來(lái)一碗日本動(dòng)漫里光芒四射的豬排飯！

Like so much of the exuberant food imagery that I’m drawn to in anime, the katsudon in “Yuri!!! on Ice,” a series about a competitive figure skater in his early 20s, appeared as a less detailed but somehow more vivid version of itself. A Japanese rice bowl capped with golden slices of pork cutlet, held together with barely cooked eggs and translucent onions — textures exaggerated, colors saturated, aromas made visible — occasionally twinkling in soft focus, as if seen through a Vaseline-greased lens. “Is this what God eats?!” one character asked another, trembling, cheeks flushed, eyes wide with the shock of its pleasure. What I love about food in anime is the truth in its hyperbole.

《冰上的尤里》(Yuri!!! on Ice)講述的是一個(gè)20歲出頭的競(jìng)技花樣滑冰選手的故事。和我喜歡的日本動(dòng)漫里很多絢爛奪目的美食畫(huà)面一樣，這部動(dòng)畫(huà)片里的豬排飯看上去沒(méi)那么精致，卻異常生動(dòng)。日式的碗里盛著米飯，上面蓋著金黃的豬排，搭配幾乎全生的雞蛋和半透明的洋蔥——食材口感被放大，色彩飽滿，香味似乎能看得見(jiàn)。柔焦鏡頭下的它們偶爾還會(huì)閃爍一下，像是透過(guò)擦了凡士林的鏡頭看到的情景。“這是神靈吃的嗎?!”片中一個(gè)聲音顫抖、臉頰緋紅、因?yàn)榭吹矫朗扯@喜地睜大眼睛的角色問(wèn)另一個(gè)人。對(duì)于日本動(dòng)漫里的美食，我喜歡的正是從它們的夸張里表現(xiàn)出來(lái)的真實(shí)。

I meant to watch just one episode of the 12-part first season when it came out last fall on some streaming sites. My friend Whitney had told me I’d love it, but I didn’t realize how much: I stayed up and watched them all, more and more charmed and hungry. At first, Yuri is anxious. And he makes mistakes when he’s anxious, and he tortures himself over those mistakes. When he’s celebrating a win, or stuck in a professional slump, he finds comfort in katsudon. “Yuri” devotees from all over the world were quick to recreate his favorite dish at home, posting photos of their versions online like ephemeral fan art. They styled the dishes faithfully, with an addition of peas (at the fictional hot-springs inn that Yuri’s parents run in Kyushu, the dish is served with peas). By the time I finished the series, I wanted to do the same, so I asked Whitney to come over for dinner.

去年秋天，當(dāng)這部動(dòng)畫(huà)片第一季12集登陸一些流播放網(wǎng)站時(shí)，我本來(lái)只打算看一集。看之前，朋友惠特尼(Whitney)說(shuō)我會(huì)喜歡的，但我沒(méi)想到自己會(huì)這么喜歡：我熬夜把12集全看完了，越看越著迷，越看越餓。起初，尤里感到焦慮。他一焦慮就會(huì)犯錯(cuò)，然后又因?yàn)檫@些錯(cuò)誤折磨自己。慶祝勝利或處在職業(yè)生涯的低潮時(shí)，他會(huì)在豬排飯中找到安慰。世界各地的“尤里”迷們很快便開(kāi)始在自己家里制作他最愛(ài)的這道美食，并把各自作品的照片發(fā)布到網(wǎng)上，就像轉(zhuǎn)瞬即逝的粉絲作品(fan art，指動(dòng)漫、電子游戲、電影等作品的愛(ài)好者根據(jù)原作中的角色或內(nèi)容創(chuàng)作的藝術(shù)品——譯注)一樣。他們忠實(shí)地設(shè)計(jì)，還會(huì)加上豌豆(在故事里，尤里的父母在九州經(jīng)營(yíng)的溫泉旅店供應(yīng)的豬排飯里有豌豆)?？赐赀@部動(dòng)畫(huà)片時(shí)，我也想這么做。于是，我請(qǐng)惠特尼過(guò)來(lái)吃飯。

The foundation of the dish is tonkatsu, a deep-fried breaded pork cutlet that became popular in Japan by the early 20th century. Tonkatsu may have started out as an imitation of European-style cutlets — thin, flimsy slices of veal and lamb, sautéed in butter and served with a fork and a knife — but Japanese cooks soon owned it, revised it and deviated from the European recipes to develop their own style. By the 1920s, restaurants in Tokyo specialized in thick, evenly crisp cutlets, made from pork and deep-fried, often in lard. They served these in slices, so people could grasp them with chopsticks. Tonkatsu is now omnipresent, under heat lamps and behind glass at convenience stores, and on boards with shredded cabbage at high-end restaurants. In a Japanese home, it wouldn’t be unusual to have one or two in the fridge, like a leftover piece of fried chicken.

這道美食的基礎(chǔ)是20世紀(jì)初在日本流行起來(lái)的油炸裹了面包屑的豬排。炸豬排起初可能是模仿歐式肉排——將牛肉或羊肉切成薄片，用黃油嫩煎，搭配刀叉食用——但很快，日本廚師便掌握了其中的技巧，并對(duì)其進(jìn)行了改進(jìn)，從歐洲的做法中發(fā)展出了自己的風(fēng)格。到上世紀(jì)20年代，東京有不少餐廳主打厚實(shí)但每一處都酥脆可口的豬排。它們通常是用豬油炸制而成。廚師會(huì)將豬排切成塊，方便人們用筷子食用?，F(xiàn)在，加熱燈下，便利店的玻璃門(mén)后、高檔餐廳里，炸豬排隨處可見(jiàn)。在日本家庭的冰箱里發(fā)現(xiàn)一兩塊炸豬排一點(diǎn)都不奇怪，就像吃剩的炸雞塊一樣。

Katsudon is particularly helpful if you need to revive one of those cold, just-starting-to-sog cutlets, stretching it into a cheap, delicious meal. The simmering broth soaks into the breading, turning it juicy, drenching it with umami. But make it with a fresh, warm cutlet, and it’s even more rewarding. In his recipe for the dish in “Japanese Soul Cooking,” the chef Tadashi Ono suggested using pork shoulder or loin, so I bought some of both. After a generous salt and pepper, I dipped the cutlets in flour, egg and panko, the Japanese bread crumbs, and fried them in a wide cast-iron pan.

如果想讓一塊冰冷的、剛剛開(kāi)始凍透的肉排恢復(fù)生機(jī)，把它變成一頓好吃不貴的飯，豬排飯?zhí)貏e有用。慢燉的高湯滲入面包屑，讓它變得多汁，鮮味四溢。但如果用新鮮的常溫豬排做會(huì)更美味。在《日本靈魂烹飪》(Japanese Soul Cooking)的豬排飯食譜里，小野規(guī)(Tadashi Ono，音)大廚建議用豬肩胛或里脊肉，因此我兩樣各買(mǎi)了一點(diǎn)。在涂抹了足量的鹽和胡椒粉后，我把肉排在加了面粉和面包屑的雞蛋液中浸了一下，再放入寬口鑄鐵平底鍋里煎。

With a plastic mandoline, I shaved half an onion and put it in another pan with dashi, soy sauce and mirin, simmering it until the onion went floppy and translucent. I added ginger, because in her cookbook “Japanese Farm Food,” Nancy Singleton Hachisu writes about adding a little julienned raw ginger to her broth, before sliding the cutlets into the pan. While Whitney opened some beers, I cracked eggs into a small bowl, broke them up with a fork and poured them over the breading. Within a few minutes, the egg was set at the edges of the pan and the rice was ready. I piled everything in bowls and scattered some scallion on top.

然后，我用塑料蔬果刨把半個(gè)洋蔥刨成絲，放入另一個(gè)加了出汁(一種高湯——譯注)、醬油和米酒的鍋里煮，一直燉到洋蔥變軟呈半透明。我還加了點(diǎn)姜，因?yàn)槟舷?middot;辛勒頓·蓮(Nancy Singleton Hachisu)在《日本農(nóng)家菜》(Japanese Farm Food)提到，在把肉排放進(jìn)鍋里之前，她在湯里加了生姜絲。在惠特尼開(kāi)啤酒的時(shí)候，我把雞蛋打進(jìn)一個(gè)小碗里，用叉子攪散，再把蛋液倒在面包屑上面。幾分鐘后，蛋液在鍋邊凝固，米飯也熟了。我將它們盛入碗中，再在上面撒了一些蔥花。

There’s always a gap between how the food you make looks in real life and how you thought it might look based on the pictures. I was prepared for it when the katsudon didn’t emit its own light and twinkle cartoonishly, when it didn’t look anything like its perfect, airbrushed, animated muse. But we both agreed, as we cleaned our bowls, that it was just right.

自己實(shí)際做出的飯菜的樣子，和你根據(jù)圖片想象它會(huì)呈現(xiàn)出來(lái)的樣子之間總是有差距。新鮮出爐的豬排飯沒(méi)有像動(dòng)畫(huà)片里那樣閃爍、自帶光芒，看上去一點(diǎn)也不像動(dòng)畫(huà)片里那種完美的、經(jīng)過(guò)精心修飾的靈感源泉，我對(duì)此有所準(zhǔn)備。不過(guò)，我們吃得干干凈凈，并一致認(rèn)為非常不錯(cuò)。