I, Hiroshi Nohara, the star of Japanese cinema

Chapter 248 A Social Sensation! The entire Japanese media was swept up in it! The documentary exploded!
On the morning of October 17th, the streets and alleys of Tokyo were filled with the fresh scent of newspaper ink.

Whether it's newsstands at Shinjuku subway station or shelves at Ginza convenience stores, the front pages of mainstream newspapers such as Asahi Shimbun, Yomiuri Shimbun, and Mainichi Shimbun are all dominated by the same news: "A Bite of Japan" breaks viewership record with 24.1%, ushering in a golden age for humanistic documentaries.

The Asahi Shimbun's front page featured the headline in bold black font, "24.1%! 'A Bite of China' Rewrites Japanese Documentary History," accompanied by a black-and-white photo of Masayasu Nomizu sailing out to sea. The accompanying text was particularly striking: "This documentary, directed by Hiroshi Nohara of Tokyo TV, uses the daily life of Chiba fisherman Masayasu Nomizu as its starting point, employing delicate cinematic language to connect food and culture. It not only achieved the highest viewership rating for a documentary in nearly a decade but also prompted Japanese audiences to re-examine the value of local culture and ordinary life."

The Yomiuri Shimbun, on the other hand, focused on the "social impact," with the front-page headline "The 'A Bite of China' Effect: Customer Traffic at Chiba Seafood Market Doubles, Traditional Crafts Get a New Life."

The article details: "Since its broadcast on October 15th, the daily visitor flow at the Chiba Prefecture seafood market has increased from 3000 to 6500 people, and the sales of tuna at Nomizu Masayasu Fish Shop have surged by 300%. More noteworthy is that traditional shops such as the 'Satoya' soba noodle shop in Gunma Prefecture and the 'Tanakaya' old bakery in Saitama Prefecture have received applications from young people to become apprentices—Hiroshi Nohara's documentary has awakened the public's attention to and desire to pass on traditional crafts."

Even the Nikkei, which has always focused on economic news, opened a column in the corner of its front page with the title "The Economic Value Behind 'A Bite of China': Orders for Local Ingredients Increase by 20%, and the Cultural and Tourism Industry Ushers in New Opportunities".

The column mentions: "Companies such as Marui Soy Sauce and the Hokkaido Fisheries Cooperative have launched 'limited-time products' leveraging the popularity of 'A Bite of China,' resulting in a 22% increase in orders compared to the previous period; Chiba, Gunma, and Saitama prefectures have jointly launched a 'A Bite of China Tour' travel route, selling 1.2 packages in the first week of pre-sales. Industry insiders predict that this documentary will drive revenue of over 50 billion yen for related industries."

In Osaka, the front page of the Osaka Asahi Shimbun was also dominated by "A Bite of China," with a headline carrying the unique enthusiasm of the Kansai people: "A Bite of China is a hit in Kansai! Viewers are calling for 'the broadcasting rights to be acquired and an Osaka version of the food story' to be made."

The article quotes an interview with Kiyoshi Matsumoto, the head of the Yomiuri TV station in Osaka: "Hiroshi Nohara's filming style is worth learning for all practitioners - he does not pursue gorgeous special effects, but focuses on real people and events. We have applied to TV Tokyo for the broadcasting rights of 'A Bite of China', and at the same time we plan to prepare 'Osaka Food Stories', hoping to capture the humanistic warmth of Kansai."

The Hokkaido Shimbun, a newspaper in Hokkaido, took a different approach from the perspective of "regional resonance." The front-page photo showed local fishermen sitting around watching television, with the headline "The sea sentiment in 'A Bite of China' touches the hearts of Hokkaido fishermen."

The article states: "After watching the documentary, Kenji Sato, a fisherman from Kushiro City, Hokkaido, sent a letter to TV Tokyo: 'Masayoshi Nomizu's saying, "We eat what the sea gives us," is a belief passed down from our ancestors. <A Bite of China> shows us that whether in Chiba or Hokkaido, the fishermen's reverence and dedication to the sea are the same.'"

These newspapers not only featured prominent reports on their front pages, but also dedicated special sections to their culture pages, accepting submissions from film critics, scholars, and ordinary viewers.

Everywhere you look, you can see people engrossed in newspapers discussing "A Bite of China"—office workers pass around reviews on the subway, housewives discuss plans to eat tuna in Chiba at the supermarket, and students debate in classrooms whether they should learn to make soba noodles. "A Bite of China" is no longer just a documentary; it has become a hot social topic across Japan.

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With the overwhelming coverage in newspapers, a heated discussion about the "educational value of humanistic documentaries" has also swept through the Japanese film and television industry.

On the afternoon of October 17, the Tokyo Film and Television Professionals Association held a special seminar, bringing together nearly 10 directors, screenwriters, and producers. The core topic was "How can 'A Bite of China' redefine the educational significance of humanistic documentaries?"

Of course, the Tokyo Film and Television Professionals Association is essentially TV Tokyo's own territory.

Of course, they will also promote Hiroshi Nohara's works.

Association president and veteran director Eiji Kurosawa spoke first. Dressed in a dark kimono and holding a DVD of "A Bite of China," he spoke solemnly: "In this era of rampant idol variety shows, many people have forgotten the essence of documentaries—to record reality and convey values. Hiroshi Nohara's 'A Bite of China' achieves this in the simplest way. In the first episode, Masahiro Nomizu goes out to sea at three in the morning. The calluses on his hands when he pulls in the net and his focus when inspecting the tuna—these details make the audience understand the 'meaning of labor' more effectively than any textbook. This is the best education—not rigid preaching, but using stories to evoke resonance."

Sitting next to her, first-class director Keiko Matsumoto nodded in agreement. She put down her coffee cup, her tone full of approval: "I've been making romance dramas for thirty years, and I've always believed that 'emotional resonance' is the core of the content. But 'A Bite of China' made me realize that the emotional resonance of humanistic documentaries is even more powerful. At the end of the first episode, Masahiro Nomizu stands on the dock and says, 'We eat whatever the sea gives us.' This sentence has no fancy words, but it contains reverence for nature and restraint of desires—this kind of value transmission is more educational than any entertainment program. Young people today often say they are 'lost,' perhaps because they haven't seen such real life for too long, and they don't understand the weight of 'persistence' and 'cherishing'."

Even the up-and-coming director Takashi Ashikaga, unusually setting aside his arrogance, spoke sincerely: "When I was making period dramas before, I always pursued grand scenes and intricate plots. But after watching 'A Bite of China,' I realized that true 'grandeur' lies in the details. The way Nomizu Masayasu's fingers untied the boat ropes, the rhythm of the auctioneer's bidding, the banter among the regular customers at the fish shop—these details construct a realistic world of fishermen. Through this world, viewers can understand the operation of the fishing industry and the hard-won nature of ingredients—this is the most vivid form of 'local cultural education.' In the future, when I make period dramas, I will also incorporate more of these details, so that viewers can not only watch the story but also understand history and culture."

Following the seminar, the association released the "Initiative for the Development of Humanistic Documentaries," calling on the entire industry to "take 'A Bite of China' as a benchmark, attach importance to the educational value of documentaries, and focus on local culture and ordinary lives."

The initiative specifically states: "The success of 'A Bite of China' proves that humanistic documentaries are not 'niche products,' but rather 'popular content' that can resonate with the entire nation. Its educational significance lies in the inheritance of traditional culture, the promotion of the spirit of labor, and the guidance of values—these are all core values ​​that the Japanese film and television industry needs to uphold."

Of course, this is also a promotional tactic used by TV Tokyo.

And it's not just in the film and television industry.

Traditional media such as newspapers also began large-scale publicity.

A series of high-profile reports began to appear:
Kanto region newspapers: In-depth analysis by professional film critics: Asahi Shimbun Culture Section: "The Cinematic Language of 'A Bite of China' Reconstructs the Aesthetics of Humanistic Documentaries"

(Film critic: Akira Saeki)

The first episode of "A Bite of Neon" reconstructed the aesthetics of humanistic documentaries in 50 minutes. The collaboration between Hiroshi Nohara and cinematographer Shigeru Saito achieved a perfect balance between "realism" and "aesthetics".

The opening scene at the Chiba pier shrouded in morning mist is one of the film's most iconic shots. Shigeru Saito employs a combination of side lighting and slow motion to create a layered texture in the mist—the outlines of the fishing boats in the foreground are clear, the sea in the midground shimmers with light, and the sky in the distance gradually turns a pale pink. This use of light and shadow, without excessive embellishment, imbues the scene of "setting sail at dawn" with a poetic quality. Even more remarkable is that the camera doesn't linger on the scenery but slowly zooms in, focusing on Masahiro Nomizu's hands as he unties the boat ropes—the rough skin, the calluses on his knuckles, the sea salt under his fingernails—these details are exceptionally clear under the side lighting. Hiroshi Nohara uses the technique of "scenery highlighting people, people conveying emotions" to allow the audience to instantly empathize with the arduous labor of Masahiro Nomizu while appreciating the beauty of the visuals.

The filming of the tuna auction scene showcases a precise control of "rhythm." The camera cuts in from a panoramic view of the auction market, capturing the noise and movement of the crowd; then switches to a medium shot, focusing on the auctioneer's gestures and expressions; finally, it freezes on a close-up—Masayasu Nohara staring at the tuna, his finger gently pressing it. This "wide shot-medium shot-close-up" transition, coupled with the auctioneer's increasingly rapid bidding, fills the otherwise mundane auction process with tension. Even more ingeniously, Hiroshi Nohara refrained from adding narration, allowing the sounds of the scene to flow naturally—bidding calls, footsteps, the clatter of tuna—these "ambient sounds" construct a realistic atmosphere, making the viewer feel as if they are there. This technique of "using sound to convey rhythm and using the camera to guide emotion" breaks away from the traditional "narration-driven" documentary model, making it easier for the audience to immerse themselves in the experience.

The final shot, of Masayasu Nomizu standing on the pier gazing at the sunset, is a textbook example of a humanistic documentary ending. The low-angle shot creates a triangular composition with Nomizu's figure, the sunset, and the sea, emphasizing his central role and showcasing the harmony between humanity and nature. At this moment, piano music intertwines with the sound of waves, and Nomizu's line, "We eat what the sea gives us," softly rises—without further explanation, it naturally elevates the theme of "respect for nature and restraint of desires." This perfect fusion of visuals, sound, and dialogue makes the emotional delivery more powerful and leaves a lasting impression on the audience.

The cinematic language of "A Bite of China" lacks flashy special effects and elaborate editing, yet it showcases the aesthetics of humanistic documentaries in the simplest way—beauty lies in authenticity, beauty in detail, and beauty in emotion. It sets a benchmark for all documentary filmmakers: good cinematic language is not for "watching," but for "conveying"—conveying authentic life, profound emotions, and valuable ideas.

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The Yomiuri Shimbun's entertainment section published an article titled, "The Narrative Structure of 'A Bite of China' Gives Humanistic Documentaries 'Warmth and Depth'."

(Film critic: Kiyoshi Sato)

Before the first episode of "A Bite of Neon" aired, many people worried that the "daily life of fishermen" would be dull and boring. However, Hiroshi Nohara used an ingenious narrative structure to make this documentary both "warm" and "deep," completely breaking the audience's stereotype of documentaries.

The film employs a dual narrative structure. One thread follows Masayasu Nomizu's "day"—from setting out to fish at dawn, participating in a tuna auction in the morning, to selling fish at his shop and interacting with customers in the afternoon. The other thread is the "story behind the food"—showcasing the fishermen's labor, the auctioneer's professionalism, and the chef's craftsmanship through Nomizu's perspective. These two threads intertwine, extending the daily routine of "a day" to reveal the full picture of the "fishery ecosystem." For example, when Nomizu is at sea, the camera briefly cuts to fisheries association staff inspecting fishing nets; after the auction, the scene shows restaurant chefs selecting tuna. These "subplots" don't disrupt the main narrative; instead, they make the story more complete, allowing viewers to understand "how many people's collaboration is needed for a single piece of sashimi." This narrative approach allows the documentary to transcend the limitations of a "single-person biography," gaining a broader perspective.

In conveying emotion, Hiroshi Nohara employs a "blank-screen narrative," avoiding deliberate sentimentality while brimming with warmth. When Masayasu Nomizu goes out to sea with the fishermen, there's no dialogue, only tacit cooperation—some steer, some mend the nets, some observe the sea. The camera quietly records these actions, yet allows the audience to feel the warmth of "teamwork." When Nomizu serves a regular customer at the fish shop, the two simply exchange pleasantries, "The tuna is very fresh today," yet it conveys a sense of "neighborly familiarity." Most touching is when Nomizu mentions that "his son doesn't want to inherit the fishing industry," the camera doesn't press for answers, but simply focuses on his back as he wipes the fishing boat. This "non-coercive, non-interfering" narrative makes the emotions more authentic and gives the audience more room for reflection—what kind of dilemmas does the inheritance of traditional crafts face?
What's even more remarkable is the incorporation of "deep reflection" into the narrative. Masayasu Nomizu's statement, "We eat what the sea gives us," is not only a fisherman's philosophy of survival but also implicitly reflects on "sustainable development." The auctioneer's mention of "declining tuna populations and the need to control catches" directly highlights the importance of environmental protection. These reflections are not dry "preaching" but rather flow naturally through the characters' dialogue and everyday scenes. While experiencing "warmth," viewers will unconsciously contemplate "the relationship between humanity and nature" and "the balance between tradition and modernity"—this is precisely the depth of humanistic documentaries.

The narrative structure of "A Bite of China" proves that humanistic documentaries can be both "entertaining" and "informative." It uses "dual-narrative" to showcase breadth, "narrative with blank spaces" to convey warmth, and "implicit thinking" to explore depth—this structure is worth learning for all documentary filmmakers.

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Mainichi Shimbun Arts Section: "The Humanistic Care in 'A Bite of China' Makes 'Ordinary People' the Protagonists"

(Film critic: Keisuke Yamada)
What touched me most about the first episode of "A Bite of Japan" was not the exquisite cinematography or the ingenious narrative, but the "humanistic concern" that ran throughout. Hiroshi Nohara made "ordinary people" the absolute protagonists, allowing their stories, emotions, and values ​​to be seen by all of Japan.

The character of Masahiro Nomizu breaks the misconception that "documentary protagonists must have 'legendary experiences'." He has no earth-shattering achievements; he's just an ordinary fisherman—going out to sea every morning before dawn, relying on experience to locate fish schools, strength to haul in the nets, and a keen eye to select tuna. But Hiroshi Nohara, through his lens, captures the "shining points" of this "ordinary person": his reverence for the sea (bowing to the surface before setting sail), his focus on his work (his focused gaze when inspecting tuna), and his sincerity towards customers (giving regular customers an extra piece of tuna belly). These "shining points," without being deliberately amplified, make Masahiro Nomizu's character three-dimensional and vivid. What the audience sees is not a "symbolic" fisherman, but a flesh-and-blood "person" with emotions and perseverance. This "equal" perspective is the core of humanistic concern—neither looking down nor looking up, but objectively and sincerely recording the lives of ordinary people.

Beyond Masayasu Nomizu, the supporting characters in the documentary are also full of warmth. Auctioneer Kosuke Sato is given a close-up – the sweat on his forehead as he bids, the rapid flipping of his price tags – these details showcase his professionalism. Tanaka Sumie, a regular customer at the fish shop, shares a conversation with Nomizu: "Today's sashimi is as fresh as the ones my husband used to buy." This simple sentence encapsulates a longing for the past and a appreciation for the present. These supporting characters, though their roles are small, enrich the story, allowing viewers to understand that "every ordinary person has their own story and value." Hiroshi Nohara doesn't overlook these "ordinary people" just because "the protagonist is Masayasu Nomizu"; instead, he shows them respect through his lens – this attitude of "not neglecting any ordinary person" is precisely the most precious quality of a humanistic documentary.

More importantly, this humanistic concern resonated with viewers, evoking a sense of personal connection. Many viewers left comments after watching the documentary, such as, "It reminded me of my grandfather, who was also a fisherman, working from dawn till dusk every day," and "Seeing Nohara-san inspecting the tuna reminded me of my father's focused work ethic." This resonance stems from Hiroshi Nohara's authentic portrayal of "ordinary life"—he neither romanticized the hardships of life nor shied away from the dilemmas of inheritance, but simply presented the most authentic ordinary lives. Viewers saw their own family, friends, and even themselves in these ordinary lives—this "seeing" elevates the documentary beyond mere entertainment, becoming a link connecting people and their lives.

The humanistic concern shown in "A Bite of China" tells us that the stories of ordinary people deserve to be recorded; the perseverance of ordinary people deserves to be respected; and the values ​​of ordinary people deserve to be passed on. This is the true meaning of humanistic documentaries.

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Newspapers in other regions are also reporting on this:

The culture section of the Osaka Asahi Shimbun: "The 'down-to-earth' atmosphere captured in 'A Bite of China' touches the hearts of Kansai people."

(Film critic: Yoko Nishimura)
As a native of Osaka, I originally thought that "the fishing life of Chiba" had nothing to do with the Kansai region. However, the first episode of "A Bite of Japan" resonated strongly with me, a Kansai viewer, through its rich and down-to-earth atmosphere.

This resonance stems from a shared appreciation for the "spirit of labor." The image of Masayasu Nomizu setting out to sea at 3 a.m., his arm muscles taut as he hauls in the nets, sweat streaming down his face—reminds me of okonomiyaki restaurant owners who rise at 5 a.m. every day to prepare batter and chop ingredients, working until late at night before closing. Whether fishermen in Chiba or artisans in Osaka, they all share a common quality—dedication to their work and passion for their craft. Hiroshi Nohara doesn't deliberately emphasize this "spirit of labor," but it shines through the details of his shots. When Nomizu hands a customer a fresh tuna, and the customer's satisfied smile reflects that feeling, I seem to see an okonomiyaki restaurant owner handing a freshly made okonomiyaki to a customer—that sense of satisfaction from "bringing joy to others through one's own labor" transcends geographical boundaries.

The documentary's portrayal of "food culture" resonated deeply with viewers in the Kansai region. While Chiba is known for its seafood and Osaka for its snacks, the shared respect for ingredients is evident. Masayasu Nomizu meticulously checks the freshness of his tuna, selling only the best parts to customers; Osaka's takoyaki vendors select the freshest octopus and carefully control the batter ratio to ensure each takoyaki is crispy on the outside and tender on the inside. In the first episode of "A Bite of China," the scene of Nomizu slicing sashimi—the knife lightly gliding across the fish meat, revealing its distinct texture—reveals no unnecessary embellishment, relying solely on the natural freshness of the ingredients to captivate the viewer. This "ingredient-centric" philosophy aligns perfectly with Kansai's food culture. Many Kansai viewers commented after watching, "I want to take my kids to Chiba to eat tuna, and I also want them to see the dedication of artisans behind Osaka's takoyaki."

What moved me most was the "human touch" in the documentary. In Masayoshi Nomizu's fish shop, regular customers chatted with him, fishermen would drink beer together after hauling in their nets, and the auctioneer would joke with the fishermen—this kind of neighborly familiarity and friendly understanding is also common in Osaka's old streets. The owner of the soba noodle shop downstairs from my house...
They remember the preferences of every regular customer, even knowing who doesn't like scallions and who prefers a rich broth; the auntie at the vegetable stall next door saves the freshest radishes for the elderly lady who frequents the stall. This kind of "human touch" hidden in everyday life is a warmth shared by all regions. Hiroshi Nohara captured this warmth with exceptional delicacy, without deliberate sentimentality, yet after watching it, I immediately called the owner of the soba noodle shop downstairs to arrange to eat his cold noodles that weekend—the magic of "A Bite of China" lies in its ability to awaken our appreciation for the "rustic charm" around us. ...

The Hokkaido Shimbun's Arts and Literature Section: "The 'Sea Sentiment' of 'A Bite of China' Connects Hearts with Hokkaido Fishermen"

(Film critic: Kenta Kitajima)
As a native of Kushiro City, Hokkaido, I grew up listening to stories of fishermen. When I saw the scene of Masayasu Nomizu sailing out to sea in the first episode of "A Bite of Japan," my eyes instantly welled up with tears—the familiar sound of the waves, the rocking of the wooden boat, and the weathered faces of the fishermen were exactly like the life of fishing villages in Hokkaido.

Hiroshi Nohara understands the relationship between the sea and fishermen best. In the first episode, Masahiro Nomizu says, "We eat what the sea gives us," a statement that acts as a key, unlocking the memories of all Hokkaido fishermen. My grandfather was also a fisherman, and he often said, "The sea is generous, but it also has a temper; you can't be greedy." Every year during the fishing season in Hokkaido, fishermen follow the principle of "catching the big and leaving the small," avoiding overfishing; in stormy weather, they remind each other "don't go out to sea," even if it means losing several days' income. This reverence for the sea and adaptation to nature is the shared "survival philosophy" of Masahiro Nomizu and the Hokkaido fishermen. Hiroshi Nohara doesn't explain this philosophy through narration, but rather through Masahiro Nomizu's daily life—the meticulous inspection of the fishing nets before going out to sea, the release of small fish when hauling in the nets, and the rational judgment of prices during auctions—allowing the audience to naturally understand the symbiotic relationship between fishermen and the sea.

The "details" in the documentary resonated deeply with Hokkaido fishermen. When Masayoshi Nomizu unties the boat ropes, he first applies a layer of anti-slip fish oil to his hands—a practice common among veteran Hokkaido fishermen. When inspecting tuna, he gently presses the flesh with his fingers, judging freshness by its elasticity—a unique skill passed down through generations. These details, unseen in other documentaries, were captured precisely by Hiroshi Nohara. My neighbor, fisherman Uncle Sato, after watching the documentary, sent a letter to TV Tokyo, saying, "Nohara-kun isn't just filming the fishermen of Chiba, he's filming the fishermen of all Japan. We Hokkaido fishermen also fish through ice in winter and reserve the best seafood for our customers. We're so happy to see these everyday moments captured."

Even more remarkably, "A Bite of China" has brought greater attention to Hokkaido's fishing village culture. In recent days, the Hokkaido Tourism Bureau has received numerous calls from tourists asking, "Can I experience fishing in a fishing village in Kushiro City?" and "Where can I eat fresh cod roe?" Local fishermen are excited and have begun preparing their ancestral fishing gear, ready to tell tourists "stories of the sea." Hiroshi Nohara's documentary has connected the fishing villages of Chiba and Hokkaido, allowing more people to know that Japan's maritime culture extends beyond Chiba's tuna to include Hokkaido's cod and scallops—fishermen in every sea area are protecting the ocean and preserving their culture in their own ways.

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The Nagoya Shimbun's entertainment section published an article titled, "The 'craft inheritance' featured in 'A Bite of China' gives hope to Nagoya's artisans."

(Film critic: Masako Nakamura)
Nagoya is famous for its traditional delicacies such as eel rice and tempura, and many shops in the city have been in business for decades. However, in recent years, more and more young people are unwilling to inherit the craft, and many old shops are facing the dilemma of "no one to carry on the tradition." After the first episode of "A Bite of Japan" aired, it caused a stir in Nagoya's artisan community—people saw themselves in the story of Masayasu Nomizu, and also saw hope for the inheritance of their crafts.

Hiroshi Nohara portrays the dilemma of "craftsmanship inheritance" with remarkable realism. In the first episode, Masayasu Nomizu's tone is filled with helplessness when he mentions that "his son works as an office worker in Tokyo and doesn't want to come back to fish." This helplessness is all too familiar to Nagoya's artisans. At my favorite "Suzuki Eel Rice Shop," the owner, Kosuke Suzuki, is 60 years old. His son works as a programmer in Osaka, and every time the topic of "inheriting the shop" comes up, his son says, "It's too hard; it's easier to sit in an office." Nohara doesn't shy away from this dilemma, nor does he deliberately try to evoke tears; he simply objectively records Masayasu Nomizu's feelings—he stares blankly at his son's photo and tells the fishermen, "When I get old, I'll give this boat to a young person willing to go out to sea." This authenticity resonates deeply with Nagoya's artisans and prompts more young people to reflect on the meaning of "craftsmanship inheritance."

The "persistence" depicted in the documentary has given strength to Nagoya's artisans. Masahiro Nomizu, a fisherman for decades, insists on using wooden boats and old nets even with more advanced fishing equipment; despite fluctuating tuna prices, he insists on selling only fresh fish. This "unconventional" persistence is exactly the same as the dedication of Nagoya's artisans. Osamu Tanaka, the owner of "Tanaka Tempura Shop," insists on using traditional sesame oil to fry tempura, even though his costs are 30% higher than other shops; Shizuka Matsumoto, the owner of "Matsumoto Wagashi Shop," insists on hand-making "nama yahashi" (raw Yatsuhashi), making only 200 servings a day and closing down once they're sold out. These acts of dedication rarely received attention before, but after the documentary aired, young people in Nagoya began actively visiting these old shops. Some asked, "Can I learn to make eel rice?" Others said, "I want to record the stories of these artisans." Osamu Tanaka smiled and said, "I used to think this craft was going to die out in my hands, but now that I see young people interested, I suddenly have the motivation."

The Nagoya Craftsmen Association has now contacted TV Tokyo, hoping to collaborate with Hiroshi Nohara to produce a documentary series titled "Nagoya Food Stories." They want to use the camera to showcase Nagoya's traditional cuisine and the dedication of its artisans—just as "A Bite of China" made Chiba's tuna known throughout Japan, they also want Nagoya's eel rice and tempura to become vehicles for conveying the "spirit of craftsmanship."

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Even the culture section of the Tokyo Metropolitan News, a local newspaper in Tokyo, published a review of "A Bite of China".

Unlike the enthusiastic praise from other newspapers, this commentary was tinged with a bittersweet helplessness, yet it couldn't deny the excellence of "A Bite of China".

The commentary, titled "The Success of 'A Bite of China': Its Unreplicable 'Authenticity' and the City TV Station's Reflections," was written by Kenji Fukuda, a senior film critic for the newspaper.

The article begins with a clear "contrast": "On October 15th, during prime time, TV Tokyo's 'Shunsuke's Tokyo Wanderings' and TV Tokyo's 'A Bite of Neon' went head-to-head. The former ended with a dismal 1.9% viewership rating, while the latter set a record with 24.1% viewership rating—this gap is not only a huge difference in numbers, but also a chasm in content concepts."

Next, Ken Fukuda, with an "I have to admit" tone, analyzed the strengths of "A Bite of China": "Objectively speaking, the success of 'A Bite of China' is not accidental. In the first episode, Masayoshi Nomizu's daily life had no deliberately designed 'conflicts' or glamorous 'celebrity effect,' but it moved the audience with its 'authenticity.' The fatigue of going out to sea at dawn, the focus on inspecting tuna, and the small talk with old customers—these 'unscripted' details are more powerful than the 'staged interactions' and 'deliberate humor' in the city's variety shows. Hiroshi Nohara's shots did not beautify life, nor did they avoid difficulties; they simply presented the real lives of fishermen—this creative attitude of 'not pandering and not being pretentious' is something that the city's television stations currently lack."

But then, Fukuda Ken couldn't help but add a sour remark: "Of course, the subject matter of 'A Bite of China' also has its advantages—the lives of fishermen and the sentiment of the sea inherently possess a sense of story, making it easier to resonate with audiences than the 'Instagrammable restaurant check-in' themes found in local TV variety shows. Moreover, TV Tokyo has directors like Hiroshi Nohara who are skilled at exploring humanistic themes, and cinematographers like Shigeru Saito who understand light and shadow. These resource advantages are difficult for local TV stations to replicate in the short term."

However, even with his sour grapes attitude, Ken Fukuda had to admit that "A Bite of China" was "flawless": "It must be admitted that the content of 'A Bite of China' is 'upright and noble'—it conveys respect for traditional culture, promotes the spirit of labor, and reverence for nature. These values ​​are indisputable, and the city TV station cannot find fault with its 'content orientation.' At the end of the first episode, Masahiro Nomizu said, 'We eat whatever the sea gives us.' This sentence is not only the survival philosophy of fishermen, but also a reflection on the 'overconsumption' and 'blind pursuit of traffic' in modern society—this depth is something that the city TV station's variety shows can hardly achieve."

At the end of the article, Ken Fukuda bluntly expressed the "helplessness of the city radio station": "As a local newspaper in Tokyo, we originally hoped that the city radio station could produce better content to showcase the vitality of Tokyo. But the success of 'A Bite of China' has made us realize that 'good content' has nothing to do with 'region' or 'celebrities,' but only with 'truth' and 'warmth.' If the city radio station wants to turn the tide in future competition, perhaps it should put aside the 'traffic-driven mindset' and learn from the 'humanistic mindset' of 'A Bite of China'—after all, viewers may scream for 'celebrities' for a while, but they will stay for 'truth' for much longer."

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Even the success of "A Bite of China" not only sparked a frenzy externally, but also became the focus of discussion among various departments within TV Tokyo.

During lunch break on October 18, several directors and screenwriters from different departments sat together in the break room of the Tokyo TV production department and spontaneously organized a "Seminar on Filming Techniques of 'A Bite of China'".

He analyzed the success of "A Bite of China" from a professional perspective, and his words were full of admiration for Hiroshi Nohara.

Of course, these were also seminars centered around Hiroshi Nohara's Special Production Department.

The first to speak was Takata Asano, a second-level director in the period drama department. He put down his bento box and said sincerely, "I watched the first episode of 'A Bite of China' five times, and I discovered something new each time. Nohara-kun's 'camera pacing' is amazing—for example, in the tuna auction scene, the transitions from wide shot to medium shot to close-up were so natural, without any abruptness, and it also managed to evoke the audience's emotions. I used to like using long takes when filming heartwarming dramas, but after watching 'A Bite of China,' I realized that different scenes require different rhythms—fast when it should be fast, slow when it should be slow—to immerse the audience. Next time I film a drama, I'll try to learn from this kind of rhythm control."

Next, Masako Onodera, a third-level editor in the technical department, added: "As a technician, I admire Shigemitsu Saito's 'lighting techniques' the most. In the morning mist at the dock, he used side lighting to highlight the layers of the mist without making the people's faces look dark; in the close-up of slicing sashimi, he used soft lighting to highlight the texture of the tuna, making it look particularly fresh. In the past, when we shot food scenes, we always liked to use strong light, thinking that it would make the colors more vibrant, but 'A Bite of China' proved that soft lighting can better convey a 'warm' feeling. Now, my colleagues in the technical department are all learning Shigemitsu Saito's lighting techniques and preparing to use them in the next episode."

Nanako Kawashima, a fourth-level director in the variety show department, excitedly said, "A Bite of China made me realize that variety shows can also have 'humanistic depth.' In the past, when we made variety shows, we always thought about how to make people laugh and how to create topics, but A Bite of China didn't have these things, yet it was more attractive than many variety shows. For example, the scene where Nomizu-san drank beer with the fishermen was unscripted, yet it was particularly real and heartwarming. Next time I make a family variety show, I want to reduce the deliberate game segments and increase the genuine interactions, so that the audience can feel the warmth of family—just like A Bite of China conveyed the warmth of the sea."

Hashiichiro from the animation department also spoke up, saying, "Although I work in animation, the attention to detail in 'A Bite of China' is very inspiring for animation creation. The way Nomizu-san unties the boat rope and the calluses on his fingers make the characters more three-dimensional. When we make animations, we easily overlook these details, such as the characters' gestures and expressions. We always think about 'exaggeration' but forget that 'realism' is the key to touching people's hearts. Next time I work on a new episode of 'Yamishibai,' I will ask the animators to observe more real-life human movements and make the details even more accurate."

Finally, Takashi Ashikaga, a second-level director in the film department, summarized: "Everyone's points are valid, but the core success of 'A Bite of China' lies in Nohara-kun's 'humanistic concern.' He wasn't 'making a documentary,' but 'recording people'—recording people's perseverance, emotions, and values. This 'people-centered' creative philosophy is more important than any filming technique. Whether we're making movies, TV series, art, or animation, if we forget the core of 'people,' even the most advanced technology and the most ingenious methods are just empty shells." He paused, his tone full of admiration, "To have such insight at 24 and to be able to translate that insight into a work—Nohara-kun's talent is truly awe-inspiring—I now completely understand why Director Sakata made an exception and established an independent production department for him."

This discussion in the tea room unknowingly lasted throughout the entire lunch break.

Some people dug out clips of "A Bite of China" saved on their phones and analyzed the camera transitions frame by frame; some took out notebooks and carefully recorded the "detail control" and "rhythm design" mentioned by everyone; and some have already started planning how to draw on the concepts of "A Bite of China" when doing projects next time.

When Saito Shigeru from the technical department passed by the break room during his afternoon shift, he heard the discussion inside and couldn't help but smile.

He returned to his office, compiled everyone's discussion into a document, and sent it to Hiroshi Nohara, adding at the end: "Everyone is learning the techniques of 'A Bite of China,' and they all admire your perseverance."

Hiroshi Nohara quickly replied with a simple sentence: "Good content deserves to be discussed by everyone. Next time we have time, we can organize a formal sharing session to pass on the good experiences together."

Looking at the text on the screen, Shigeru Saito suddenly understood—the success of "A Bite of China" not only popularized humanistic documentaries but also planted the seed of "valuing authenticity and focusing on humanity" within TV Tokyo. And this seed will grow into many more excellent works in the future.

……

As discussions about the first episode of "A Bite of China" deepened, all of Japan began to look forward to the airing of the second episode.

On October 19th, even the Asahi Shimbun conducted a poll asking, "Do you think the second episode of 'A Bite of China' will break records?"

The results showed that 87% of respondents chose "yes," and the reasons were surprisingly consistent: "The quality of the first episode was amazing, and I believe Hiroshi Nohara can maintain the standard" and "I want to know the story of the Gunma Soba Shop, which must be as moving as the story of the tuna."

The Kanto TV staff are very confident about the second episode.

At the production department meeting on October 20th, Toshihide Takada, holding a rough cut of the second episode, smiled and said, "Yesterday I showed the rough cut to several film critics, and they said it's 'warmer than the first episode.' The story of Kosuke Sato, the owner of the Gunma soba noodle shop, and his reconciliation with his son is so touching. The old soba flour milling machine and the everyday life of the old street are all filmed with more detail than the first episode. I dare say that the second episode's ratings will definitely surpass the first episode, maybe even break 30%."

Asumi added, "We've received word from the Gunma Prefectural Government that local travel agencies have started pre-selling 'Soba Noodle Culture Tours,' which will be available after the second episode airs. Marui Soy Sauce has also increased its sponsorship, wanting to include an advertisement for their 'Soba Noodle Special Soy Sauce' in the second episode, and has also promised to cooperate with offline events—all of which will help boost the viewership of the second episode."

Hiroshi Nohara sat beside him, remaining calm as ever: "Thank you for your trust, but we can't let our guard down. The editing of the second episode still needs some polishing. For example, the background music for the scene where Sato and her son reconcile can be a little softer to make the dialogue stand out more; the sound of the machine grinding buckwheat flour needs to be preserved more clearly so that the audience can feel the texture of the old craft. Only by paying attention to the details can we live up to the audience's expectations."

No one refuted his words—after the success of the first episode of "A Bite of China," everyone believed that Hiroshi Nohara's dedication to "details" was the key to his work's ability to touch people's hearts.

The atmosphere in the meeting room was enthusiastic and confident. Everyone was preparing for the broadcast of the second episode and was also quietly looking forward to the "record-breaking" moment arriving soon.

This expectation belongs not only to TV Tokyo, but to all viewers in Japan.

On the streets and alleys, people have already started counting down: "Only three days left until the second episode of 'A Bite of China' airs. I'll definitely be watching it on TV!"

Everyone is looking forward to the second episode.

(End of this chapter)