A fish that aficionados pay hundreds of dollars to eat. For a moment I thought that, rather than poison me, it might leap off the plate, dive down my throat and choke me to death. Raw chunks of fugu were served for dropping into the stock but not before they twitched rather unnervingly, as if summoning up the effort to piece themselves back together. Though clearly made from paper sitting in a metal basket, it stood up to the heat and liquid remarkably well. Already at our table was a bubbling pot of water seasoned with a leathery piece of kelp. Techiri, the centrepiece of any fugu meal, was up next. It's not all bad though, you do get the consolation of a light and floaty feeling. Not, however, before experiencing a numbing of the lips and tongue, a growing paralysis of the body, headaches, gastric pain, vomiting and convulsions. They attempt to 'sashimi' the fish themselves and pay the ultimate price. Most reports of fatal fugu poisoning concern fishermen who, having had the fortune to catch a fugu, lacked the foresight to throw it back.

Perhaps the ' shi' is for the chew and the ' ko' is for the crunch, the whole thing repeated for emphasis. Fugu, when absolutely fresh - and the fish are usually kept alive in the restaurant's tanks to make sure of this - is a cross between crunchy and chewy. I was told that fugu flesh was ' shiko shiko', one of the numerous double-barreled descriptive turns of phrase in Japanese that seem to get their meanings across just from the sounds of the words. The experience in the mouth, like so many other Japanese foods is not just about the flavour but about the texture too. Delicate leaves of translucent pale grey flesh arranged in the shape of a chrysanthemum - a flower that the Japanese associate with death. Wondering about the other 70%, and remembering some of the nonsense I wrote in exams over the years, I'm glad that my history essays were never a matter of life or death.

The final hurdle is to eat their own examination work and only 30% make the grade. How many died in the name of research, no one has yet been able to tell me but current legislation requires aspiring fugu chefs to train for three years and take numerous exams before being allowed to test their prowess on the general public. The delicate cuts that are required to render the fugu, or blowfish, edible are performed only by experts who undertake rigorous training in the art. These days, what comes between you and the most dangerous animal anyone in the world takes the trouble to eat, is hundreds of years of tradition and experience. Just touching a fugu the wrong way can be deadly and, appropriately, our multi-course feast started with a salad made with the skin. This is a toxin that makes cyanide look like Aspirin - one match-head worth can kill thousands. But the knockout punch is a poisonous chemical called tetrodoxin found in its skin, blood, ovaries and especially its liver. When in danger, it puffs itself up into a hardly palatable and, in some species, spiny, balloon shape. The fact is, that the fugu fish is one of the very least appetising of marine morsels. 'Yes', my friend explained to me with a broad smile - a smile which I carefully examined for any hint of a death wish - 'but they are just the kamikazes.' 'Don't a small number of people still die from fugu poisoning every year?' I asked, betraying my trepidation. So at the same time as feeling a little concerned for my well-being, I was not a little bit curious to know what all the fuss was about. And one that appears to be in no danger of dying out - New York and Hong Kong now import this potentially deadly fish. We were off to eat fugu, to my mind the hardest to understand of all Japan's weird and wonderful culinary traditions. I was on my way to dinner and I was wondering if it might be my last.

Fugu chips