With monkfish the conversation starts with the liver, not the flesh. As the water cools through the winter the liver swells and takes on fat, and the season runs from November into March. People who order the pot in April are gently redirected towards something else, and the redirection is done kindly.

There is an older, harder version called dobujiru. Fresh water was precious on a boat, so the fishermen made it without any. The liver is dry-fried until the oil comes out, miso is stirred into it, and the fish and vegetables are cooked in nothing but the moisture they release themselves. It is thick and heavy and tastes like the inside of the animal. The pot served in restaurants is that recipe, made civil.

Cutting the fish up is done hanging, on a hook, because the flesh is too soft and slippery to hold on a board. In Oarai the butchering is staged as a public demonstration every winter and it draws a crowd, which says something about how the town regards the fish. It is landed at Hirakata, Otsu and Nakaminato as well.

Very little is thrown away. Skin, stomach, gills, fins, all of it goes into the pot along with the liver and the white meat. People here say the same sentence about it every time, which is that there is almost nothing left over.