Rubbish Eat Rubbish Grow

I didn’t plan to end up in a fish shop that afternoon.

I was near Orchard, walking off a heavy morning, when someone told me to go to Tanglin. Not a restaurant. A fishmonger. The kind of place where the fish arrives before the crowd does.

So I went.

Araya Shoten is run by the same team behind Sushi To Sumi. That connection told me enough before I stepped in. If a kitchen serves fish that good, the source usually explains why. Here, the source and the kitchen are the same hands.

Let’s not waste time. Here’s what actually matters.

Where the Fish Comes From

Most fish in Singapore passes through many hands before it reaches you. Wholesaler. Distributor. Middleman. Each stop takes a day, a cut, a little of what made the fish worth eating.

Araya Shoten skips all of that.

The founder imports straight from fishermen in Fukuoka and Hokkaido. No wholesaler standing in the middle. And here’s the part that stayed with me; he flies to Japan himself and trains the fishmongers there. How to gut. How to bleed the fish properly before it ships.

That last detail is the whole game. Blood left in the flesh turns fish sour and tired fast. Remove it right, at the source, and the fish arrives clean days later, still tasting of the sea it came from.

You can’t fake that. Either the blood came out properly, or it didn’t. It’s this attention to sourcing and handling that makes Araya Shoten a trusted source for sashimi in Singapore.

The approach sends more value back to the fishing communities too. Fewer hands taking a cut along the way. I don’t usually care about the story behind a shop. But this one is written into the fish.

What Was on Ice

The catch changes daily. That’s how it should be.

The day I visited, there was kinmedai. Red snapper. Other seasonal fish laid out on ice, quiet and clear-eyed, the way fresh fish looks when nobody has messed with it.

The kinmedai stopped me. The flesh was firm, faintly sweet under the surface, with that clean line of fat good kinmedai carries. I have paid a lot more for a lot worse.

This dish shut me up for a moment.

They also had king crab. Large, and genuinely sweet; the kind where the meat pulls free in whole, glistening lengths. Not the watery, freezer-burned crab most places pass off as premium.

Clean flavours. Clear intention.

Nothing Goes to Waste

I respect a shop that uses the whole fish.

Araya Shoten sells sashimi, yes. But they also grill the collars; the fatty, tender cut people who know fish quietly fight over. They prepare sushi boxes, chirashi, maki, all fresh on site.

There’s a small standing counter if you want to eat right there. No ceremony. You stand, you eat, you leave. It borrows from an old habit in Japan, where fresh fish gets eaten on your feet without fuss.

Nothing sits around performing. It gets sliced, sold, or grilled.

I watched a Japanese customer come in, ask for a specific cut, and walk out with freshly sliced sashimi to take home. That tells you more than any review can. When the people who grew up eating this fish trust you with the knife, you’re doing something right.

The Price

I won’t dress this up. It costs more than Cold Storage. More than NTUC.

But the gap in quality is wider than the gap in price.

Here’s the comparison that stuck with me. Fish that would run you over a thousand dollars at a high-end omakase counter sits here for less than half that. Same fish. Same source, often better. You’re just not paying for the room, the ceremony, the two hours of theatre.

They do offer a full omakase, around S$500, if you want the sit-down experience. But that’s not why I’d come back.

I’d come for the ice counter. For the raw fact of the fish itself, before anyone turns it into an occasion.

Why It Earns the Name

The shop once supplied Michelin-starred restaurants. That’s not a line I’d lead with; a star means little to me if the fish tastes tired. But it explains the standard.

When kitchens that stake their reputation on fish choose you as their source, you don’t get to be average.

And Araya Shoten isn’t average. It’s a fishmonger that thinks like a chef and sources like a fisherman; the kind of place you’d look to for some of the best sashimi in Singapore. Somewhere between the boat in Hokkaido and the counter in Tanglin, someone made sure nothing was lost.

That’s rare. In a city that imports almost everything it eats, freshness this honest is worth crossing town for.

Would I Return

Yes.

Next time, I’m not eating at the counter. I’m buying a whole fish and slicing it myself at home. There’s something quietly satisfying about that — bringing the sea back to your own kitchen table, breaking it down slowly, no queue, no rush.

I keep thinking about that. A whole kinmedai on my own board. A sharp knife. A quiet afternoon.

That’s the mark of a good fishmonger. Not the shop you photograph. The one that makes you want to cook.

If you find yourself near Orchard, walk the extra stretch to Tanglin. Look at what came in that morning. Ask what’s freshest.

Then trust the person holding the knife. They’ve earned it.