Tsukiji Fish Market

Its 5:00 am in Tsukiji, the sun already two hours into its ascent, and the morning dew has dried away leaving a crisp, fresh laundry scent in the air. Too early for the day's heat and humidity, the short walk along the Sumida is quite pleasant, and my pace quickens as I contemplate the sinking my teeth into what I've been told is the best sushi in the world.

The Tsukiji fish market is the largest fish market in the world, the central hub of seafood exchange fueling an entire culinary phenomenon. Statistics go a long way in approximating the incredible amount of commerce seen here daily: a fish is sold every four seconds from dawn till midday, 2,500 tons and $23 million of the sea's bounty coming into the hands of eager purveyors, mongers, and restaurant owners alike; an annual $6 billion who's most impressive moments include heated bidding on massive tuna for hundreds of thousands of dollars.

The stalls of the external marketplace are bustling when I arrive, towers of Styrofoam crudely marking the territory of each vendor. Sandals were a horrendous idea - I can feel my feet pickling slowly in the saltwater pavement. The usual Japanese politeness takes a back seat to the need to maintain a frenzied pace, and I learned to stay out of the way after several elbows and hastily shouted apologies.

All the necessary tools to filet a 4ft, 200lb tuna.

Some of the goodies for sale. I like the idea of being able to slurp down mussels the size of your face - mollusk-a-licious! The octopi are also looking quite tasty. But the true splendor of the marketplace is undoubtedly the tuna:

Every few minutes, a cart whizzes down the aisles bearing the biggest damn tuna I've ever seen. Tails are cut to determine the quality of the fish and, once sold, they are whisked away to meet their fate at the hands of a well sharpened, expertly wielded blade.

After my feet were sufficiently wrinkled and crusted white with sea salt, I stopped into a little sushi bar well recognized as the mecca of the raw fish world. No fanfare, glitz, or excessive trim, this is where the Tsukiji fisherman take their breakfast - and they know fresh. Less than a dozen stools skirt the edges of a well worn sushi bar manned by three chefs, one of them laying down a clump of fresh ginger and wasabi straight onto the bar as I took my seat. No plates to speak of, only a bowl of miso, a cup of green tea, a saucer of soy sauce, and chopsticks. I'm not a fish guru by any means, but I could tell this was good fish - excellent fish - leaps and bounds above the half-priced East Village sushi or rice-heavy deli sushi which I am embarrassed to admit I ate frequently during undergrad. Having come to the sushi capital of the world, to the very heart of it, I have this lesson to take with me: good fish is definitely an experience worth the premium, and if you're going broke eating it, well, then perhaps you're abusing the privilege.