Masa

• 10 Columbus Circle, 4th Fl.
• New York
• Official Website

To me, one of the beautiful mysteries of human existence is how people with completely different backgrounds can enjoy the exact same experience in a distinct way. Let me preface this review with an important disclaimer: I had never been to a sushi bar before this meal at Masa. Ever. Sure, I had enjoyed raw fish before many times. Crudo. Tartare. A rose by any other name…What’s more, I have never been to Japan. I have little to no knowledge of the culture, the food, or the language. Luckily Adam, who joined me for dinner that evening, has traveled extensively in Japan, is very knowledgeable when it comes to the language and the culture, and is what I would consider a sushi expert.

But I haven’t even touched on the price. I’ve been to many high end restaurants in the city. I understand the prices here can be obscene. I’ve accepted that fact. Even tried to defend it at times. So call me cheap, but a $350 prix fixe (I believe it is now $400) is enough to give almost anyone a bit of sticker shock, so I was more than a bit hesitant. The idea dropping that kind of money on an experience that would be completely foreign to me, a different genre of restaurant than I’d ever been to before? Like handing a baby the keys to a Ferrari.

But, of course, you only live once, and the opportunity for an experience like Masa is not one that knocks on your door every day. So I bit the bullet, and went. These are my impressions:

The 30,000 year-old wooden fossil separating Masa from the outside world was less like a door, more a portal into another world. One immediately forgets they are on the fourth floor of a bustling “urban mall” in the middle of New York City. Rather, Masa was like an almost austerely tranquil temple. We entered slowly, immediately greeted (if you could call it that) by a dark-suited gentleman who showed us to our spots at the 10-seat sushi bar. A party of four Japanese-speaking people to our left was engaging chef Masa Takayama about what he had just placed before them. We were not lucky enough to be seated directly in front of the master himself, but there are no nosebleed seats at this show. We were but a few feet away from greatness.

The bar itself was absolutely breathtaking. A solid piece of beautiful blonde hinoki wood that must have been almost 30 feet in length. Free of any stain or lacquer, just a pristine piece of natural wood, untarnished by scratches or blemishes. Like the rest of the restaurant, the bar’s aesthetic is clean. Pure.

The air, too, was seemingly purged of all sound. Anything above a soft whisper seemed more like a loud yell in this environment. It was a bit awkward adapting to this at first. Were these people actually enjoying their meals in this atmosphere? A quick look around at the room… Eyes closed in pleasure and sighs of contentment were enough to convince me that undoubtedly, they were. This is not a place for sushi conversation, it seemed; more like contemplation.

Before us sat nothing but a pair of chop sticks resting on their stand like a sculpture. Warm hand towels were brought out, and the sake menu and wine/cocktail lists soon followed. Adam made a selection, and soon the sake was brought out in a beautiful stone bowl and placed on a bed of chipped ice to keep it chilled. It was served in hollow sections of bamboo.

Chef Masa, dressed in white, was flanked on the left and right by his assistants, who wore black. A third assistant behind them mannede the open grill. Masa’s eyes seemed to dart around the room often. His look was stern, business-like. His orders to the others were delivered in short, staccato punches. They were heeded without a second thought.

The young chef in front of us (named Nick, we later come to find out) asked if we had any dietary restrictions. “None” was our quick response. We had not come there to try and put such shackles on their expression. This was about relinquishing control. Putting ourselves in their hands. We sat back, and it began…

The chestnuts and gingko nuts were a warm, fragrant, herbal beginning. A luxurious mound of toro tartare arrived blanketed by caviar. The unctuous tuna and the oceanic roe dissolved together on the tongue in a moment of culinary bliss. This, I thought to myself, tastes like the salted butter of the gods. The aji (horse mackerel) was light, refreshing, almost sweet, and incredibly different from the assertive, oily imposters that have been passed off as mackerel any previous time that I’d had it. It rested on a beautiful stone serving piece, that we later learned was designed by Masa himself, along with most of the other beautiful pottery pieces we would see throughout the evening.

Baby eels were served with olive paste and sesame oil, and seem to be swimming in the bubbling hot mixture when it is set before us. They were subtly flavored and just the slightest bit chewy, almost like al dente pasta. Unfortunately, I found the olive paste was a bit too assertive, overwhelming the delicacy of the eels. The uni risotto with summer truffles was a huge disappointment. I had distant memories of reading several reviews that has praised this dish. I also very much enjoy uni, so was looking forward to this. Yet it was incredibly bland, completely lacking any salinity whatsoever. Somebody please pass the fleur de sel. The summer truffle aroma was pleasant if subtle, but overall the dish was severely lacking.

The fish (buri?) for the shabu shabu was carefully and beautifully scored by Masa, so that its flesh fanned out and puffed up like popcorn when it was placed in the hot broth perfumed with shitake mushrooms and a few slivers of crunchy fresh cucumber. The yuzu dipping sauce both cooled the fish after each piece emerges from the hot broth, and provided a nice acidic top note of flavor. The dish was one of contrasts, and had the potential to be quite good, but as in the end it was bland. A little seasoning in the form of salt or some kind of spice/heat would have been appreciated here.

The broth was removed from the hot pot, and placed in a bowl. This, too, was quite bland. A few floating slices of mushroom and thin shavings of cucumber are not enough to enhance it at all. Yet I assumed that drinking this leftover cooking broth as a soup was a traditional part of the meal, so I finished mine more to be respectful than based on any actual enjoyment of it. As with the entire meal, this was a new thing for me, so I just went with it.

A second hot hand towel arrived. Small stone serving pieces with ginger and soy sauce were placed in front of us. A small blank slab of black stone now rested on a short wooden stand between us and the chef. And the real show began.

We were instructed to eat most of the pieces with our hands, as some can be quite delicate. Wonderful. I’ve always felt there is something intrinsic about the tactile sensation of eating with my hands that adds something extra to the experience of eating. And inside I smiled a bit, recalling of my lack of dexterity with chop sticks.

The first bite of rich, fatty Otoro was wonderful, and for an instant, thought-provoking. My first bite of true Japanese sushi, I had nothing to which I could compare it. No matter, though. Delicious is primal. Delicious needs no predecessor.

The rice was perfect. Just slightly warm. Somehow the small beds of rice had just enough starch to hold together in my fingers, yet the moment they hit my tongue they dissolved into a seemingly infinite matrix of tiny little grains. Nothing about the temperature, texture, aroma, or flavor was the least bit distracting on the palate. Fittingly, the rice was nothing more, and nothing less, than the ultimate vehicle for the fish.

Many other pieces followed like clockwork. The chef grabbed a piece of pristine fish from a tray resting on a massive block of ice. His cuts were quick, precise, and beautiful. Like a surgeon, he knew every line, curve, and groove of the fish’s flesh. He deftly scored or sliced the different pieces, knowing exactly how to deliver the texture most fitting for each piece. He grabbed a small glob of rice, shaping and working it in his left palm. He added a dab of freshly grated wasabi to the top with his right middle finger, and then placed the piece of fish on its newly made bed. Nothing more than a quick brush stroke of their house-made soy sauce added a thin glaze of deep, intense flavor to each piece. Sometimes in lieu of the soy sauce came a soft sprinkling of fleur de sel, thin slivers of shiso, or a squeeze of fresh yuzu and a few shavings of its zest. Each careful addition added just the right top note to make the flavors sing together.

The sushi progression was a study in contrasts. We enjoyed a sweet, subtle piece, only to be followed by something more assertive. A cool piece of fish was followed by one that’s just been pulled from the hot grill. A few times, the chef retreated momentarily to the open grill in the back, grabbed a long iron rod from on top of the hot coals, and lightly seared a piece of sushi right before our eyes, leaving the smoky aroma of caramelized flesh lingering in our nostrils. The effect was intoxicating, creating contrasting flavors and temperatures in the very same bite.

Probably about half-way through the progression of sushi pieces, I politely mentioned to our young chef that for me, the fresh wasabi is a bit too distracting on the palate when combined with some of the more subtly flavored sushi. His response is simply that “the wasabi is fresh ground here; that is why it is over your head.” Needless to say, that sounds pretty condescending, so I was a bit offended. It’s not like I’ve been drowning my pieces in soy sauce or asking for a California Roll or something. While it’s perfectly fine with some of the fuller-flavored fish, the fresh wasabi just overwhelms the different flavor nuances of some of the more mild ones, like scallops. TMAFBH, man. Luckily, though, he soon partially made up for it by making a very apt comparison. “Well, really, it’s just like fine wines. If you don’t like them, don’t drink them. Different people have different tastes. Same goes for wasabi. If you would prefer no wasabi, then that’s perfectly fine. I’ll leave it out of yours from now on.” Thank you very much. I’m glad I asked, as I end up enjoying the purity of the flavors more from here on out. Rather than attempting the impossible task of telling you what I thought of each and every piece, I’ll just mention some of the (many) highs and the (few) lows:The aoyagi (orange clam), baby scallop, and grilled unagi (freshwater eel) were all a bit underwhelming. All a bit bland, what they lacked in flavor they unfortunately did not make up for in texture. The ball of rice rolled in summer truffles was very pleasantly aromatic, but quite bland and boring in flavor. I’m sure winter truffles would have been different, but it was, of course, not the season. The shiitake mushroom sushi was such a thin slice that it had little flavor, but it is good for a change of pace, if nothing else.

The tai (sea bream) was sweet and delicious. The kinme (deep sea snapper) was nothing short of revelatory, and if you held a gun to my head and forced me to choose just one piece, it may very well have been my favorite of the entire evening. The hotate (scallop) was quite good, sliced paper thin and seared over the hot open fire for an instant before being placed on the bed of rice. The suji (grilled toro sinew) was outstanding. The uni (sea urchin) was incredibly creamy, and tasted purely of the sea in a way that few other foods can even emulate. The maguro (lean tuna) was stunning, and no less delicious than the fattier tuna that had preceded it. And the negitoro maki, a massive roll of perfectly pliable nori stuffed to the gills with diced toro and scallions…. well, let’s just say at this point I was out of positive adjectives. I just sat back, smiled, and reveled in the fact that there was probably nobody in the world eating quite as well as I was at that particular moment.

A tiny ume shiso ball was passed to us, with a quiet comment that “this is a pleasant way to end your meal.” And it was done. Or so we thought. Several minutes later, the chef asked if we would like anything else at this point. Not quite ready to quit this ride just yet, Adam and I each chose a favorite (his: uni; mine: kinme) and asked politely for one more round of each. They came. We devoured them. We smiled. Dessert came. A single Japanese white peach, sliced. A delicious, simple ending to a simply delicious meal.

As we sat there and slowly sip the soba cha (buckwheat tea) after the meal, talking with Masa and his younger assistants for what seems like hours, I couldn’t help but think about what an enlightening experience this had been for me. I had come in a sushi novice. And I would be leaving…well, still very much a sushi novice. Somehow, though, I feel like my initial ignorance was actually a positive thing. It left me with a very open mind (“…and an empty stomach”), ready to take in everything that was sent my way. There’s something very natural and easy to appreciate about the Japanese approach to food. There is no pretense, no barriers, no gilding, and little saucing. Rather, freshness, simplicity, purity and minimalism are the tenets that quietly take their place. And those are things that most anyone, sushi novice, or otherwise, should have absolutely no trouble appreciating.

Of course, I realized later, I’ll have to answer all the questions about whether or not it was “worth it.” I feel like far too much of the talk about Masa centers around the price. Yet in the end, when we focus on such transient, temporal, and essentially meaningless things, we miss the big picture. Not everything is about money. Sometimes that money is buying more than just a meal. In my case, it bought education, nay, enlightenment. For someone who gets too easily caught up in the New American upscale monotony that can be fine dining in New York City, it is more than a change of pace. It’s a completely new experience culturally, gastronomically, and ultimately, personally. So was it “worth it” for me? Well, if you haven’t figured that out by now, you’ve been reading the wrong review…

Ah, and lest I forget, our menu:

1. Chestnuts & Warm Gingko Nuts
2. Toro Tartare with Sterling Royal Caviar and Toasted Bread
3. Aji (Horse Mackerel) with Sea Salt Vinaigrette
4. Baby Eel w/ Olive Paste & Sesame Oil
5. Uni Risotto with Summer Truffles
6. (Buri?) Fish Shabu-Shabu with Cucumbers, Shiitake Mushrooms, Yuzu Dipping Sauce
7. Shabu-Shabu Leftover Broth
8. Otoro (Fatty Tuna) Nigiri Sushi
9. Otoro (Fatty Tuna) Nigiri Sushi
10. Shimaaji (Striped Jack) Nigiri Sushi
11. Hirame (Halibut) Nigiri Sushi
12. Tai (Seabream) Nigiri Sushi
13. Kinme (Deep sea snapper) Nigiri Sushi
14. Ika (Squid) Sushi
15. Ama Ebi (Sweet Shrimp) Nigiri Sushi
16. Aoyagi ((Round) Orange Clam) Nigiri Sushi
17. Tori-Gai (Birdshell Fish) Nigiri Sushi
18. Hotate (Scallop) Nigiri Sushi
19. Suji (Grilled Toro Sinew) Nigiri Sushi
20. Kohada (Gizzard Shad) Nigiri Sushi
21. Tako (Octopus) Nigiri Sushi
22. Uni (Sea Urchin) Nigiri Sushi
23. Seared Sanma (Mackerel (Saury) Pike) Nigiri Sushi
24. Maguro (Lean Tuna) Nigiri Sushi
25. Baby Scallop Nigiri Sushi
26. Grilled Anago ((Saltwater) Conger Eel) Nigiri Sushi
27. Grilled Unagi (Freshwater Eel) Cucumber Sushi (no rice)
28. Black Truffle Crusted Rice
29. Shiitake Mushroom Nigiri Sushi
30. Negitoro (Diced Toro w/ Scallion) Maki
31. Ume Shiso Rice Ball with Fleur de Sel
32. Additional Uni Nigiri Sushi
33. Additional Deep Sea Snapper Nigiri Sushi
34. Japanese White Peach