There is a moment, just before a piece of nigiri reaches your mouth, when everything about it is already communicating. The sheen of the fish. The subtle warmth of the rice. The faint scent of vinegar. Nigiri sushi is one of the simplest dishes in any cuisine, and one of the hardest to get right.

I have spent years eating nigiri across Sydney and beyond, and the gap between good and extraordinary is something I think about constantly. It comes down to three things: the rice, the fish, and the hand that brings them together.

Rice Is the Foundation

Most people fixate on the fish when they talk about sushi. That is understandable. A glistening slice of otoro or a translucent piece of hirame catches the eye in a way that a mound of rice never will. But ask any itamae worth their salt and they will tell you the rice is at least half the equation.

Sushi rice — shari — needs to be cooked so each grain retains its individual shape while still clinging together when pressed. The seasoning is a mixture of rice vinegar, sugar, and salt, and the exact ratios vary from chef to chef. Some lean sweeter, in the Edo-mae tradition. Others prefer a sharper acidity that cuts through fatty fish.

Temperature matters enormously. Shari should be served at roughly body temperature. When you place a piece of nigiri in your mouth, the rice should feel neither cold nor hot — it should feel like it belongs there. Cold rice is the single most common failing I encounter in Sydney sushi bars, and it instantly tells me whether the kitchen is paying attention.

Selecting and Preparing the Neta

The fish topping — neta — demands its own set of considerations. Freshness is important, but it is not the whole story. Some fish, like maguro, actually benefit from a brief period of aging. Properly aged tuna develops a deeper flavour and a softer, more buttery texture. This is one of the reasons why the best sushi restaurants have strong relationships with their suppliers at fish markets.

Knife work is critical. The angle, thickness, and direction of the cut all affect how the fish sits on the rice and how it feels in the mouth. A piece of salmon cut too thick will overpower the shari. A piece of kingfish cut too thin will disappear against it. The itamae is constantly making micro-adjustments based on the fish in front of them.

Some neta receives additional treatment. Kohada is cured in salt and vinegar. Anago is simmered in a sweet soy glaze. Ebi may be briefly blanched. These preparations represent centuries of accumulated knowledge about how to bring out the best in each ingredient.

The Shape of the Hand

Nigiri means “to grip” or “to press,” and the shaping technique is where years of training become visible. The chef takes a small amount of shari in one hand, forms the fish over it with the other, and through a series of gentle turns and presses, produces a piece that holds together just enough to travel from plate to mouth, then falls apart the moment you bite into it.

There are several recognised shaping methods — kotegaeshi, tategaeshi, and hontegaeshi among them — and each produces a slightly different density and shape. What they share is an emphasis on minimal handling. The more you touch the rice, the more it compresses, and compressed rice is dense, stodgy rice. A great piece of nigiri should feel almost weightless.

Watch a skilled itamae work and you will notice they rarely take more than three or four seconds per piece. That speed is not showing off. It is functional. The fish warms and the rice cools with every moment of contact, so efficiency preserves the ideal temperature balance.

The Moment of Eating

There is a correct way to eat nigiri, and it is simpler than most people think. Turn the piece upside down so the fish contacts your tongue first. Dip the fish side lightly in soy sauce if you wish — never the rice, which will absorb too much and fall apart. If the chef has already applied nikiri (a brushed-on soy glaze), no additional soy is needed.

Eat it in one bite. Nigiri is designed as a single mouthful, and biting it in half destroys the structural integrity the chef worked to create.

Where to Find It Done Well in Sydney

Sydney has a growing number of restaurants where nigiri is treated with the seriousness it deserves. The omakase bars in the CBD and inner suburbs tend to be the most consistent, though I have had exceptional pieces at more casual spots in Chatswood and Neutral Bay as well.

The common thread among the best is attention to detail at every stage — sourcing, preparation, shaping, and timing. A great piece of nigiri arrives at your seat within seconds of being made, and that immediacy is part of its beauty. It is not a dish that waits for you. You wait for it.