Sushi Bar Yasuda – Roppongi, Tokyo, Japan

The first time I had good sushi, I sat in front of Yasuda-san at Sushi Yasuda, New York. I felt so small, surrounded by skyscrapers, on my own for the first time, just trying to find where I really fit into the much bigger world that lay at my fingertips. I was losing my way on this quest to find myself.

Back then, Yasuda-san was stern, serious. But even then he taught. The sushi, the seaweed, the wasabi; everything had levels and grades, and so much of the same thing could be so different. I’d tried mediocre sushi, but this was something else. Each bite was biting back, and every chew channeled a chill, a whole-body thrill, and somehow this meal made me dare to be different, to aim high and land even higher.

Like much of New York, things are constantly changing, and they have changed a lot since that day ten years ago. New York's Sushi Yasuda still bears his name with none of his association, but some things stay with us. Yasuda-san returned to Japan to do what he always wanted to do – just make sushi. I moved to California and did what I always wanted to do – just EAT sushi. Life has a way of sweeping round and round, until a full circle has formed, and once again, I’m facing a less stern, more experienced Yasuda-san ten years later. I think I was the only person who wasn't there because of Anthony Bourdain.

The first thing I notice is the décor. The sushi bar is beautiful, a single slice of wood and a kitchen set in stone. Minimalist sophistication, personified in Blue Fin Tuna.

The Shumaji Yellowtail lands softly on the wood and hits even softer notes on the palate. A subtle impact, a refreshing contrast to a bold blue fin.

I've never seen a chef so animated. This once-serious, calm and calculated man now darts back and forth, fingers pressing, rolling, snapping small pieces onto each round of rice like a pro. 

He keeps up a lively chatter, covering every topic from the origin of our sushi to his participation in a local bodybuilding competition. He is very proud of those biceps. There are no sous-chefs, no sushi slicers, no worker bees. Yasuda-san is a one-man show, staffing a ten-seater bar and a four-seater table at lightning speed.

His cheery conversation floods with laughter as a slice of Toro dissolves in a cold, fatty rush. The thrill of simultaneously seeing and tasting his work tingles from the tongue clear through the toes.

This restaurant is his, and everything is his to control, his to mold as he likes. Everything bears his signature, an homage to a career well-spent.

One thing that makes him different is his frequent servings of salmon. I don't see it from the west coast chefs, but sweet cuts like the Norwegian Salmon slide slick and finish firmly.

The short-grain sushi rice hails from his mother's home town, and so does the sake he recommends. The rice is cohesive without being adhesive, leaving a minimal mark on your fingers when you scoop up a single bite. The sake is seamless, finishing sweet and clear like a babbling brook. It finishes much like the Needlefish; new, exciting, a smooth thrill that makes a minimal splash.

He sees that I love salmon so he lets a soft slice of Alaskan Salmon compete with the Norwegian. Neither wins – I could eat both forever.

Then comes the King Salmon, a final showdown. This one is more firm, the flavor more robust.

And then there is Uni. And there my whole world stops.

Just when I expect another excerpt of something familiar, he brings out a "secret shrimp", the tail of a white Chinese shrimp, one that no one else uses, one that I’ve never seen. It's gooey and sticky like mochi, every bursting flavor-bubble clinging to every taste bud.

You need a piece of pickled ginger to scrape off the uni. I’m reluctant to replace something so sweet with a harsh palate-stripper, but the Ayu Trout demands it. Finely fleshy, too delicate to compete with umami fat or shrimp.

The ginger is house-pickled and turns out to be much milder and far less offensive in flavor than anything else I've had. Just another satisfying Yasuda-san touch.  

Each nigiri is so airy, vinegar highlighting wasabi with just a dab of house-made shoyu. Each piece is so easy to eat, I don’t even notice how quickly I work my way through what seems to be every piece of fish in the bar.

I certainly don’t notice how full I should be when I get a new type of Toro. Trout to toro, a swift transition from flesh to fatfatfat, pure, microglobules of spreading, smothering fat.

Another Toro is lighter and colder than the first. It literally melts when it touches the tongue, leaving a savory sheen.

These Squid Legs don't shrink when they’re cooked his way. These stay juicy and plump, and with coarse grains of sea salt to accentuate the tentacular texture, this simple preparation may be one of my all-time favorites.

When I told Yasuda-san I had followed him from New York, his humility was genuine but no less impressive. "Have I improved?" He asked. I couldn’t come up with an answer. He was a master then, and he is still a master now, but I think he is more like the Steel Head Salmon he describes. He narrates, under certain conditions, the rainbow trout becomes the salmon. And so has he. He's evolved into someone more seasoned, someone more smiley and savvy, content with this new twist on his profession of passion. I saw stars all those years ago, and today I'm no less starstruck. And I’ll always prefer salmon to trout.

The lively chatter continues, Yasuda-san’s jests roll off his tongue like Butter Fish. Seamless transitions between topics, but still enough to make you pause.

I pause again when he sets down a piece of Mackerel. It’s a large, juicy-looking piece, fleshy white with an edge of burgundy. I hate mackerel. How anyone can love the assault of vinegar, the forceful, fishy taste on a hardened slab that slaps me in the mouth is beyond my comprehension. But this. This isn't even mackerel. It's Yasuda-san's favorite preparation, and it is far less pickled, far less singeing, with a paucity of pungency. I dare say this is delicious. 

I don’t linger on the mackerel for long. My mood is lightened by an Orange Clam, chewy and as bright as the logo on Sunny D.

A plump Oyster has more butter than brine, bursting with juices, brought out by a dash of lemon and salt.

I’m a little apprehensive about the cooked Shrimp. Shrimp is great in a ceviche and sizzles in a scampi, but I’ve always viewed it as the chicken of sushi. Shrimp just tastes like shrimp. This one tastes like shrimp, but the moisture is locked into this juicy piece, and it preserves all the flavor, each chew releasing more fragrance.

The Scallop is sandwiched between a shrimp and another squid. Slides sweet and raw for a break from so much chewing.

The squid legs are still my favorite, but these small, slightly sinewy Squids have best of several sushi-worlds, combining the texture of the tentacles with a smooth body and a popping eye.

Mackerel “special parts”. Yasuda-san waits until I've started chewing to elaborate on just what that entails. It’s the mackerel sex organ, and it may be the best thing I had all night. Sweetened by sake and sugar and having the texture of smelt roe, this is a special I won’t soon forget.

Wrapping up because I’m dying a slow and most delightful death by sushi. Sea Eel with "no tar from construction site" smolders fresh off the grill. It’s so light it seems to float.

The Freshwater Eel is less fine in texture, a little bit meatier, and a little bit earthier.

This is when I realize that 25 pieces of sushi may have been a bad idea. But the Green Grass is surprisingly settling for the stomach, thin sprigs of scallion sprouts that tell your churning gut to shush. It tastes like spring, fresh seedlings and dirt.

I’m so stuffed that I contemplate rolling myself out…and up the stairs, but Yasuda-san insists we finish with his favorite maki, a Toro Scallion Roll. It's hard to say no, and it's a decision I'll never regret. I've had my share of rolls, but this is the roll to end all rolls. The rice throws the toro for a melty-meaty, vinegary loop; a rich rush of pure ecstasy tempered by a biting onion-scallion.

25 pieces of sushi and a roll for the road. This has to be some sort of record. That or Yasuda-san was trying to kill me. I can't wait to come back in another ten years so he can try again.