter les uns les autres dans son (potentiellement minuscule) appartement, il est plus pratique de sortir pour manger en société. Sans parler de ceux qui n’ont pas le temps de cuisiner. Une culture qui en explique certainement les prix compétitifs.

Le choix est étourdissant, qu’on cherche un restaurant gastronomique luxurieux, un sushiya tournant solitaire et efficace, un yakitoriya social ou un boui boui aux environs de la gare où les salarymen avalent debout un dernier bol de rāmen avant d’affronter les heures de train du retour (et leur femme).

shabu-shabu en bonne compagnie

Cette fois, exit les discriminations animales arbitraires, tout y passe: bœuf, porc, poulet, abats, fruits de mer, légumes. Mille délices dorent ainsi au dessus du feu, sous l’œil attentif des convives prêts à attaquer les morceaux d’un coup de baguettes.

Yakiniku, by MShades

Dans les restaurants, spécialisés comme on l’a dit, le grill en question fait partie intégrante de la table. Un système de ventilation évoquant les souffleries de Boeing complète parfois l’installation et évite de devoir mettre en quarantaine ses habits après deux heures de grillades intensives.

Bien qu’on se régale aussi de porc, voire de poulet, la viande la plus typique consommée en yakiniku est le bœuf. Comme rien n’est jamais simple, il faut encore choisir entre rōsu (filet) et karubi (côtes, sans os). Les morceaux sont généralement coupés en tranches plus ou moins fines, mais suffisamment petites pour être avalées en une ou deux bouchées.

A’s farewell party, by jetalone

La texture même de la viande est aussi particulière comparée aux grillades occidentales. La meilleure viande est subtilement marbrée, c’est-à-dire que le gras est distribué dans tout le morceau comme un filet moëlleux, plutôt qu’accumulé en une obscène couronne blanchâtre autour du muscle. Le résultat, tendre, juteux, goûteux, est tristement méconnu de nos papilles gustatives européennes. Il semblerait même que ce gras serait significativement plus pauvre en cholestérol que celui qu’on fuit dans nos viandes.

Beef Sashimi (牛刺し）, by shiokuma

La qualité de la viande dépend bien sûr du prix qu’on y met, avec pour apothéose le célèbre “bœuf de Kobe” dont on reparlera dans un prochain épisode. Toutefois, d’autres viandes sont aussi servies pour amortir l’impact sur le porte-monnaie. Outre le porc et le poulet, les abats constituent une autre spécialité des grillades japonaises avec notamment du foie (レバー, rebā), du cœur (ハツ, hatsu) ou des tripes.

Korean BBQ @ Kim no Ie キムの家(月島), by jetalone

En japonais, les abats se disent motsu (もつ) ou horumon (ホルモン). Si comme moi vous avez cultivé une certaine appréhension pour ce dernier terme, en raison de sa consonnance para-cycliste, sachez qu’il ne s’agit bel et bien pas, contrairement à ce que son nom en katakana semble indiquer, d’un “steak d’hormones de boeuf”. L’étymologie exacte est incertaine, mais viendrait probablement de hōrumon (放る物) en dialecte du Kansai (関西弁, kansaiben), qui signifie “les choses qu’on jette”. Les abats quoi.

ホルモン, by shiokuma

Ces délicieux petits bouts d’animaux morts se dégustent, comme toujours, à l’aide d’une sauce (たれ, tare), encore une fois préparée à base de sauce soya, mirin, sake, etc. Le mélange standard, inexplicablement différent avec chaque type de plat.

Pour les végétariens (qui décidément se sont trompés de restaurant), des légumes sont aussi disponibles en lot de consolation: poivrons, carottes, oignons, aubergines, pommes de terre, maïs, champignons, kabocha (カボチャ, courge japonaise) et compagnie. De quoi se distraire les papilles entre deux bouts de viande, surtout que le riz est parfois en option.

Yakiniku et légumes lors d’un BBQ NEC dans la nature

Au Japon, l’esprit orgiaque de telles grillades est assuré par la commande de menus à discrétion: tabehōdai (食べ放題) pour la nourriture, nomihōdai (飲み放題) pour les boissons. Ou, idéalement, les deux à la fois, soit tabenomihōdai (食べ飲み放題).

À partir de 2500 yens environ, suivant la combinaison choisie et la variété du menu, le festin peut commencer avec des munitions illimitées de viande, légumes, riz, bière, sake, cocktails, etc. La consommation étant restreinte dans le temps, deux heures en général, la ruée vers l’auge prend vite des allures olympiques. Cependant, même les gros mangeurs finissent toujours repus (et raisonablement éméchés).

DSC_2870.JPG, by kirainet

Bonus: par synchronisation tout à fait involontaire, Robin vient de publier une entrée sur un repas de yakiniku sur son blog Tabemonogatari!