Nabe and shime: the hot pot and its grand finale

The best part of a Japanese hot pot is the part you eat when you're already full. After an hour of fishing tofu, cabbage and chicken out of a bubbling pot, someone tips a bowl of rice or a tangle of noodles into what's left of the broth, and suddenly everyone finds room again.

That last act has a name, shime, and I'd argue it's the whole reason to order a hot pot in the first place. But first, the pot.

A pot in the middle of the table

Nabe (鍋) simply means pot, and nabemono (鍋物) means "things in a pot". In practice it describes a way of eating rather than a single dish: a pot of broth set on a burner in the middle of the table, often a heavy clay pot called a donabe (土鍋), with platters of raw ingredients around it. Everyone adds things, waits, and fishes out whatever is ready.

It is food for cold months and for company. The windows steam up, the table fills with little dipping bowls, and the conversation slows to the pace of the simmer. Restaurants serve nabe, but it's just as much a home dish, especially when friends or family gather.

Many tables have a nabe bugyo (鍋奉行), the "hot pot magistrate": the self-appointed person who decides what goes in, in what order, and when it's ready to eat. The term is a joke, but the role is real. If you're a guest, I'd let them rule.

A few pots worth knowing

Chanko nabe (ちゃんこ鍋) is the hot pot of sumo. In the wrestlers' training stables, chanko refers to the food cooked and eaten there, and the hearty, protein-heavy hot pot is its best-known form: chicken, fish or meat, tofu and plenty of vegetables in a generous broth. Tokyo's Ryogoku district, home of the national sumo hall, is known for its chanko restaurants, some of them opened by retired wrestlers. A much-repeated piece of sumo lore says chicken was a favourite because a chicken stands on two legs, as a winning wrestler should, rather than ending up on all fours. It's a superstition, but a good one.

Yosenabe (寄せ鍋), roughly "gathered-together pot", is the everyday family hot pot: a dashi broth seasoned with soy and mirin, holding a bit of everything, such as white fish, prawns, clams, chicken, tofu, Chinese cabbage, mushrooms and greens. There are no strict rules, which is exactly the point.

Kiritanpo nabe (きりたんぽ鍋) comes from Akita in northern Japan. Kiritanpo are made by mashing freshly cooked rice, pressing it around a stick and grilling it until toasty. The rice is then cut into lengths and simmered in chicken broth with burdock root, mushrooms such as maitake, leeks and seri, a fragrant Japanese water herb. The rice soaks up the broth but keeps a gentle chew, and the grilled surface adds a faint toastiness.

Motsunabe (もつ鍋) belongs to Fukuoka. Motsu means offal, usually beef intestine, simmered in a soy- or miso-based broth under a mountain of cabbage and garlic chives, often with sliced garlic and chilli. The fat from the offal melts into the broth, which turns rich and sweet. If offal makes you nervous, this is a forgiving place to start.

The cousins: shabu-shabu and sukiyaki

Two famous dishes share the tabletop pot but cook in their own way.

Shabu-shabu (しゃぶしゃぶ) means paper-thin slices of beef or pork, swished for a moment through simmering kombu broth and then dipped in ponzu, a citrus soy sauce, or a creamy sesame sauce. The name is usually explained as the sound of that swish. Vegetables and tofu go in alongside, and the broth grows deeper with every slice.

Sukiyaki (すき焼き) is sweeter and more concentrated: beef cooked in a shallow iron pan with soy sauce, sugar and mirin, alongside tofu, leeks and shirataki, translucent konjac noodles. Each hot bite is dipped in beaten raw egg, which cools and silkens it. Kanto cooks typically use a ready-mixed sauce called warishita (割り下), while Kansai cooks often start by searing the beef with sugar and adding soy straight to the pan.

Whether these two count as true nabemono is a matter of taste. I'd call them cousins at the same table.

Shime: the grand finale

Shime (締め, often written with the symbol 〆) comes from a verb meaning to close or tie up, and in a hot pot meal it means finishing by cooking a starch in the leftover broth. By the end of the evening, that broth has absorbed the sweetness of the vegetables, the savour of the meat or seafood and the depth of the original dashi. Pouring it away would be a crime.

The classic finishes:

• Zosui (雑炊): cooked rice simmered in the broth, often finished with beaten egg and a scattering of spring onion. The lid goes on for a moment, the egg sets softly, and you have one of the most comforting things in Japanese cooking.
• Ojiya (おじや): a very close relative. One common distinction is that ojiya is simmered longer until thick and porridgy while zosui stays looser, but the line is blurry and people happily argue about it.
• Udon: thick wheat noodles that drink up the broth. Udon is a common finish for sukiyaki, too, soaking up the last of the sweet sauce.
• Ramen or champon noodles: popular after richer pots. In Fukuoka, motsunabe is often finished with thick, springy champon noodles.

A few practical tips. Before the shime goes in, taste the broth: if it has become very salty, a splash of water or a little extra dashi helps. Skim off any foam and stray scraps. In restaurants, staff will often prepare the shime for you, and it's usually ordered as an extra at the end, so save a little room. Choosing which finish to have is half the fun.

If you love the idea of a broth that carries a whole evening's flavour, you'll also enjoy oden, Japan's slow-simmered winter stew.

I've come to think the shime holds the whole philosophy of nabe in one spoonful: nothing wasted, everything shared, and the best flavour saved for the people patient enough to wait for it.