Japanese Roulette

Game theorists say that, if you intend to tip well, you should do it before the meal. Which my friend Ophir does, at least at sushi restaurants. He’ll sit at the sushi bar, slip the chef $50, and order Omakase – “at the chef’s discretion”. I’ve seen him do it several times when we’ve met for dinner, and each, the sushi served has been nothing short of extraordinary.

Ophir is vocal in his praise and appreciation as well, which spurs the chefs on even further. And whenever he orders a bottle of sake – something that, over the course of one of our average dinners, we do several times – he pours a glass for the chefs.

Which is how, a few months back, we found ourselves still sitting in the back of Bond St. Sushi, the restaurant long since closed, presented with course after course of ever more inventive and expertly prepared sushi and sashimi.

And, at the end, the coup de grace: a piece of fugu, each.

Fugu, from Takifugu, a Japanese pufferfish of the genus Diodon. A fish famous because its internal organs contain lethal amounts of tetrodotoxin. Prepared right, with just a bit of the toxic liver lining the meat, a small dose of the poison supposedly provides an unparalleled taste and texture sensation. But, a bit too much, and the poison paralyzes the diner’s muscles, leaving them fully conscious as they slowly asphyxiate.

So, in short, not something I’d previously placed high on my ‘foods to try’ list. And, certainly, nowhere on my ‘foods to try when prepared by red-faced sushi chefs who might have shared in just a bit too much of our three bottles of sake’ list.

Still, though the chefs swayed smilingly behind the bar as they stood, each deft flick of their knives betrayed their decades of formally trained muscle memory.

Or so I tried to convinced myself, as I stared down the chunk of fugu on my plate. I glanced sideways at Ophir, who, looking equally dubious, shot a glass of sake. Then glanced up at our new friends, the sushi chefs, who grinned on expectantly.

Eyes back to the fish. Then to Ophir, who raised his eyebrows and shrugged. My heart thumping, I picked up the piece of fugu, and put it in my mouth.

The next morning, all the New York papers ran stories saying that Bond St. Sushi had sustained major fire damage late the night before, just an hour or two after we left. And while I can’t be sure that our drunken chefs played any part, held even indirect fault, I couldn’t help but imagine that they did.

Which made me feel doubly relieved. First that, despite it all, I was still alive. Second that fugu in particular hadn’t been my last meal. Because, truth is, despite the hype and the near-death experience, it just doesn’t taste that good.

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June 14, 2007

Sushi, Redux

A little less than three years back, I dashed off a quick post about New York’s best sushi restaurants. And, rather inexplicably, that little compendium became a big hit; it quickly garnered well over a hundred thousand views, and continues to draw a sizable crowd today, remaining atop the Google results for ‘sushi nyc’.

But, in the years since, several of the restaurants I listed have gone out of business, the sushi playing field has shifted, and the entire piece has aged its way further and further out of date. So, to keep the self-aggrandizement flame of service journalism alive, I’m circling back around, resampling old haunts, testing newcomers, and culling recommendations and reviews from fellow fish fanatics.

I’ve already nailed down my early contenders for each of the new piece’s five categories: Uptown, Downtown, Cheap, Not Sushi, and Retardedly Overrated. But, if you, fair reader, have thoughts on places I should be stopping, that might fit in one of those five categories, and that I might have unfortunately overlooked, I’d much appreciate the advice.

Arigato in advance, and itadakimasu.

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December 13, 2006

Eat This

As much as France is regarded the culinary capital of the world, and as much as I’d consider myself a foodie, I must admit I’m not a huge fan of French food. At Italian restaurants, I often find I’d happily eat anything on the menu. At French, I often find there’s hardly anything on the menu I’d happily eat.

The bottoming out of this occurred at a cute little brasserie overlooking the Seine, where Jess pointed out something being eaten at the next table over, and I deduced from side-dishes that it was likely the Jarret de Porc.

Fortunately, the expression of the waiter upon my ordering led to a sign-language conversation in which I deduced that I was actually on the verge of eating pig knuckles. And though Jess was people-watching, rather than observing that silent exchange, which led to a Laurel and Hardy routine of her explaining in French that I wanted the Jarret, and me explaining to her that no, I most certainly did not, I eventually avoided that cartilaginous fate in favor of something far more tame.

On one evening, however, on a friend’s strong recommendations, we headed over to Le Reminet, a New French bistro on the Left Bank. And while one or two menu items were, indeed, terrifying, the vast majority looked exactly like something I’d actually want.

And when they arrived, want them I did. The food was excellent – amongst the better meals I’ve had in my life – and we left after countless courses stuffed to the point that we could barely even walk.

Maybe the Frogs are on to something after all.

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November 16, 2006

Sayonara Carbonation

Why is it that waitresses at Japanese restaurants always insist on pouring bottled beer into glasses while holding said bottles a solid foot above said glasses?

Check, prease.

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October 30, 2006

Mizu

The problem with sushi is, by and large, you get what you pay for.

With expense account in hand, anyone can find truly excellent sushi here in the Big Apple.

But below a certain threshold – say, $50 a head – even we sushi snobs give up chasing perfection, settling instead for fish that’s reasonably fresh, for attempts at preparation not so bad as to (in the words of my high school Japanese teacher) “dishonor Japan”.

Which made the discovery of Mizu (29 E. 20th St., between Broadway and Park) particularly exciting. On two occasions in the past week and a half, I put myself at the mercy of Paul, their young, bespectacled, head sushi chef, and ordered ‘omakase’ – an assortment of sushi and sashimi at his discretion – with astoundingly good results.

Though we totaled in at less than $30 a person both times, the arrays of fish included such items as whole Aji, real ‘white tuna’ (from escolar rather than albacore), and translucent raw scallop, all rarely found outside of the most upscale stops. Even the basics – like salmon sashimi, or tuna hand rolls – were prepared expertly enough to distinguish Mizu from the crowd.

Add to that a young, energetic clientele, relatively classy decor, and waits short enough to make even weekend walk-ins a realistic possibility, and you’ve got an up-and-comer doubtless destined for success.

Having learned my lesson from past early calls, I’ll be stopping in often over the next few months, before the rest of you bastards catch on and I need to start lining up reservations weeks in advance.

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September 25, 2005

Colin Spoelman: Chicken & Cheese

[The only thing better than posting a good entry you’ve just written, is posting a good entry you didn’t actually have to write yourself. To that end, I’ll be occasionally publishing ‘guest columns’ from friends and family looking to take over my ill-deserved soapbox. To start things off, the inimitable Colin Spoelman on so-bad-they’re-good eats:]

When I first moved to New York, my first question was, where can I find good fried chicken tenders smothered in nacho cheese? The truth is, it’s very hard to find this delectable treat. Even harder to find is a place that serves both chicken and cheese and dollar pints of beer. Now I know many of you are wondering… where, in this bitterly overpriced, food-snobbed, culinary landscape could such a place exist? The answer is, at 83rd and Amsterdam: Homer’s Malt Shop.

Homer’s not only serves Chicken and Cheese, but milkshakes, malts, fried twinkies, corn dogs and other wonderful hard-to-find items. If they served Biscuits and White Sausage Gravy, it might be perfect. (This is also nearly impossible to find in Manhattan, and folks, that white, runny dung at Cowgirl Hall of Fame is not it.) It’s a great place to sit, enjoy some deep fried chicken, and then get snooked on Rheingold.

The only downside is that it is usually littered with small children. But, this being the upperwestside, that means hot mothers in designer jeans (anything with “Humanity” “Mankind,” or “Benevolent” in the brandname) and that beautiful, “life is so overwhelming” pout on their face. Or the same face on a hot little au pair from Belarus wearing Old Navy jeans. The children can be stepped around, and it is well worth it for the afternoon drunk. In fact, I find children are far more personable when you approach them with a soaring beer-buzz. The place is not open late, so you if you’re going to get blasted, you better start early in the afternoon.

Perhaps you are thinking to yourself that sounds nasty, I don’t want to eat Nacho Cheese on Chicken. You are wrong, snob. But by way of explanation, I will detail how I came to love this culinary wonder. Growing up in darkest Appalachia, the federal government didn’t provide my high school with a cafeteria. So at lunchtime, we were “turned loose” in downtown Harlan. Which might sound awesome, except that the only places to eat were the drugstore (where the only thing I could afford was a $1.10 grilled cheese–not too filling for a growing boy on a $2 budget) or any one of a number of gas stations. My favorite place was the Kwik Mart, a BP station on the Highway 421 bypass. In order to get a satisfying lunch for two dollars, my friend Nitro and I would order chicken “planks” for $1.65 and then smother them in nacho cheese from the chili-dog cheese well. After two years of eating this everyday, I developed an addiction–an addiction that had left me suffering from crippling withdrawal symptoms, such as compromised mental function, lactose intolerance, and hairloss. But those times are behind me, and they could be behind you, too.

Please go to Homers, displace the children, ogle the nannies, and get drunk. You won’t regret it.

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March 18, 2005

oishii

A friend told me recently that he hated his hedge fund job, but that he’d stuck with it for years for one key perk: expensing unnecessarily extravagant business meals.

Unfortunately, running a small company, the money for meals I expense still comes rather directly out of my own pocket. But, as I’d otherwise never pay $300 for sushi for two, I’m always secretly pleased at the chance to dine top-shelf, inevitable check-time indigestion notwithstanding.

This past evening, through the savvy string-pulling help of my uncle, who owns the building it’s housed within, I managed to score sushi bar seats at the recently opened Gari, with only a few hours notice.

Gari, the west-side sibling of venerable Sushi of Gari, extends Masatoshi “Gariî Sugio’s sushi innovation dynasty. Though occasionally poo-pooed by purists, Masa has the last laugh, as he’s built a large and devoted following. Which makes sense, as his sushi concoctions are inevitably, exceedingly good.

From pieces that bend tradition (sesame-marinated yellowtail topped with jalapeÒo reduction) to those that redefine it completely (seared foie gras and daikon radish), his kitchen turns out creative piece after creative piece, with a remarkably high level of consistency, especially given some of the daring and counter-intuitive combinations.

While I wish I could say I’d be going back regularly, the dictates of cost likely prevent it. But, for anyone with a love of sushi and an appreciation of culinary flair, it makes, at least, a special occasion dining destination that’s tough to beat.

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March 9, 2005

sushi nyc

New York City has a serious sushi obsession. And rightly so, considering it was here that Americans, some forty years back, first tasted the inimitable combination of raw fish and vinegared rice.

Only in the past few years, however, has the sushi trend really exploded. Now, new Japanese restaurants pop up literally weekly; Chinese, Thai and Korean restaurants have begun installing sushi bars as well, apparently courting the "all Asian people look the same to me anyway" corner of the market; even corner delis have gotten into the act, stocking their refrigerators with (rather disturbingly aged-looking) inari and California roll.

The question, then, is no longer "where do I find sushi?", but "where do I find good sushi?" Hence this guide. Armed with an expense account and fond, fond memories of the sushi I ate while living in Japan, I dined around New York City in search of the very best maki and nigiri, then summarized the best of the bunch herein. Itadakimasu!

Unbeatable:

After hitting nearly thirty-five different restaurants, three stood head and shoulders above the rest. Predictably, they aren’t cheap. However, sushi, even at its most expensive, is still well short of haute cuisine prices – a dinner at any of these three restaurants can be had for about $60 a head.

Sushi Yasuda (204 E 43rd St, 212.972.1001):
Without a doubt Sushi Yasuda is the king of New York City sushi. I said so when I first reviewed it, shortly after its opening two years back, and this year’s Zagat (unfortunately, from a reservations perspective) officially agreed. Chef

Maomichi
Yasuda, (who trained at Hatsuhana at the same time Nobu’s Nobu Matsuhisa did, though now takes a much more traditional approach then his colleague),
starts with one of the city’s widest assortments of extremely
fresh fish, then serves up slightly smaller than average
pieces that literally melt in your mouth. Along with the
flawless sushi, try the nameko (mushroom) miso soup to start
and certainly don’t miss the green tea mochi ice cream for
desert. The perfection is in the details: the chefs vary
the size of the sushi according to the size of diners’
mouths; a different type of tea is served with each course;
the minimalist blond wood decor perfectly reflects the simple
perfection of the food. Book in advance, or learn
Japanese and kiss up to the Maitre D’ (my favored approach).

Tsukiji Sushisay (38 E 51st St, 212.755.1780 ) :
Exceedingly good sushi that comes in a close second to Sushi Yasuda. The sushi chefs at
Sushisay are required to train for a minimum of five years at the
restaurant’s Tokyo branch, which pretty much sums things
up – sushi doesn’t get more authentic than this. With
a beautiful back room, Sushisay also makes a great location
for small private parties or business functions.

Nobu / Nobu Next Door (105 Hudson St,

212.219.0500)
The sushi itself is perhaps a notch down from Sushi Yasuda’s
and Sushisay’s, and trying to book a table is a great reminder
that you’re not an important person, but the exceedingly inventive fusion dishes help Nobu
(and the essentially identical Nobu Next Door) live up
to the hype. As pretty much every restaurant guide says,
go "omakase," and take whatever the chef recommends.

More for the Money:


Fortunately, there’s excellent sushi to be had at a slightly lower price-point as well; both of these mini-chains serve up dinner for about $25 a person, even without a reservation made weeks in advance.

Haru (205 W 43rd St / 280 Park Ave / 433 Amsterdam Ave / 1327 3rd Ave)
In a word: reliable. The selection isn’t unusual, but the nigiri is always expertly prepared, extremely fresh, and reasonably priced. Nota bene: The lines are considerably longer at the (original) 3rd Ave location, though the food is equally good at any of the four.

Yama (

122 E 17th St /

38-40 Carmine St /

92 W Houston St)
The lines can be (literally) around the block, and the atmosphere is more trattoria than traditionally Japanese, but the sushi is excellent, ridiculously large (perfect for those who complain about not feeling full after a sushi dinner) and fairly priced. The appetizers, too, are well above average – consider the

Japanese eggplant with miso paste for a start.

Bargain Basement:

If you’re jonesing for sushi but will be paying with assembled change rather than dollar bills, either of these places can scratch the raw fish itch for under $10.

Takahachi (85 Ave A)
Worth the trip down to Alphabet City, as there’s certainly a lot of sushi for the money. As you might expect, lines can get ridiculously long later in the evening, so it’s best to either go early, or resign to the wait. While their sushi is remarkably good for the price, there’s also an assortment of similarly wallet-friendly high-quality non-sushi entrees – the beef sukiyaki and tempura soba, for example, are both strong choices.

Go Sushi (982 2nd Ave,

511 3rd Ave,

3 Greenwich Ave, 756 9th Ave)
Frankly, their sushi isn’t terribly good, but for sushi dinners starting at $6, what do you expect? The fish is fresh if somewhat inexpertly prepared, so while your palate might suffer the lack of quality, your intestines won’t.

Not Sushi:

Believe it or not, the world of Japanese cuisine extends beyond the sushi bar. While a full summary could easily justify another entire article, here are two excellent (though not sushi-focused) spots more than worth the trip:

Saka Gura (211 E 43rd St.)
This one’s a bit tough to find, as it’s located in the basement of a nondescript office building. Brave the fluorescent lights in the building’s entry and the industrial concrete steps heading down, however, and you’ll enter another world entirely – a slice of 18th century Japan. More importantly, a slice of 18th century Japan that serves up the city’s largest selection of Sakes. Try the tasting sets, which give you little glasses of three or four
different vintages; if you’re looking for food as well, it’s all very authentic – the best bang for the buck are the exceedingly large bento boxes, a favorite with the Japanese ex-pat crowd.

Hyotan Nippon
 (19 W 52nd St.)
Like sushi, Japanese noodles (soba and udon) can be found all over the city. Nowhere, however, are they served better than this. Nippon makes their noodles in-house, using buckwheat and rice imported from their own fields and paddies. On icy winter days, take the noodles in soup to warm you through; conversely, noodles served cold are a traditional Japanese summer dish. The only danger: after eating here, you may no longer be able to stomach your corner noodle shop’s pale-by-comparison attempts.

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February 5, 2004

also, consider keeping a book handy

Yesterday evening, in an attempt to stay on the cutting edge of New York dining trends, I headed to Quintessence, one of the handful of “raw food” restaurants popping up around the city. Though I was fascinated by the CitySearch review, which proclaimed it “a menu with a mission–to lift you up and clean you out,” I apparently mistook for praise what the reviewer likely meant as cryptic yet rather dire warning. Therefore, allow me to translate by appending this advice:

If you’ve booked a reservation, consider also clearing frequent bathroom breaks in your schedule for the following day; the laxative punch packed by the super-fiberized dishes cannot possibly be overestimated.

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July 21, 2003