I used to watch him levering away the bones, the veins, the viscera. Thirty different procedures, each with a name. Kokumoyo, doriuchi, henji… He would mutter them as the water swished around the basin carrying off minuscule bits of fish. Then there was the crack as he pulled off his thin gloves. Those waiting in the dining room rolled their chopsticks nervously guessing who was next to be served.