Sukiyaki (すき焼き)

If shabu-shabu is an elegant everyday pleasure, sukiyaki is the one you make when something good has happened.

This is the celebration pot — marbled wagyu sizzling in a sweet, dark, soy-sugar broth, cooked right at the table, then dragged through a bowl of silky raw egg before it hits your mouth. The beef is expensive, the smell is intoxicating, and that first bite — sweet, savory, rich, the cold egg softening the whole thing into something almost custardy — is the taste of a good day. My family made sukiyaki for birthdays and New Year, and to this day the sizzle of beef in that pan smells like something wonderful is about to happen.

From a farmer's spade to the celebration table

Sukiyaki's roots reach back to the Edo period, when early versions (sugiyaki) cooked seafood and vegetables over wood or iron. The word suki may even refer to a spade or hoe — legend says farmers once grilled on their tools over open fires. For centuries Japan's meat taboo kept beef off the menu, but when that lifted in the Meiji era, beef became the star, and sukiyaki became a symbol of a modernizing, meat-loving Japan.

What makes it sing

The heart of it is thinly sliced, well-marbled beef seared (not boiled) in a shallow cast-iron pan with warishita — a punchy sauce of soy, mirin, sake, and sugar. This is no thin broth; it's more sauce than soup, deep and glossy and a little sweet.

Around the beef go tofu, shirataki noodles, chrysanthemum greens (shungiku), shiitake, thick negi, Chinese cabbage, and onion — all soaking up that warishita. And the finishing move, the part that surprises every first-timer: you dip each hot bite in cold raw egg, which cools it, coats it, and makes it unbelievably rich.

How it's made — pick your region

Kanto style (Tokyo): the warishita is mixed and poured in from the start; everything simmers together.

Kansai style (Osaka): beef is seared first in the dry pan with beef fat, seasoned right there with soy and sugar, and the broth builds as you go.

Both are correct. Both are delicious. Do not pick this fight with someone from the other region.

Before you go — don't fear the raw egg

Your questions, answered honestly

"Do I really dip the beef in raw egg?" — Yes, and don't skip it — it's the whole magic. Japanese eggs are produced to very high safety standards for exactly this. The egg cools the hot beef and wraps it in silky richness. Trust it.

"Beef in raw egg sounds risky to me, though." — If you'd genuinely rather not, you can eat sukiyaki without it — but you'll be missing the signature experience. Your call, no judgment.

"What's the cooking order?" — Beef first, while the pan's clean and hot, then add vegetables and tofu to soak up the broth. Keep going in rounds. Don't crowd the pan.

"How does it end?" — The shime: cook udon or rice in the rich leftover broth at the end. Some places offer it — say yes.

What the staff will ask you

To order, just say "Sukiyaki o onegaishimasu" (すき焼きをお願いします) — "Sukiyaki, please."

Where to eat it

• Old-guard sukiyaki houses in Tokyo — names like Ningyocho Imahan and Asakusa Imahan have served it for over a century, beef sliced tableside.
• Kyoto's Mishima-tei — a beautiful Meiji-era sukiyaki institution.
• A celebration-worthy meal, so reservations help — and yes, the dish shares its name with Kyu Sakamoto's 1963 song that hit #1 on the US Billboard chart, the only Japanese-language song ever to do so.

Hours and reservations change, so check before you go — and bring someone you want to celebrate with.