Describing my experience at Sushi Saito feels almost impossible; there’s so much to convey. Every bite heightened my senses, deepened my appreciation, and brought about a profound realization of my purpose in life as a bilingual food enthusiast with a special affinity for fine Japanese cuisine.
Renowned as one of Japan’s finest sushi restaurants, Sushi Saito held three Michelin stars for years until Chef Takashi Saito ceased accepting reservations from anyone but regular patrons. Not being a regular myself, nor acquainted with any, I employed a clever strategy to secure a coveted spot.
Following one of Tabelog’s ten most influential reviewers, essentially Japan’s Yelp, who also happens to be a significant patron of Sushi Saito, became my gateway. Periodically, he generously offers lottery seats to dine at some of the most challenging restaurants to reserve, extending the opportunity to those, like me, registered in his chat group.
While competitive, the ¥5,000 entrance fee per person seemed reasonable, especially when compared to monthly fees on platforms like Omakase, which offers priority reservation opportunities for exclusive dining experiences.
One fortuitous day, I received a message: “A few seats are available due to cancellations, and the chances of winning are high since it’s last minute.” Without hesitation, I applied.
Excitement coursed through me, yet I remained composed enough to secure a hairdresser appointment, ensuring I looked my best in case fortune favored me.
The following morning brought a call from the host, revealing that I had been chosen. My long-held dream was manifesting into reality.
On the appointed day, I arrived at the restaurant just off the Roppongi-Itchome subway station, 15 minutes before noon–the scheduled start of the omakase, a prix fixe course where patrons entrust the chef to select and serve seasonal specialties, priced at ¥40,000.
The gastronomic journey comprised six tsumami (appetizers), ten nigiri (hand-pressed sushi), miso soup, don-mono (rice bowl with toppings), a sushi roll, and tamago (sweetened omelet).
Tsumami
Based on the recommendation, I opted for a cup of Higan, an extremely rare brand of nihon-shu (Japanese rice wine) crafted in Niigata prefecture, known for its longstanding tradition of producing high-quality rice.
The tender flesh of anago (seawater eel) becomes plump and slightly chewy towards the grilled skin.
Its delicate flavor complements the bolder notes of umeboshi (sour plum) and grated wasabi (Japanese horseradish).
I was pleasantly surprised by this dish as it allowed me to appreciate anago for the first time, casting one of my less preferred fish in an entirely new light.
Anago, often served in a softened and/or sweetened form, happens to fall into the opposite spectrum of my typical culinary preferences: hard and crunchy, savory and spicy.
For instance, I favor my unagi (freshwater eel) as shirayaki (grilled without basting)–enjoyed with soy sauce and wasabi–over the more common kabayaki (grilled and basted with sweetened soy sauce) style.
Shirayaki preparation for anago is even rarer, so not only was I surprised it could be done, but I was amazed at how it brought out a complex consistency and allowed pairings with punchy condiments.
I hope shirayaki of anago becomes more prevalent so that more people can discover the lesser-known potential of this true delicacy.
Nigiri:
The lean flesh of the flounder brings out the sweetness of the shari (vinegared rice ball).
As we savor the first sushi of the day, we learn that sushi is a harmonious blend of shari and neta (topping), where a well-balanced shari is considered to constitute 90% of excellent sushi.
Achieving this balance is an art. The shari must strike a delicate equilibrium, avoiding extremes of hardness or softness and steering clear of being too large or too small. The proportion of salt and vinegar is crucial; unlike some places that use sugar, this establishment relies solely on salt and red vinegar.
What defines the shari calibrated for balance when paired with neta (topping)? To grasp this concept, I had the opportunity to taste the shari alone, and the revelation was surprising.
In isolation, the shari imparts a pronounced salty flavor devoid of the sweetness experienced when paired with the flounder. I marveled at the realization that it remains the same shari when enjoyed as part of sushi.
While we may not be able to guess how to create such a versatile shari, we come to understand that the secret lies within the rice.
Another critical factor in exceptional sushi is the ‘cut’ of the topping. It should neither be too thick nor too thin, requiring just the right thickness.
Regardless of how outstanding the topping is, without these two elements, the essence is lost.
The slice of opaque and marbled buri effortlessly melts into sweetness, harmonizing with the shari with every chew.
Now, the table discussion naturally turns to how to refer to buri, and how it differs from hamachi, kanpachi, and others.
Hamachi and kanpachi are just a couple of name variations for young yellowtail. Numerous other names exist, depending on their size and the region of Japan.
However, they all share a common fate of transforming into buri or fully matured yellowtail after a couple of years. As it grows in size, its fat content also increases, along with its price. Buri, with the highest content, is why it melts in your mouth as it does.
Hamachi is one of the youngest, leanest, and most affordable varieties, but it goes by different names when even younger, such as wakashi. Kanpachi falls between hamachi and buri.
With that said about buri, kohada is another one of those fish that have different names depending on its size. Unlike buri, the price of kohada decreases as it grows. This is because the dotted pattern on the middle-sized kohada is considered to be the most aesthetically pleasing.
Ooma, Aomori
Oshokuji (Soup and Rice):
Sweet Dishes:
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