Quick Nigiri in the Alleyways of Edo

Evening was falling over Edo. The air smelled of the moisture from the Sumida River, lantern smoke, and rice vinegar rising from the yatai — street food stalls. Amid the cries of vendors, the clatter of wooden geta sandals, and the murmur of this dynamic metropolis ruled by the Tokugawa shogunate, one gesture stood out: the swift movement of a sushi master's hand, skillfully forming rice into small oval portions and placing thin slices of fresh fish atop them — kohada, anago, and sometimes even translucent shirauo. Nigirizushi – the sushi of Edo – eaten on the go, while standing, without plates or ceremony. Fast, affordable, flavorful. Fast food of the late samurai era.

For many of us in the West, sushi means raw fish — an exotic delicacy found in expensive restaurants, or sometimes even a roll with avocado and cream cheese. But the truth is different, more fascinating. Sushi doesn’t mean “fish” — it comes from the words su (vinegar) and meshi (rice). Its history doesn’t begin in Japan but in the hot valleys of Southeast Asia, where fish was fermented in rice to preserve it for weeks. Only centuries later, in Japan’s capital Edo, was born what we now know as modern sushi — not fermented but fresh, not exclusive but street-based, not slow but instantaneous. Fast food for workers and small-scale merchants in Japanese cities.

This article will take you on a journey from the shores of Lake Biwa, through funazushi from the times when rice was used solely as a fermentation medium and then discarded, all the way to the bustling capital of the Tokugawa era, where Hanaya Yohei — a distinguished son of the city — created sushi for a new age. You’ll discover the unknown face of the dish considered Japan’s culinary symbol — the taste of Edo’s streets, the legend of rice, and the story of a food that evolved from street fast food into an icon of Japanese culture.

Scenes from Edo Life

The vibrant Ryōgoku district (両国), a spring evening. Edo pulses with life — rivers of people flow through crowded streets: merchants, craftsmen, young apprentices with wooden tablets on their backs, vendors calling out to sell their goods. Above rooftops and flickering torchlight drifts a scent — a sweet-and-sour note of rice vinegar mingling with salt, smoke, grilled eel, and fried tempura. This is not an imperial court or a daimyo’s feast — this is the heart of Edo. Here, life is lived, traded, loudly debated, drunk, and eaten. And meals are taken quickly.

Along the main street, at wooden yatai — mobile food stalls — people line up. Behind the counter stands a man in a simple cotton yukata, his hands moving with lightning speed in his daily ritual. Hanaya Yohei — the man who turned sushi into a lightning-fast feast. In seconds, he forms a steaming ball of rice, sprinkled with red vinegar made from fermented sake lees. With his other hand — slice! — he lays a thin piece of kohada, a pickled herring-like delicacy from Edo Bay (Konosirus punctatus, the “Japanese gizzard shad”). There is rhythm in the motion, repetition, something magical. Just like in the senryū (a kind of humorous haiku) from those times:

妖術という身で握る鮨の飯

Yōjutsu to / iu mi de nigiru / sushi no meshi

“With hands like magic, they form the rice for sushi.”

Next to the stall, a young woman collects an okamochi — a lacquered wooden box full of nigiri, which she will bring home. Today is hanami. The cherry blossoms have bloomed along the banks of the Sumida. People spread mats under the pink branches, children run with lanterns, laughter mixes with the sounds of shamisen. From the boxes come pieces of nigiri: with anago, with shrimp, with tamagoyaki — a sweet rolled omelet, more expensive than fish. There’s no porcelain, no soy dipping sauce, no fancy serving ware — just bare hands, rice, vegetables, and shared moments. This is Edo sushi — everyday food, but with character. Cheap, yet beautiful. Quick, but soulful. This is how they ate in Tokugawa’s capital, where flavor didn’t need silverware, and aesthetics lived on the streets.

For edokko — the people of Edo — sushi was more than a meal. It was the pride of the city. Its tempo, freshness, and form reflected the spirit of the era: urban, confident, living in the moment. Like Edo — pulsing, impatient, hungry for life.

Ancient Sushi

Long before Hanaya Yohei’s hands began shaping oval bites of rice on Edo’s streets, before rice vinegar became an inseparable scent of Tokyo’s alleys, before Japan even bore the name we know today — sushi had already traveled centuries. To truly understand this story, we must go far back in time, even further than the samurai era, to the wild, steamy valleys of Southeast Asia, where the earliest civilizations of rice and fish were born.

Along the sinuous Mekong River — in what is now Laos, Thailand, Cambodia, and Myanmar — people had long faced the same problem: how to keep fish fresh in the tropical heat (without today’s access to ice or preservatives)? The answer proved surprisingly effective: cooked rice and salt. Fish were packed into layers of rice, which, through lactic fermentation, acted like a natural refrigerator. This practice, now called narezushi (note the familiar “zushi” ending), wasn’t about savoring flavor — it was about survival. After fermentation — which could last up to a year — the rice was discarded, and only the tangy, pungent fish was eaten.

Along with this tradition — and with rice cultivation, a written language, and Buddhism itself — narezushi arrived in Japan around the Yayoi period (300 BCE – 300 CE) (more on this period here: A Walk Through the Ancient Japanese Settlement of Yoshinogari – What Was Life Like in the Yayoi Period? and here: The First Documented Ruler of the Japanese Islands was a Woman – The Story of the Shaman-Queen Himiko). Settling farmers brought not only grain-growing technology but also food preservation methods. It was then — along the lakes and rivers in the heart of Japan’s islands — that sushi’s Japanese story began.

Some of the earliest traces of this tradition appear in Chinese texts from the 3rd century, describing the life of the “Wa” — the people of the Japanese archipelago (why “Wa”? — more on that here: Why Do We Say "Japan" While the Japanese Say "Nihon"? From Oyashima to Zipangu – A Millennia-Long Game of Telephone). These sources mention eating raw fish and ritual customs connected to water. More concrete information appears in Japanese legal records: the Yōrō Code of 718 mentions a dish written with the characters 鮨 and 鮓, served as tribute to the imperial court — likely narezushi, a product requiring lengthy preparation and fermentation expertise.

One of the oldest and most exceptional forms of sushi that has survived to this day is funazushi from the Lake Biwa region. Made for at least a thousand years, it is considered a direct descendant of narezushi. It’s prepared from a local species of wild carp — nigorobuna. The fermentation process can last up to four years: the fish is first salted, then packed into rice, and transferred to new layers annually. The result? An aromatic, intense, slightly cheesy flavor that’s unmistakable. This sushi is not for everyone, but for connoisseurs — a bite of history. (To those who decide to try it in Japan, be warned — besides the exorbitant price, the taste is... very specific and certainly not for everyone.)

From today’s perspective, it may be shocking: sushi without nori (seaweed — that “black paper that smells like fish,” as my niece says), without slices of tuna, without sweet white rice. But it was right here, in the fermenting darkness of clay vessels, that the story began — a story that would eventually evolve into the street-food art of Edo’s fast lanes. And though centuries have passed since then, the echo of those customs is still present in every bite of a California Roll.

The Evolution of Sushi Through the Ages

The history of sushi is the history of Japan in a nutshell (or a roll) — a reflection of social, technological, and culinary changes over more than a thousand years. It begins in the shadow of clay vessels filled with fermenting fish and ends in a sushi bar in Shibuya, where the chef serves wagyū-grade tuna on a plate of white marble. But before it came to this, sushi underwent an incredible transformation.

In the Heian period (794–1185) and Kamakura period (1185–1333), sushi had nothing to do with what we know today. It was a luxury enjoyed primarily by aristocrats and Buddhist temples. The process of preparing narezushi took months, sometimes even more than a year, and required precision, patience, and cool storage conditions provided only by deep cellars or dark mountain storehouses. Rice was still treated solely as a fermentation medium — after the process was completed, it was discarded, and only the fish was eaten. This fish had an intense, sour-cheesy aroma and was heavily salted.

The breakthrough came during the Muromachi period (1336–1573), when a form called namanare (生成) — or “partially fermented sushi” — appeared. This was a culinary revolution: people began to eat the rice along with the fish, without waiting for the fermentation to fully complete. The flavor was fresher, less aggressive, and the preparation took weeks instead of months. Sushi became not only ceremonial food but also part of everyday meals in wealthier households.

An even greater shift occurred in the 17th century, when Matsumoto Yoshiichi from Edo came up with the idea of adding rice vinegar to freshly cooked rice instead of waiting for fermentation. The result? The rice became sour, just like after fermentation, but the dish was ready within hours instead of months. This opened the door to a new kind of sushi — haya-zushi (早寿司), or “quick sushi.”

During the Edo period (1603–1868), the city was bursting with life — over a million inhabitants, a bustling port, temples, kabuki, and night festivals. It was the perfect environment for food that was quick, on the go, and eaten standing up. In this context, Edomae-zushi was born — Edo-style sushi, made from fish caught in Edo Bay. And its true father was Hanaya Yohei (1799–1858).

In 1824, on a bridge in the Ryōgoku district, Hanaya opened his yatai — a mobile food stall. He didn’t ferment the fish. He didn’t wait. Like a magician, he shaped hot, slightly vinegared rice in his hands and laid thin slices of fresh kohada, anago, or shrimp on top. Sushi was ready in a minute. A senryū (humorous haiku) from the period forever linked the taste of haya-zushi with the capital of the Tokugawa shogunate:

「すし食えば　江戸も昔に　なりにけり」

Sushi kueba / Edo mo mukashi ni / narinikeri

“When I eat sushi, Edo returns from the past.”

Yohei not only created nigirizushi — the form known worldwide today — but also became one of the first to introduce a delivery system: he packed sushi in elegant okamochi (stacked, lacquered boxes) and delivered them to customers at home, in teahouses, or during festivals. His sushi became so popular that other yatai soon appeared in Asakusa, Nihonbashi, and even in the vicinity of Edo Castle.

This culinary development also reflected the changing structure of society. Sushi was no longer the domain of the upper classes — it became the food of the edokko, ordinary residents of Edo: merchants, craftsmen, clerks. It was cheap, fast, accessible, and at the same time aesthetically pleasing — gracefully served on a bamboo leaf or in a wooden bowl. Thanks to sushi, Edo tasted like the sea and everyday life — and it tasted fast.

It was then that the philosophy of sushi as culinary origami was born: simplicity, precision, seasonality, locality. And although future stages of its history were still ahead, it was in those yatai, amid steam and the cries of street vendors, that sushi was truly born.

Sushi from Edo

It is no coincidence that Edo—the capital of the shogunate, boasting over a million inhabitants by the 19th century—became the cradle of modern sushi. Life here moved swiftly. The city's rapid tempo, marked by the beats of kabuki theater drums, the calls of street vendors, and the relentless daily toil, fostered a need for food that was readily accessible, quick, and aesthetically pleasing. The residents of Edo—edokko—had neither the time nor the space for lengthy dining ceremonies. Daily life unfolded on the move. The perfect solution emerged in nigiri-zushi: food prepared in seconds, consumed while standing, without utensils or plates.

Geographical conditions also played a favorable role. Edo Bay, now known as Tokyo Bay, was a source of exceptionally fresh and diverse fish. Kohada—a small, silvery fish with a distinctive flavor—became one of the classics of sushi from this period. Similarly, anago, or sea eel, was often lightly sweetened and grilled. Additionally, shirauo—a transparent fish that was once abundant in the waters of Tsukishima—featured prominently. Interestingly, these fish were typically pre-processed: marinated in vinegar, steamed, or even grilled—raw fish in sushi, as we understand it today, was the exception rather than the norm.

The pricing might also come as a surprise. A serving of nigiri cost 8 mon, equivalent to less than 100 contemporary yen (approximately 2.60 PLN). In contrast, tamagoyaki—a sweet egg roll considered a delicacy—was priced at 16 mon. Why was it more expensive than fish? Because eggs in the Edo period were a luxury item, with prices ranging from 7 to 20 mon per piece. Today, this may seem paradoxical, but at that time, sushi with an omelet was more exclusive than that with tuna.

It's also worth mentioning regional differences. While Edo developed its fast, "urban" version of sushi, more dignified, ceremonial forms prevailed in Kyoto and Osaka. In Kansai, hakozushi dominated—sushi molded in wooden boxes, often with saba (mackerel) meticulously layered. The entire assembly was pressed and only then sliced. Sushi from that region had more in common with porcelain and calligraphy—it was a dish for special occasions, harmonious, almost meditative. Edo, on the other hand, offered sushi that was simple, functional, yet retained the beauty of form—like origami made from rice and fish.

Such was the sushi of the Edo era: a crossroads of everyday life and aesthetics, functionality and artistry, speed and flavor. A cuisine that perfectly captured the spirit of modern, urban Japan, even before the country opened up to the world.

Development and Expansion—from Meiji to the World

When Japan opened up to the world during the Meiji era (1868–1912), transformations occurred not only in technology and politics but also in cuisine. The emerging railways connected the country's farthest corners with modern cities, and train stations became not just transportation hubs but also gastronomic centers. It was during this time that ekiben emerged—bento sold to travelers, often containing a simple version of sushi, packaged in bamboo boxes. Sushi became travel food, easy to consume and store. Interestingly, some station ekiben-ya specializing in sushi have been operating continuously to this day, preserving recipes from a hundred years ago.

A turning point in the history of sushi was the Great Kantō Earthquake in 1923. The disaster destroyed vast areas of Tokyo but brought about an unexpected change: a drastic drop in land prices in the city center. Former street sushi vendors, who operated in cramped, mobile yatai, began moving into stationary establishments. Thus, sushi-ya—restaurants specializing exclusively in sushi—were born. In the 1950s and 60s, a technological boom (especially the advent of refrigerators) made storing fish easy and safe. The fish market flourished—from Tokyo's Tsukiji to hundreds of local markets across Japan. Sushi ceased to be the domain of big cities and reached the provinces.

The year 1958 brought another revolution: kaitenzushi—restaurants with a conveyor belt. The idea of Yoshiaki Shiraishi, founder of Genroku Sushi, was simple: automate the serving of dishes and lower prices. Sushi began circulating on plates like miniature planets in a galaxy of rice and fish. Within two decades, the Japanese fell in love with this format. Around the same time, the dish began crossing national and continental borders. First the United States—Little Tokyo in Los Angeles, then New York, Canada, Australia. New variations emerged: California roll with avocado and crab, uramaki with rice on the outside, sushi with cream cheese and tempura. Tradition met modernity, and the history of street food from Edo began to captivate palates worldwide.

Contemporary Sushi in Japan

Today, sushi in Japan is not just a meal—it's a social phenomenon. You can buy it in a neighborhood supermarket for a few hundred yen, in a home set for dinner, in a cheap kaitenzushi with green tea to brew yourself, but also in an exclusive omakase establishment, where you sit at a wooden counter, opposite the master, who composes successive pieces like a score—in harmony with the season, the texture of the fish, the temperature of the rice, and the time of day. In this intimate space, you don't order from a menu—omakase means "leave it to the chef." Every gesture matters here—from the way it's served to a slight nod.

For the Japanese gourmet, sushi is not just about the fish but primarily about the shari—the rice, which must be perfectly warm, slightly sour, with a precisely chosen proportion of vinegar (today, aka-su, made from sake lees, is often used). The fish isn't necessarily served raw—grilled pieces (aburi), marinated (shime), or even aged for several days, especially white fish (shiromi), which then gain depth of flavor, are equally valued. Soy sauce is used sparingly—gently touching the fish, never the rice. Ginger? Not as an addition to sushi, but as a palate cleanser between bites.

In the Western world, sushi often becomes a spectacle: rolls with mayonnaise, cheese, fruits, breadcrumbs, teriyaki sauce, and crispy onions. A Japanese person might find this amusing—or saddening. Because true sushi is simple, quiet, and full of respect for the ingredient. It doesn't shout. It doesn't need adornments. It's the art of harmony—between rice and fish, between the master's hand and the guest's expectation. And although the world has embraced sushi in its own way, it is in that quietness at the wooden counter, in the movement of the hand gently forming a morsel—that the heart of this tradition from the bustling alleys of the Tokugawa shogunate's Edo still beats.

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"Strong Japanese Women"

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    未開    ソビエライ

 An enthusiast of Asian culture with a deep appreciation for the diverse philosophies of the world. By education, a psychologist and philologist specializing in Korean studies. At heart, a programmer (primarily for Android) and a passionate technology enthusiast, as well as a practitioner of Zen and mono no aware. In moments of tranquility, adheres to a disciplined lifestyle, firmly believing that perseverance, continuous personal growth, and dedication to one's passions are the wisest paths in life. Author of the book "Strong Women of Japan" (>>see more)

Personal motto:

"The most powerful force in the universe is compound interest." - Albert Einstein (probably)

  Mike Soray

   (aka Michał Sobieraj)

未開    ソビエライ

 An enthusiast of Asian culture with a deep appreciation for the diverse philosophies of the world. By education, a psychologist and philologist specializing in Korean studies. At heart, a programmer (primarily for Android) and a passionate technology enthusiast, as well as a practitioner of Zen and mono no aware. In moments of tranquility, adheres to a disciplined lifestyle, firmly believing that perseverance, continuous personal growth, and dedication to one's passions are the wisest paths in life. Author of the book "Strong Women of Japan" (>>see more)

Personal motto:

"The most powerful force in the universe is compound interest." - Albert Einstein (probably)

Mike Soray

(aka Michał Sobieraj)

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