Tag Archives: sushi
Cherry
Try as I might, I could never be a sushi purist. As much as I appreciate the exquisite creations at places like Neta, where local fish gets molded onto a bed of perfectly seasoned rice right before your eyes, there are some times you just want a deliciously inauthentic spicy tuna roll. To paraphrase the Paul Newman paradox: why go out for a hamburger when you can have steak at home? Because sometimes you just want a hamburger. (more…)
Posted in Chelsea, Cuisine, food, Japanese, Meatpacking District, Neighborhood, New York restaurants, restaurants
Tagged cocktails, foie gras, sushi
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Neta
There are a couple places near my apartment where I would eat once a week if money were no object. One is Blue Hill, another is Neta, the sliver of a sushi restaurant opened on an unlikely block of 8th street populated by defunct shoe shops and a Gray’s Papaya. The omakase, made by Masa alums Nik Kim and Jimmy Lau, will set you back $95, but it is money so well spent that, as at Blue Hill, you will start plotting your next meal here before you even walk out the door. (more…)
Posted in Cuisine, food, Greenwich Village, Japanese, Neighborhood, New York restaurants, restaurants
Tagged cocktails, crab, sushi
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Niko
CLOSED
Though there are many kinds of sushi, there are essentially only three kinds of NYC sushi restaurant: the casual takeout joint, the trendy, sceney place where, oh yeah, there’s some raw fish there among the mango cocktails, and the reverential temple to sushi where diners speak in hushed tones against the backdrop of traditional koto music.
Which is too bad, because even if you’re serious about sushi, that doesn’t mean you necessary want to dine in a restaurant that’s deadly serious. Wouldn’t the sushi be just as good if they played, say, David Byrne and Adele on a kickass sound system instead of 19th-century Japanese music? This is where new Soho sushi restaurant Niko rolls the dice, combining the downtown atmosphere of Bond St. Sushi at its beautiful-people peak with the sushi expertise of Midtown’s Sushi Yasuda. (more…)
The Sushi Concierge
You may know not to douse your rice with soy sauce or order rolls made with cream cheese, but how much do you really know about sushi? Trevor Corson, author the bestselling book The Secret Life of Lobsters and The Story of Sushi, hosts weekly dinners at Jewel Bako in New York and Zentan in D.C., where he takes on the mantle of the Sushi Concierge, your personal guide to sushi etiquette and history.
Before you sharpen those chopsticks (a sushi bar no-no, by the way), settle down and have a sushi meal as it would have been eaten by a Japanese connoisseur 70 or 80 years ago. What’s not on the throwback menu may surprise you: no tuna, no hamachi, no yellowtail and no unagi, and the only salmon is Tanzanian king salmon from New Zealand. (more…)
Momofuku Ssäm Bar, Take Two
It was pouring. Pouring the horizontally slanting kind of rain, seemingly specific to urban areas, that renders umbrellas useless. Hands Honson and I stood in the glassed in vestibule of a nearby restaurant, arguing about where to eat.
“They don’t have soup.” He stared at the menu. “I thought you said they had soup.”
Earlier, he had made one of the most frustrating requests a food writer can hear, the demand for “something light.” What does this mean? Something light Thai? Something light Korean? Next someone will be asking me to recommend an entirely carb-free restaurant. I say: just order appropriately.
But Hands was having none of it. There was no soup. There was a wait of 15 minutes for a seat. (A mere 15 minutes!) What about sushi? The day after a four day Christmas weekend? You’ve got to be kidding me. Never mind that this menu listed a wide selection of raw fish. For some reason, to Hands, that didn’t count as “sushi.”
A guy who was leaving picked up on the argument. “Get the hanger steak.”
“Listen,” I said to Hands. “This place just got named the best new restaurant in 2007 in today’s Times. If we don’t eat here tonight, right away, we’re never going to be able to eat here again.”
Hands relented, crankily. Crank, crank, crank, until the first course at Momofuku Ssäm Bar landed. And then, my very own Christmas miracle: as soon as the food touched his lips, he shut up. There was absolutely nothing left to complain about.
Momofuku Ssäm Bar was one of the first restaurants reviewed on this site, back when they were just a burrito joint. Like many others around the city, I was willing to follow those steamed pork buns around the city with religious zeal. On this night, the place was full and buzzing, the food was excellent, and the music was hopping. It was enough to make even a cynic burned out from the holidays suddenly love New York.
The pork buns are still here, though they are joined by a host of new options. We started with the cured hamachi with edamame, horseradish, and pea leaves. Even on the day after Christmas, Momofuku’s fish was silky, with a clean, pure taste that wasn’t overwhelmed by the relatively mild horseradish spread. All the flavors sparkled, even something as tiny as a pea leaf.
The “bread & butter” was Hands’ spartan choice of an appetizer, though what arrived on the table was decadent.
“I think this is the best bread and butter I’ve ever had in my life.”
Hands agreed. The mini (sourdough?) baguette arrived piping hot – perhaps even freshly baked if Momofuku parbakes their bread. Savory goat’s butter was rich and tangy, and the sea salt butter contained a superior sea salt like the “Flower of the Ocean” brand that’s harvested from northwestern France.
Shockingly, the steamed pork buns have gotten even better with time. I didn’t think this was possible. Momofuku’s pork belly, now widely imitated, is still the torch bearer for this cut of meat – nowhere else have I encountered it prepared so perfectly. And the hoisin sauce must still be made with crack because of the sudden bliss it induces. Or at least star anise – there’s a complicated dance of spices going on in the mix.
Throwing caution to the wind, I ordered raw diver sea scallops from Maine. The chef working behind the bar sliced them thin, then garnished the scallops with tiny, crackly bits of deep fried seaweed sprinkled atop like maritime lardons. Bordering them was an inventive side of pickled cherries, which could open up a new chapter in the salty-sweet trend – sweet and sour.
As advised, we got the hanger steak ssäm, which was basically bulgogi taken up several notches in deliciousness. The choice of hanger steak for this dish seemed perfectly in keeping with Momofuku’s style – nothing too fancy, just keeping it real. But when all of the parts are expertly chosen and prepared, the whole adds up to something amazing.
We didn’t order the crispy pig’s head torchon that has gotten so much press, but for the record, here’s what it is. They take a pig’s head and braise it with vegetables and herbs, scoop up the pig head guts that float to the surface, make them into a sausage, cook it and slice it. Yummers. I chalked that one up to “next time.”
Though David Chang has gotten the lion’s share of praise from the press, the culinary invention at Momofuku seems to be very much a group effort. An unnamed pastry chef contributed a fantastic “peanut butter and jelly” dessert that was layers of homemade grape jelly, a gourmet nutter-butter like crispy wafer, and saltine ice cream. And as one person quipped when I naively asked if Chang was in the kitchen now, “He’s not f-ing cooking!”
Hilarious, but true. In our celebrity-chef-worshiping culture, you’ve gotta remember the little guys. They might grow up to be the next David Chang.
Momofuku Ssäm Bar
207 Second Avenue
at 13th Street
212-254-3500
Posted in East Village, food, Korean, New York restaurants, restaurants
Tagged David Chang, New York, sushi
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Sushi of Gari 46
Omakase is the trust fall of dining. Not only are you taking whatever the chef dishes out, at traditional sushi restaurants, you’re taking it raw. Usually this should not be attempted on Restaurant Row in the theater district, where you’ll find shrimp scampi as half-baked as the latest 80’s-pop-culture musical adaptation. But the best thing in previews right now is a traveling show: Sushi of Gari 46.
If you haven’t been to Gari on either the Upper West Side or Upper East Side, it’s the kind of place where the chefs wince if you order a Coke or dunk the rice side of your sushi in a brimming dish of soy sauce. But so much artistry goes into the creation of Gari’s omakase that it’s no wonder they’re irked by neophytes.
The spirit of experimentation at Sushi of Gari 46 is evident by the first course. Black bean paste came in a chewy square, left, and yellowtail was ground up, seasoned with something even fishier, and fried into a fish ball. The staff is friendly, but it’s definitely English-as-a-second-language here, so it took a while to understand what exactly is the pleasantly chewy ingredient in the peanut noodle dish: burdock root, which was quite tasty.
The liquid-smoke flavor I noticed at Katsuya in L.A. reappeared here in the seared baby yellowtail, far left. It was barely cooked, but it was deliciously redolent with char. Continuing from left to right, next came salmon tonnato, red snapper decked with an Italian combo of spicy lettuce and pinenuts. (Do we need an Italian-Japanese place like Natsumi, or do we just need more creative sushi chefs like Masatoshi Gari Sugio?)
Sushi of Gari is known more for the things Sugio can do with sushi than the quality of fish he procures, and this held true for this newest branch of Gari too. Some of the plainer preparations, like the bluefin tuna with a tofu schmear, far right, were boring when not jazzed up by very flavorful extra ingredients or sauces. But these could be subtle, too, like the raw lobster, second from left, which tasted as if it had been infused with herbs backstage, though it arrived at the table unadorned.
One of the best things we sampled was the fatty tuna glazed in the chef’s oyster soy sauce, far right. This was a very high quality, melt-in-your-mouth piece of fish. Gari’s oyster sauce, like Momofuku’s hoisin sauce, is so
much more delectable because it’s made in-house.
Some of Gari’s creations pushed the envelope a little too far, like the Spanish mackerel decked with shiitakes, second from left above. The two flavors might have been excellent on their own, but the smoky taste of the mushrooms clashed with the mackerel’s fishy taste.
Then came the worst thing of all: Nothing! That was the last course, our waiter informed us when he came to clear our plates.
“You should have warned us!” my friend cried, only half kidding. The four course omakase had set us back $75 each, but it was filling.
The show at Sushi of Gari 46 was over. Onto the next: Love Musik, a great musical still in previews, starring Michael Cerveris and the brilliant Donna Murphy. Just when I was beginning to think the phrases “Restaurant Row” and “big-budget musical” might be synonymous with “mediocrity,” along came true creativity and intellectual stimulation in the unlikeliest of places.
Sushi of Gari 46
347 West 46th Street, between 8th and 9th Avenues
212-957-0046
Posted in food, Japanese, Midtown West, New York restaurants, restaurants
Tagged New York, sushi
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Katsuya
Beware the east-west rivalry in L.A. It’s not East Coast-West Coast, but East Side-West Side, and it resembles the unending uptown-downtown argument here. “I live two blocks from the Central Park” becomes “I can see the ocean from my window.” The usual downtown rejoinder, “No one lives there” becomes “Don’t bother looking for any celebrities in West L.A. None of them live there.”
Of all the maligned West Side neighborhoods, Brentwood fares the worst. It has always mystified me why this place, which looks no different from much of the rest of LA and even features a sort of main street, San Vicente, where people can be spied – gasp! – walking, is so loathed by the rest of the greater Los Angeles area.
Then I went to the new Katsuya in Brentwood, and I understood.
At first, the only thing that struck me as unusual about Katsuya was the design, which is by Philippe Starck. In trademark Starck sexy style, the ceilings are black, the walls polished blond wood, the space low-ceilinged, brooding, yet cavernous, the chairs and tables sleek, the walls decked with lightbox close-ups of lips, made-up eyes, and other enticing motifs.
We sat down at the yakitori bar, ordered, and looked around. That’s when I began to notice something else unusual about the place. A man in his mid-forties with blond surfer hair, a Magnum-P.I.-style mustache, black tee shirt and long platinum chain sat at the opposite corner of the bar, eating dinner with his family, a boy of about eight, also dressed in a black tee and platinum chain, and the boy’s blond mother, whose eyebrows were arched and lips pursed in an expression of continual surprise.
“I think the mother’s had a little too much Botox,” I whispered to California Girl.
“That’s not the mother. The father’s on a date.” We watched the man nuzzle the woman as the son ripped through at least thirty dollars worth of sushi rolls next to them.
What a fascinating glimpse into L.A. culture! I laughed, but California Girl was not amused.
The first course of the omakase arrived. A little fried cone held upright by a bed of sesame seeds ensconced a salmon and crab puree. Smooth and creamy, underlaid with hints of scallion and chili, the puree was the perfect amuse bouche. Next up was a particularly Californian creation, a generous portion of seared tuna paired with tomato salsa. Surprisingly, the flavorful tuna stood up to the salsa, which was very fresh, only mildly acidic, and balanced out by the neutrality of avocado. Beautifully presented with a single marigold riding atop, this was one of Katsuya’s most inventive dishes.
A party of four ladies dined at a table near the sushi bar. One of them wore her sunglasses throughout the meal, although it was dark outside and her table was in a nearly unlit section of the restaurant.
I had to tear my gaze away from the table of ladies when another plate was set in front of me. Fortunately, the kobe beef and foie gras could hold anyone’s attention. The tender, grassy flavor of the rare kobe beef melded with the decadent slice of seared foie gras on top. As you can see by the carbonized look of the dish, it was laced throughout with an intense smoky taste that reminded me of that Liquid Smoke bottle my mother used to keep next to the Gravy Master. 
Keep an eye out for this flavor. Now that barbecue season is nearly upon us, this “Liquid Smoke” factor should be recurring more and more frequently, not just in meats, but in vegetables. You’ll find this flavor not just in Japanese cuisine but in Middle-Eastern dishes.
The actual barbecue was disappointing and plain compared to the allusion to barbecue that preceded it, and there was so much of it. By this point I was beginning to reach my limit. Katsuya doesn’t stint in the portion category, but the omakase was served at a pace that matched a competitive eating event. The reason was obvious: the restaurant was as packed to the gills as I was, and they needed our seats. At times the servers placed the next dish in front of me before I was even finished with the preceding course. Needless to say, this is a highly incorrect way of serving omakase and doesn’t befit a serious Japanese restaurant.
But it was hard to be serious when I was constantly entertained by the crowd. When the table of ladies got up to leave, the sunglassed woman removed her sunglasses as she was walking through the restaurant and beamed at everyone around her. If she was famous, no one recognized her. But we did notice her fur-cuffed jacket, worn on a 65-degree evening.
The presentation of the “lobster confetti” won serious points – lobster tempura wrapped in hundreds of tiny seaweed streamers and served in a pretty wicker basket – but the taste was not up to par with the concept. Overcooked and underseasoned, the lobster made me homesick for the East Coast verison.
Som
e respite arrived in the form of a tomato coulis shooter, a palate cleanser before the sushi. California Girl and I studied a young couple at the other end of the yakitori bar. He was wearing a polo shirt, she in a light, sequined jacket and perfect makeup. They looked to be about 11 and 13, respectively.
“Oh my God,” California Girl exclaimed. “Are they on a date?”
“No, I think they’re brother and sister. Look at them. They look exactly alike.”
Finally, the moment I’d been waiting for: the sushi. If I had to do Katsuya all over again, I’d order all sushi and nothing else. What stood out about Katsuya’s was not so much the artistry of Katsuya Uechi, though he is one of the best sushi chefs in the city. It was his ability to secure supremely excellent cuts of fish, which is no small task in itself. I’ve never been to Masa, but Katsuya’s fish was better than any sushi I’ve tasted on the East Coast. From left to right: you’ll see salmon on toasted rice, tuna, yellowtail, salmon, albacore with caviar, and eel. The yellowtail and salmon were particularly melt-in-your-mouth delicious, and the toasted rice was an interesting twist.
Here’s a chocolate thing that came at the end. I couldn’t eat it by then, but I did like the balls of green tea ice cream served in a sort of gel wrapper.
California Girl returned from the bathroom and nodded towards the 13-year-old.
“She’s got a designer handbag hanging on the back of her chair. What is wrong with people? Where are the parents?”
“They’re right behind the kids, having a dinner party with their friends.”
I thought it was all very amusing. So I was surprised afterwards when someone at a barbecue in Los Feliz (ahem, East L.A.) asked us what we thought of the Brentwood Katsuya and California Girl said: “It was terrible.”
She explained that she liked the food but hated the scene. But the scene was so funny, I said, “like dinner and a show!” It was so L.A.
At this point both California Girl and our Los Feliz host glowered at me. Later I would think that I would have felt the same way if they encountered lots of pushy, rude people in the Meatpacking District and pronounced the place “so New York.”
“It is not L.A.,” they said. “It’s Brentwood!”
Katsuya
11777 San Vicente Boulevard, between Montana and Barrington
Brentwood
310-207-8744
the original Sushi Katsu-ya:
11680 Ventura Boulevard, between Colfax and Tujunga
Studio City
818-985-6976
Starck Katsuyas to come:
Hollywood – Fall 2007
Downtown – Summer 2008