Between hibachi and low tide.

Surely no art form has managed to combine cooking, comedy, prestidigitation, and danger as the hibachi. 

We were at a celebratory dinner the other day and got a table with its own little griddle. "Griddle" seems like an insultingly low-class term for the art of the hibachi chef, to be frank. It comes from the Middle English gredil, or gridiron, but the flat surface isn't a gridiron, which is a grate. Another area where English has let us down.

You have to admire the showmanship of the hibachi, even if you don't like the food, although I do. The chef generally has a repertoire of stunts and jokes, flinging raw eggs and flipping things in his hat and whacking things to pieces and making ingredients dance and sing. This is always accompanied by good cheer, no matter how many times they've had to do the act that day, no matter how grumpy the patrons may be. These guys are pros.

And they're not always guys! For the first time at this restaurant we saw a female hibachi chef. She wasn't feeding our little crew, but I could see her in action, and she was doing her own version of the act. I guess she has broken the glass shīringu.

I have heard that traditionally in Japan, as in many places, chefs of any rank are considered menials, barely worth noticing. It seems strange for a country that gave the world the goofy Iron Chef, but perhaps that's helped change things. The show was wacky but the contestants always serious. In the West the great Auguste Escoffier made cooking at high level a well-respected career. Personally, I have always shown respect to people who are giving me food, if for no other reason than eating it is an act of trust. 

Also, I like to think that in America, we always respect people who work hard. Hibachi chef is no lightweight career. We salute you, chefs! Flame on!