I always thought two parents were more than enough. But after visiting Sukiyabashi Jiro in Ginza, Tokyo, I will be returning with adoption papers.
Chef Jiro Ono has been recognized by the Japanese government as a national treasure and “modern master” for his contributions to Japanese cuisine. He has received three Michelin stars. The awards an accolades for this masterful chef are endless. And to believe he is over 80 years old.
Chef Ono’s dishes are simple and straight forward: the freshest fish imaginable, warm carefully selected and cooked rice, deft knife work, and a collection of wise and sarcastic jokes. He is very serious. But unlike Masa, he was faster to crack a smile. He couldn’t stop smirking at how I took a picture of each piece of sushi and even offered to pose; though, his sharp sushi knife was a forceful deterrent. He has a funny sense of humor and is full of clever quips; my limited Japanese only understood the surface. He asked if we had any allergies or restrictions. We made it very clear that we eat absolutely everything.
To me, an omakase meal is like perusing the colors of the rainbow: when everything is exquisitely fresh, it’s impossible for me to pick favorites or to dislike any of the fresh fish. It’s like asking me to chose if I like the color red or blue better; I like them both. Everything I ate here was unbelievable.
We started the meal with cuts of Hirame, Sumi-ika, and Shima-aji. Each piece was lightly brushed with soy sauce and freshly grated wasabi already applied. The only accoutrement given was a healthy handful of ginger. The hirame (fluke) left a trail of sweetness lingering in my mouth. The sumi-ika (squid) had a texture that I’ve only experienced at Kozue: not at all squeaky; but chewy and translucent. The shima-aji (amber jack) snipped as I bit through it.
Three slices of tuna came next, akami, chu-toro, and oo-toro increasing from lean, to medium fatty, to extremely fatty cuts. The akami (lean toro) was the most tender slice of tuna I’ve ever tasted that did not contain noticeable marbelization. The tuna was marinated in soy sauce for several minutes before service, perhaps contributing to this unique texture. The medium fatty tuna had an interesting mix of crunch and fat, while the fatty tuna just completely melted in my mouth. My friend with whom I shared this meal began to tear (I kid you not).
Making the transition from milder to more intensely flavored fishes came kohada, hamaguri, and aji. The shiny skin was left on the kohada (something inbetween herring and mackerel) amplifying the already fishy flavor. This fish literally smells like the ocean. The texture of the hamaguri (a type of Japanese clam) was crunchy yet not dry. The aji (horse mackerel) was soft and smooth with thin stripes of fat stringing together layers of lean meat.
The kuruma-ebi was simply gorgeous. Killed minutes before and immediately flash boiled, the gigantic tiger prawn with beautiful bands of white and red made its way to our plate. The texture of the shrimp was almost indistinguishable from langoustine: firm with a hint of pastiness. I briefly wondered what happened to the head, my favorite part; but I was quickly distracted by the next course. Chef Ono explained that the tiger prawn is sliced in such a way that the flavor and juices of the head are incorporated with the meat, and so the head itself is not necessary.
The sayori had a texture inbetween mackerel and squid: slightly crunchy yet clearly not a shellfish.
The tako, or octopus, was sliced very thinly and left lightly uncooked to preserve its soft texture and to prevent it from getting dry. The edges of the fish seemed less cooked than the center, giving this slice of octopus a wide range of textures both chewy and crunchy.
Saba, a skin-less slice of mackerel that lacked the strong fishy flavor that I was used to. This was the freshest saba I’ve ever tasted.
Akagai, or arc-shell clam, was a newly discovered favorite food. I am literally tasting again this as I type this sentence. A brittle and crispy yet moist clam with a strong briny flavor. Chef Ono lightly scored the surface with his knife enhancing the crispy texture.
Uni. Light and sweet with a slightly briny flavor and no iodine taste whatsoever. The roe remained firm even while sitting atop the warm rice. As my friend Lizzie said during our meal at Urasawa, “you can just inject this stuff directly into my veins.” I couldn’t agree with her more.
Kobashira, round clam abductor muscles wrapped in seaweed. This had a stiff and crispy texture much like the akagai.
Ikura, salmon roe. One of the few pieces of Ikura sushi I’ve had with almost no salting. Chef Ono, in the most humble way possible, let us know that this was the best in the world. It was certainly some of the best I’ve ever had, right alongside the Ikura at Urasawa.
Anago, saltwater eel. This was much leaner and less oily than usual. It was very lightly glazed with kabayaki to add sweetness.
And now, time for dessert. This is how I would like to end all meals. If the quality of a restaurant’s Tamago can be used as a barometer for the skill of a sushi chef, this is as good as it gets. The sweet egg sushi had a fluffiness like a dense pound cake. It was addictively sweet and marked a perfect ending to an incredible meal.
The bill came, and I was told that no credit cards were accepted. Uh oh. Struggling in a panic to put together my thoughts in Japanese, I explained that I would leave my sister at the restaurant as hostage while I went to an ATM. With his slippers and in full chef attire, Chef Ono’s assistant kindly walked me into the connecting subway station to the nearest machine. The machine was on the other side of the subway turnstyle; but a quick conversation with the toll guard and he let me through to the machine. I returned cash in hand to see my sister smiling with several autographed books that Chef Ono had signed for her … she must have left quite an impression. This example of kindness is not something I’m used to living in Paris.
This was undoubtably one of the best sushi meals of my life. The combination of chef Ono’s skill and access to the best ingredients makes this a must visit. Each fish was served at its ideal temperature. His timing was impeccable: not a single piece of fish rested for a second longer than necessary.
I would recommend going with someone who speaks conversational Japanese as the staff speaks absolutely no English and, for me, much of the fun came from the chef’s witty humour. It was an all around excellent experience, and I can’t wait to go back.
There are few chefs who tell a story without speaking, who can transport diners to a far away place without ever stepping on an airplane, and who can make diners feel at home and comfortable without taking off their shoes. Chef Hiro Urasawa is one of those chefs. And he does it all with a wide smile.
Perched on the second level of the luxurious Two Rodeo shopping center, Urasawa sits above some of the most famous designers in the world: Fendi, Cartier, Tiffany, Prada, Cerruti and Versace to name a few. But unlike the downstairs world of fashion and style, upstairs, flavor rules. But it’s not like the outside world is hidden; in fact, sunlight pours in through the large windows overlooking the most famous shopping street in the United States. Rather, the simplicity of the space combined with Chef Urasawa’s humility, sense of humor, and genuine good nature encourage pretense and entitlement to be left downstairs. Without a doubt, the combination of Chef Urasawa’s personality, skill, and selection of ingredients made this my best sushi meal in the United States.
Shortly after being seated Chef Urasawa introduced himself and asked Aaron and me for our names. While his soft-spoken sister Yoshi was taking our drink order he jotted them down on a piece of paper so he could address us each personally, an endearing gesture that would we certainly wouldn’t have seen at Masa most other sushi restaurants. He asked us if we had dietary restrictions or if there were fish we particularly didn’t like to which we happily explained: we eat everything. No; everything.
A few minutes later we got started with live Hokkaido botan ebi (spot prawn) with yuzu zest, shiso, and shiso flower atop a small bed of sweet daikon radish. While the placement of the small decorative flowers atop this dish may seem random, don’t be fooled — each petal was placed by Chef Urasawa with exacting precision. This was a very sweet dish, particularly because of the fresh shrimp and the shiso. The refreshing watery crunch of the daikon radish combined with the fresh shrimp’s firm chew made for a nice range of textures. I would have enjoyed a slight pinch of salt to lift the flavors of each ingredient a bit, but that would have masked the incredible natural sweetness of the shrimp. We weren’t sure whether we should consider this dish an amuse bouche, or the first of the thirty three ”courses” that were to come. But I guess that’s all a matter of who is counting.
While finishing the shrimp, Aaron and I began to hear small rhythmic crunches, like someone was jumping on a pile of leaves. In fact, Chef Urasawa was crunching the bones of a hamo, or king eel, a creature notorious for its abundance of tiny bones that, if improperly cut, can make the fish inedible. The eel was deep fried, marinated in a sweet and sour sauce, garnished with minced shiso and grated carrot, and served cold. The texture was meaty and firm, similar to a thick cut of turbot. The flavor was clean and refreshing; the dish lacked salting of any kind.
The next course exemplified Chef Urasawa’s modesty and devotion to seasonality: a single wedge of misu-nasu, or water eggplant, with what he called “a very special soy sauce.” Sometimes a perfect vegetable needs neither cooking nor garnish. What an interesting texture this eggplant had: slightly more crunchy than a typical purple eggplant yet not at all starchy. We ate this with our hands which allowed us to feel the smooth, but not slimy, skin. A quick dip into the delicious soy sauce added just the right amount of salt, which worked to balance out the previous two sweeter dishes. I was tempted to ask for some more of this; but unsure of the quantity of food to come, I savored the moment and awaited what was to come.
If heaven came in a bowl, it would likely be the course that came next: a warm edamame custard with chilled Santa Barbara uni and live Botan ebi, topped with a sea of sweet ikura and garnished with miniature chives and gold leaf. Chef Urasawa insisted the gold leaf was good for the stomach, as well as visually beautiful. After the first bite Aaron and I began to laugh. This was the freshest salmon roe we had ever had: where was the salt?! Each bite was a burst of sweet nectar that made eating the sea urchin and shrimp not only incredibly flavorful, but fun! Urasawa explained that he marinates the roe himself. Not sure how he achieves this magical texture; it was as if the ikura would burst at the slighest pressure of the tongue … the “shell” was almost non-existent, like a bubble about to burst in air. The crunchy chives added textural contrast to the smooth custard. Basically, this dish had everything: sweet and salty, warm and cold, crunchy and smooth. This was dish I will likely continue to taste for a long time.
I never thought I could enjoy bouquets as gifts; but I was proven wrong. Sashimi bouquets from Urasawa are welcome anytime. Chef Urasawa served us otoro (fatty tuna) from Boston, kanpachi (yellowtail) from Toyama, and tai (red snapper) from Kyushu. Slices of these three fish sat among a lovingly prepared arrangement of fresh flowers, assorted seaweeds and freshly grated wasabi. This was all placed upon a hand-carved solid block of ice that Chef Urasawa explains he carves himself every morning. Both functional and beautiful, the block of ice resembled a rotating star. The white frosting around the ice made it look like origami from afar yet the temperature told otherwise. Butter-soft tuna was the first bite; the fat gently melted as it warmed in my mouth. The red snapper was surprisingly light. But the highlight was undoubtably the kanpachi, whose texture was in between crunchy and smooth, Aaron put down his chopsticks for a moment (a rare occurrence) and exclaimed “Oh god” — a sure sign of enjoyment.
Chef Urasawa’s dobin mushi came next, a warm therapeutic soup of matsutake mushroom, botan ebi, uni, tai, and ginko nut to contrast the cold sashimi we’d just eaten. This was served in a clay tea kettle with a cup so that all the ingredients, particularly the broth, could be enjoyed a bit at a time. Aaron sat back and waited for me to be the idiot to burn my tongue; this was hot. I was very happy with my bite of the red snapper which somehow neither fell apart nor became firm after sitting in this broth. The ebi’s firmness increased and became similar to a miniature lobster tail. There was also a wedge of yuzu bathing in the broth to add a citrus element to the flavor… a really nice addition to brighten things up. Two cups of the broth was enough for me; but a glance at Aaron’s kettle revealed a light blue pattern at the bottom, only visible when empty. I wish there had been some more gingko nuts… after marinating in the teapot they became chewy, aromatic and delicious.
Next came two small slices of lightly battered tender northern California awabi (abalone). Urasawa explained that he boils the abalone in sake and soy sauce for over six hours before deep frying them — this is how he gets the texture so succulent. The abalone was served on tempura paper with a small wedge of yuzu to cut through the oily mouthfeel. I tried to keep this in my mouth for as long as possible, though the amazing tenderness wasn’t making that easy. It was absolutely delicious — salt, citrus, brine all at the same time — and I didn’t want it to end. I tried to distract Aaron by telling him that his idol favorite chef David Kinch had just walked in; but he wisely ate his abalone before looking. Maybe next time.
Our waitress placed two hot stones in front of us with several cuts of grade A-5 Kobe beef. There was no pedantic instruction on how to use the stone, or a lesson on “how things are done here;” rather, Chef Urasawa’s sister quietly and lovingly cooked each slice for us, lifting it from the hot stuff at just the right time. The room filled with the mouthwatering aroma of smoking fat. The stone was hot enough that it locked in the moisture of the meat while nicely searing the edges. A bite of this meat revealed its true secret: tender enough to you know it is meat yet subtle, melting and juicy enough that you know it has to be Kobe. When I asked Chef Urasawa what makes this Kobe beef so tender compared to others, he explained that, “nice people make good beef.” A statement that not only reflects his contageous positive outlook on cooking but his desire to follow the ingredients from his kitchen all the way back to the source: the rancher is a close friend of his.
Next came a miniature shabu-shabu of ebi (shrimp), hamo (king eel), Kobe beef, foie gras, and hotate gai (scallop). The foie gras was dropped into the hot broth first since it takes the longest to cook through. It’s also the fattiest and the deposited an amazing richness that enhanced the broth. After the foie went in, the hamo, scallop, shrimp, and fatty beef each took turns jumping into the pool. When ready, each slice of meat and fish was removed from the boiling broth held in a thick paper bowl and placed in a small bath of vinegar, soy sauce ,and scallion to cool. I found the scallop a little bland in flavor but with an interesting texture. The hamo became surprisingly firm when cooked this way, and its rough edges became more pronounced. The foie gras was smooth and silky. The beef was sliced fairly thinly in order to cook quickly, and as such it was not quite so juicy as the previous course. But by now little bubbles of unbelievably flavorful fat popped up around the surface of the broth, and Aaron and I were given spoons to finish every last drop of this liquid gold that had now collected flavors of foie gras, kobe beef, scallop, eel, and shrimp.
To accompany the sushi I ordered a half bottle of Chassagne-Montrachet 1er Cru from Abbaye de Morgeot. This slightly acidic and bright wine left a slight trace of vaseline on the tongue. The wine was light enough so as not to compete against the subtle flavors of sushi to come. A young girl to our right asked Chef Urasawa if it would be possible to leave out the wasabi (Aaron learned his lesson last time). He responded that he would be happy to leave out the wasabi; but suggested that she try it first since it was freshly grated and not so poignant as powdered substitutes. She tasted it and chose to leave it on. A great chef, and a great role model to future generations, this guy.
Our assortiment of sushi emphasized seasonal fish. In order we had: otoro, kanpachi, grilled otoro, aji, tai, maguro, shima aji, ika, shitake mushroom, kohada, uni, mirugai, abalone from Chiba prefecture, kuruma ebi, grilled pike mackerel from Hokkaido, negitoro, unagi, and tamago. Despite being eighteen courses, the smaller portioning of rice (180 grains/piece, he said) made it all incredibly enjoyable.
The kanpachi made another appearance, thankfully, with its chewy crunch — perhaps this unique, but welcome, texture is a factor of the season. I have only been to two other places in my life that serve ika (squid) like this: Kozue at the Park Hyatt Hotel in Tokyo, and Masa in New York. I’m not sure what makes this consistency so chewy; but it is absolutely my favorite sea creature to eat raw. It could be its ice cold temperature or the knife scores realized by expert chefs such as Chef Urasawa. Whatever it is, it is unlike any other squid I have tasted outside of those two locations.
While we were finishing up the giant clam we saw Chef Urasawa’s brother-in-law beginning to prepare the live kuruma ebi (tiger prawn). And by prepare, I mean behead. I became aware that those shrimp needed to be on my plate ASAP before they die a moment of respect and awareness was in order at this stark reminder of the circle of life. They were lightly brushed with a sauce made from the shrimp brains — no part of the creature was wasted. And every part was utterly delicious.
The giant collection of Santa Barbara sea urchin roe firmly overflowed the edge of the rice. Our friend dining next to us from Refined Palate summed it up nicely: “can you just inject the uni into my veins?” With only one bite, this was a tease. An utterly delicious tease. The tamago was also particularly interesting with a subtle sweetness and a texture more like pound cake than egg. ”The most important test of a sushi chef”, Chef Urasawa told us, is the tamago. If that’s the case, he passed with flying colors.
Dessert was to follow the sushi, an asian pear gelée with umeboshi (pickled plum) and goji berries. The gelée had a smooth but mildly grainy texture on the tongue that immediately gave it away as pear. This dish was sweet by Japanese standards, but it wasn’t excessive — the sour umeboshi prevented the dish from becoming cloying. The gelée melted in my mouth rather than breaking apart. The mix of sweet and sour was well-balanced, making this simple dessert engaging and pleasurable.
My favorite dessert of the evening came next, black sesame ice cream with red bean paste. It’s hard to describe this dessert as ice cream since the texture was so creamy it almost didn’t want to melt. It was more like an thick, cold, black sesame butter that was so nutty, the fragrance of sesame could be detected from several feet away. A small dollop of red bean paste rested on top adding a coarse contrast to the smooth ice cream. This dish was served with warm matcha green tea, whose subtle bitterness synched in harmony with the sesame’s sweetness. This was one of the finest drink-dessert pairings I had ever had. This was so good, in fact, that it pushed me over the decorum edge: I asked for another round. Unfortunately they had run out, but we were very kindly given some assorted wedges of mochi ice cream and very hot toasted houji tea, instead. The sad realization had come: this was the end of the meal.
Chef Urasawa prepared a meal that can easily stand against some of the finest French and New American dining establishments in the country. However it was only afterwards when I realized just how ridiculous that really is. Chef Urasawa does not have a huge kitchen brigade — this is a one man show. And to prepare such unique and delicious meals (not to mention the worldwide acclaim he receives) without letting it get to his head is truly a special quality of the highest regard. Chef Urasawa responded with a gleaming smile to all of our questions no matter how trite. He encouraged the use of cameras and even held up some fish for us. He somehow got complete strangers talking to each other like close friends after just a few courses. I have never felt so comfortable in a place with this quality of food before.
Comparing Urasawa to Masa is not such an easy task. Objectively, if all external variables are removed, the quality of food is nearly identical. Both Masa and Urasawa serve the freshest most flavorful sushi in the country. However, when considering warmth, comfort, presentation, and enjoyment of the experience of a whole, Urasawa is the clear winner. It was just so enjoyable to eat there.
I anxiously await the next opportunity to return… like, tomorrow.
Tonight I visited Yuki, a sushi restaurant reputed for being the most “authentic” in Buenos Aires. A group of friends and I tried to go last Friday night without a reservation and were told they were completely full — this was the first time a reservation appears to have been actually necessary. This time, however, I was more prepared. I made a reservation and went by myself. The restaurant is very understated: nothing sleek or fancy, just clean, tidy, and functional. After being buzzed in, I was met by the host who had remembered me from the week before. I sat at the sushi bar, where I was hoping to speak with the chef to learn more about the sushi scene in BA. As I sat down at the bar, I initiated a conversation with him in Japanese, something I find usually either gets me free stuff or more honest recommendations. The chef was completely unphased by this, which I think speaks somewhat of the restaurant’s authenticity: no gimmicks here. This attitude is also confirmed by the menu which has no california rolls, no flying dragon handrolls, no Buenos Aires happy maki, just traditional Japanese cuisine. I was really in the mood for some sashimi, so I decided to leave it up to chef Kazuo, and asked for sashimi omakase. He smiled, and got to work.
The first course was a small plate of three fish: diced salmon with mayonaise, tamago (sweet egg), and sliced ika (squid) with scallions. The diced salmon was the most notable of the three, with a very fatty texture. The tamago was a bit dense but had a nice sweet flavor, even though there was some mild greying, which suggests that the egg was overcooked. The ika had been flown in from Spain, which was apparent from the lack of firmness — it was not at the peak of freshness.
While I was working on the appetizers, Kazuo-san got to work on my sashimi. I identified some of the fish he was cutting: saba (mackerel), tako (octopus), hamachi (yellowtail), and sake (salmon); but, there were two fish I’d never seen before. I asked him what they were, and he explained that they were local fish: pejerrey (silverside) and lenguado (dover sole). He also noted that all the fish he was serving tonight came from either Argentina or Chile, with the exception of the ika which came from Spain. Just as I finished my last bite of tamago, a waiter came from around the corner to remove my plate and to place the wooden board of sashimi from the sushi counter to in front of me. This was one of those places where the interaction between the sushi chef and people at the sushi bar still has to pass through a waiter, though I was able to order through the chef.
The platter was very colorful and served with powdered wasabi and white radish — no ginger. Going clockwise from the octopus in the front: tako, saba, sake, pejerry with lenguado in the middle. The highlight of the selection was the pejerrey which I’d never tried before: a very lean white fish with a texture similar to kurodai (snapper) only a bit more firm with a very clean taste. The sake was also spectacular which, Kazuosan explained, is what makes up 90% of his orders from Argentine customers. I was let down by the tako which was slightly runny and lacked the fresh crisp that I love when it’s very fresh. I snapped a picture of a platter he was preparing for the Argentine couple seated at the table across the room — note the abundance of salmon and shrimp, much tamer sushi for the Argentine palate. I glanced in the refrigerator in front of me and it seems as though he cut me a slice of all the fish that was available that night, except for one. As I got a close look, I realized it was fuke (baby shark)! I was very tempted to try some; but he warned me that it was for tourists and since the muscles of the fish are quite firm for agressive swimming, the fish lacks flavor. But, I got him to hold it up for a picture.
After my selection of sashimi, I was still hungry, so I requested one of my favorite dishes that I pretty much always order at any sushi bar: maguro yamakake which consists of lean tuna sashimi, yamaimo (japanese mountain potato) grated, strips of nori, and a raw quail egg. Kazuosan seemed disappointed that he did not have maguro due to its recent scarcity; but, he would be happy to make it with pejerrey since it was a firm fish that would not fall apart in the liquified potato, and since I liked it so much. He went into the back to bring forward yamaimo for peeling, soaked it in water for 5 minutes, and began grating. Delicious and fresh it was, even without the maguro. Shortly after, I ordered nato temake (fermented soybean hand roll) which I’d been craving — it did not disappoint. Realizing the time-sensitivity of the nori, instead of waiting for the waiter to come from around the corner to hand it to me, he rolled it up and placed it right into my hands. Crunch. Dessert consisted of sliced apple, the perfect clean and refreshing end to an authentic sushi dinner.
I enjoyed this meal very much, partly because I hadn’t had a variety of colorful raw fish, crispy hand rolls, quail egg, or yamaimo for the two months I’ve been down here. This is undoubtedly the most authentic sushi experience I’ve had here. However, at times, I felt like Kazuosan was limited by the availability of fresh ingredients: no ikura, uni, maguro, hotate, and many other fish that would be abundant in nearly all sushi restaurants in both New York and Japan.
@followsthesun@amigadehelado Yes! It's a sfoliatelle! Thanks so much! I now have a new favorite Italian pastry, shortly behind cannoli
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