Opinionated About U.S. Restaurants 2011 Dining Guide

Ranked at 39th as An Important Destination in the U.S.
Ranked at 7th within all Japanese restaurant in U.S.
http://www.opinionatedaboutdining.com/

2009 Fall Dining Guide

By Tom Sietsema
Washington Post Staff Writer
Sunday, Oct. 18, 2009

When Nobu Yamazaki temporarily closed his busy second-story restaurant in Dupont Circle last December to re-envision the place, he spun the makeover this way: "I want to be out there changing the direction of Japanese cooking in this city." Done. There's not a finer source for sushi in Washington nor a more alluring setting in which to admire it. The narrow, honey-colored main dining room is where you'll find very good sesame seed "tofu," greaseless tempura, maybe miso-sweetened beef tongue in addition to terrific raw fish. But to experience the restaurant at its most thrilling, you'll want to upgrade to the hand-crafted white oak counter in the rear and order the chef's tasting menu, which starts at $100 a head. The many details explain the lofty tab: gorgeous pottery, wasabi grated before your eyes, a private cooking show starring Yamazaki and chef de cuisine Masa Kitayama. Seasonal treats (baby squid in spring) and rare fish such as flute punctuate a leisurely feast that might also fit in live scallops as well as mackerel pounded into a sensational tartare with ginger, salty plum and shiso. Patrons of the original Sushi Taro gripe about the new high prices, and I get occasional reports about hostile reservation takers, but the upside to any visit here is a graduate education in good living.

Fixed-price menu per person: three-course $70 (add $5 for each additional course up to $90).

Revamped and Revelatory

Sushi Taro has transformed itself into the city's finest Japanese restaurant

Washington Post
By Tom Sietsema
Sunday, June 14, 2009

A funny thing happened after Sushi Taro shrank in size, raised its prices and began offering a more extravagant way to eat raw fish this spring. Almost overnight, what for 23 years had been a popular neighborhood spot became one of the most fascinating restaurants in Washington.

Not everyone is happy with the changes, and I can understand the consternation. Top-quality sushi priced for worker bees isn't that common, critics argue, so why, especially in these grim economic times, should the haves among us have all the fun?

Nobu Yamazaki, who took over the Dupont Circle restaurant from his father six years ago, sees the evolution differently. The changes the chef made after he closed the business for three months just before Christmas are part of a grand design to elevate Japanese cuisine in the city.

"Chicken teriyaki and spicy tuna roll are not exactly authentic Japanese food," says Yamazaki, 39. He wants his revamped restaurant "to be a little different" from the competition.

In reality, the new Sushi Taro, which employs 10 cooks, has entered a league of its own.

Remember the lines that used to form on the stairway to the second-floor dining room and the hour-long waits for a table? Now that Sushi Taro accepts reservations, both are gone. So the reception you tend to get at the top of the carpeted climb is calm and cordial, and once you're seated, the table is yours for what feels like the night. I enjoyed the airy interior of the old place, which included a sushi bar that practically ran the width of the room. But the new design's honey-colored wood and booths dressed in orange fabric place you smack in Japan. The original restaurant could squeeze in 120 customers; the narrower reincarnation can host a mere 70. A new sense of serenity prevails.

There are several ways to experience the restaurant. Unfortunately, they're introduced to you via an unwieldy menu and a server who rushes through too many of the details. The options include dishes a la carte; a 10-course kaiseki dinner for a minimum of two diners ($75 each); a multi-course spread showcasing either sashimi or sushi ($65 and $75, respectively); and omakase, or "chef's choice," designed with your tastes and the chef's latest shopping trip in mind. That last strategy is the most exclusive, since it starts at $100 a person and takes place in the rear of the restaurant, at a counter with only six seats.

Omakase is also an extraordinary education.

From the second you sit down, you know this will be no ordinary meal. One signal is a big bowl of ice decorated with live scallops and scampi from New Zealand. Another clue is the sight of one of two chefs shaving a long piece of Japanese horseradish into a thimble-size pile of pale green wasabi. Plum wine -- clear, slightly thicker than water and subtly potent -- is poured into a small etched-crystal glass, a liquid amuse bouche that is the first of many pleasures.

What resembles panna cotta is set down before each lucky customer. The ivory custard, called sesame seed "tofu," is made fresh daily, Yamazaki says, from sesame seeds that are roasted, turned into a paste with the addition of water and starch from a mountain root vegetable, and allowed to congeal slightly. The result is smooth and faintly nutty, enriched with a dab of briny sea urchin roe on top and circled with a broth of kelp and bonito flakes.

The expense of one of these feasts is supported by the staff's experience (Yamazaki trained in Japan for three years) and terrific ingredients, some of them purchased in Tokyo's famed Tsukiji market and incorporated into the cooking just a day later. "We got bluefin tuna from Florida today," says Yamazaki, who holds up a chunk of pinkish-red fish said to come from the jaw of the tuna. "This is special," he adds as he sets the prize on a grill behind him. Moments later, the fish is removed from the coals and arranged in a bowl with grated radish, garlic chips and fruity ponzu. The salad makes the taste buds salute. One spring night, I got in on some of the last of the season's baby squid. It was the size of your pinkie finger, incredibly tender, and it tasted as if it had just been plucked from the ocean. The chef served the treat on a nest of a steamed green vegetable called seri that reminded me of celery.

The thrill of dining at Sushi Taro is the unexpectedness. Just before we eat one course, we're shown a rare fish called flute, whose narrow body and O-shaped mouth make it look like the musical instrument of the same name. A few plates later, Yamazaki tells us it's time to choose our sushi by uncovering three black lacquer boxes, each containing an assortment of six or so different raw fish, among the seductions white salmon, butterfish, silver-skinned wild red snapper and that prized flute. He does this with the flair of a seasoned jeweler showing off gems, which these glistening pieces are.

As at Jos? Andr?s's intimate Minibar or Roberto Donna's much-missed Laboratorio del Galileo, part of what you're paying for here is a private cooking show. Patrons aren't required to interact with the chefs, but they'd be foolish not to. Yamazaki is a quietly enthusiastic and entertaining guide.

For one course, he shows off one of those live scallops before he bands the dewy morsel in nori. "Touch it," he beckons. (We do, and the scallop constricts.) Later, he deftly chops mackerel into a pink paste using what must be one of the sharpest knives in town. "This is the way the fishermen do it on board a ship," he says, adding some mintlike shiso, fresh ginger and salty plum to the moist mound. I want to be a Japanese fisherman, I think to myself as I take a bite of one of the finest tartares I've ever tasted.

If you're a timid eater, you might not like every dish. We're instructed to eat a small fried fish whole, and I do so without hesitation. The body of the fish (ayu, or Japanese trout) leaves a bitter aftertaste. "The fish eat only vegetables," explains the chef. Yet for the most part, the food here is subtle and delicate.

The parade of dishes calls for our full attention. But between courses at the sushi bar, I find myself admiring the little forest of bamboo behind the kitchen's picture window and the lulling Japanese music that plays in the background. This is a restaurant that revels in fine points. The pottery is beautiful. Should you request sake, a tray with a choice of six cups is proffered. No one here will tell you not to make the mistake of drowning your sushi or sashimi in soy sauce. No one needs to, because those raw fish selections are accompanied by a small box containing a shallow bowl of soy sauce and a little brush with which to "paint" the fish and protect its flavor.

Flawless? Not yet. In the main dining room, an order of chicken strips cooked at the table atop a coal-fueled stone grill is all about the show; the chicken itself is bland. Shrimp sushi is one-note eating, too. And good luck phoning for a reservation. (Does anyone ever answer a call, friends and I wonder?) Sushi Taro's wine list appears to have been designed by someone who would rather you drink sake or beer, while its dessert card includes a not-very-Japanese chocolate cake bought from a nearby bakery.

You don't have to park at the sushi counter for the chance to discover what makes Sushi Taro stand out from the crowd. A number of the dishes served as part of the omakase can be ordered a la carte or sampled from one of the tasting menus at the tiny front bar or in the main dining room. Some of my favorite memories from there include the aforementioned sesame seed "tofu"; greaseless tempura (perhaps clinging to fresh bamboo shoots); and slices of fatty, miso-sweetened beef tongue that should be mandatory eating for offal fans and might even convert naysayers. Rich and thin, the tongue is partnered with a rainbow of pickles that are so tangy and tasty, you'll find yourself popping them into your mouth as if they were nuts. As at the sushi bar, meals conclude with jewel-like fruit embedded in a cool cube of gelatin. Not much bigger than a domino, the artful bite ends the evening on a refreshing high.

No matter where you land at Sushi Taro, you will probably spend at least $60 to eat dinner. That's a lot of money. But have you checked flights to Tokyo lately?

Open: lunch Monday through Friday 11:30 a.m. to 2 p.m.; dinner Monday through Thursday 5:30 to 10 p.m., Friday and Saturday 5:30 to 10:30 p.m. Closed Sunday. All major credit cards. Metro: Dupont Circle. Free validated garage parking at dinner. No smoking. Prices: Lunch entrees $12 to $35; dinner appetizers $8 to $20, five-course dinner $65, 10-course tasting menu $75.

Excellent Raw Material: Sushi Taro

Washingtonian
Reviewed by Todd Kliman

Neighborhood standby Sushi Taro reopens with fewer seats and a more expensive menu. Is it worth paying $27 for a few slices of fatty tuna?

"Sourcing" has become such a buzzword in food circles that a diner can be forgiven for thinking that good shopping equates with good cooking. Good raw materials are a start; it takes skill to turn them into great dishes.

Not so with sushi, the most reductive of the world's cuisines, the least hospitable to experimentation and half measures. The raw materials aren't just the beginning; they're pretty much the middle and end, too.

Stories abound of the rigorous training required of sushi chefs, the years spent mastering the knife skills to reduce hulking sea creatures into sheer, delicate bands and learning to produce well-seasoned pads of rice that manage to preserve the integrity of each grain while still holding together. Those skills are crucial, but none is as important as a chef's willingness to blow a small fortune to procure the freshest, most exquisite fish.

These days, that means buying from Japan, which is why the best sushi restaurants in the country are so exorbitant.

In Manhattan, flying in fish from Tokyo's famed Tsukiji market-a frenzied auction that could make you think you've wandered onto the floor of the New York Stock Exchange-has become the rule for the premier sushi bars. No restaurant in this area had made far-flung shopping the centerpiece of its menu until late last year when Nobu Yamazaki shuttered Sushi Taro, the place his father opened 23 years ago on a quiet block of 17th Street east of Dupont Circle, and reconceived it as a house of worship for raw-fish connoisseurs.

Sushi Taro was a clamorous, low-key destination for an agreeable meal, a neighborhood spot perched above a CVS where moviegoers feasted on salmon and tuna as they chatted earnestly about sound design and lighting and where young politicos knocked back shot glasses of sake at the city's longest sushi bar while pretending to get away from it all. It was good sushi-satisfying but not special.

The new place is smaller (seating has been cut from 120 seats to 70), more serene (the mood resembles a spa, right down to the annoying New Age music), and to the dismay of many longtime patrons, profoundly expensive. A friend of mine, who used to live several blocks away, reacted to news of the renovation as if someone had ransacked his childhood home: "They took this place I loved and turned it into something else. I can't afford it anymore."

That's the great danger in undertaking such a radical 180, particularly amid an economic downturn, when so many diners are on the hunt for bargains. But what the new Sushi Taro has lost in becoming a dining destination it aims to make up for with curiosity seekers and foodies. The restaurant may not be dining nirvana, but at its best it's not just profoundly expensive; it's also profoundly exquisite.

Consider the selection of o-toro I feasted on one night. Also known as premium fatty tuna-it's cut from the tender belly of the fish-it costs $27 for six pieces, about the price of an entr?e at most upmarket restaurants. Is it worth it? That depends on how tired you are of the mealy, tasteless tuna that most restaurants have been serving in recent years as the world's tuna supply has diminished. One bite and I was reminded of the sensuality of this rich fish, with its burst of oceanic freshness on the tongue.

The fatty tuna is the heaviest hitter in the new lineup, but other varieties are no less memorable. Isaki grunt fish, kinmedai alfonsino snapper, and ayu sweet summer fish-three fish you won't see anywhere else in town, all delivered from the Tsukiji market via a distributor-were delicate, shimmering, and sweet. I'd recently been turned off of uni, having consumed too many second-rate presentations; uni is good only if it's great, and this one is: bracing, clean, creamy.

More-conventional options such as eel, yellowtail, and salmon are so alive-tasting you'd think they'd been taken from the deep only hours earlier. The sweet shrimp, perched atop a tiny pillow of rice, was the most exquisite I've ever eaten. All make the prospect of returning to your neighborhood sushi bar a comedown.

The restaurant offers four ways to buy: a la carte, in which you make your own selections; omakase, in which you put your courses in the hands of the sushi bar; a tasting menu of sushi or sashimi; or a ten-course kaiseki menu that accessorizes a chef-chosen selection of raw fish with salads, soups, and snacks. If you want to know which is most affordable, forget it. It's simply not possible to eat and drink well for less than $250 for two.

What you can count on, though, is an experience so thought through, so detailed that it seems designed to make a point about the purity of eating sushi. Sashimi is served in a colander-like bowl atop a fan of bamboo leaves spread over ice cubes; heat is the enemy of raw fish, and the kitchen is alert to the perils of having it reach room temperature as you eat. A live scallop I ordered one night was so fresh it seemed to pucker as I touched it with my chopstick. Powdered wasabi is nowhere in evidence; the kitchen grates its own. You'll find it on orders of sashimi but not on the long planks of nigiri; the sushi chefs do the seasoning themselves, painting the bands of fish with nikiri, a boiled sauce made of soy, sake, and carp that's a standard sushi condiment in Japan. Similar to a New York strip that's been highly seasoned with crusted black pepper and coarse salt, the nikiri-swabbed fish hardly needs dabbing in soy at the table.

The problem with this degree of detail is that it exposes the weaknesses in the rest of the operation. It's as if Yamazaki believed he only had to shop at the finest fish market in the world to compete with the best restaurants in town. The sake list is strong, but the wine list doesn't encourage the same exploration at a time when some of the nation's best sushi restaurants are broadening their lists and proving that a good Burgundy or Pinot Gris can be as fine a match for raw fish as a shot of fermented rice wine.

Fewer tables means diners no longer have to elbow their way through the hordes of customers, but now you might have to spend an afternoon dialing to get a reservation. On every visit, I wondered who was minding the store. One Saturday night, my wife and I stood waiting for several minutes before a hostess emerged to greet us brusquely: "Just hold on-one second, please."

Once we were seated, we shared a menu until we asked for another. Another night, we had to move-and sometimes stack-our own plates as courses piled up without regard to pacing. It seemed a punishment of sorts for ordering a la carte.

We regretted it that night, but I've since come to the conclusion that a little pileup and self-pacing is preferable to entrusting the kitchen with putting together a meal that ranges far beyond sushi and sashimi.

That's not to say there isn't the occasional reward. The luscious slices of fat-striated Kobe beef imparted the richness of a steak for a fraction of the chewing-and a fraction of the calories. A friend of mine, disillusioned by the countless Kobe imitations around town-often just Wagyu masquerading as Kobe-asked, "How do we know it's the genuine article?"

"How do we know?" I replied. "We know because it's eight Band-Aid-size slices for $30."

A simple dish of marinated baby squid showed both a gift for smart shopping and a willful ignorance of American tastes. I can imagine many diners turning away-the squid almost resemble fetuses-but they make for a fascinating starter, a meaty, tangy prelude to the sweet, delicate fish to come.

But the tempura is nothing you couldn't find elsewhere; the charcoal-grilled chicken, cooked at the table, didn't live up to the spectacle; a dish of salted white snapper jaw-complete with bared teeth-was luscious in places and dry in others; and a plate with a few small dabs of salty, spicy pollock roe seemed to trade more on novelty than on taste.

And what's a slice of outsourced chocolate cake (from the nearby bakery Locolat) doing on the dessert menu of a restaurant that prides itself on giving its customers the most authentic experience possible? The house-made desserts-including a black-sesame creme brulee, delicately fashioned mochi, and a corn ice cream with caramel syrup that's like eating semi-frozen caramel corn-are excellent, setting a new standard for the area.

For all its surface polish, and despite its self-important air of seriousness, Sushi Taro remains a work in progress. It took a bold first step in making shopping the center of its mission, in the process raising expectations for every other sushi restaurant. With better service and more attentive cooking, it might become the place it aspires to be. I don't see that happening anytime soon, but Yamazaki has achieved a great deal in reaching beyond his grasp.

Sushi Taro may not be a great restaurant that transcends category, but it's the best sushi bar in the area. And not by a little.

This review appears in the August, 2009 issue of The Washingtonian.