What a Valentine's venue, with a luxuriously focused menu, and an intimate ambiance to make you forget you're in the middle of a mall.
We want a strong start with their famous Black Chicken Karaage, a bowl of fried thighs brined for two days. It's a bowl of juicy coals, but I'm sad to say it's bland. The black garlic ranch dip is too creamy to compensate, and I conclude that it looks like coals but doesn't have the fire.
Broccolini is better, a perfect vegetable with glamourized garlic chips.
They're out of the beef tongue, a tragedy, and a skewer of Chicken Heart doesn't sub. It's tender but nothing special. Perfectly cooked, but nothing I need again.
But the Chicken Meatball is such perfection, so tender the juices drip. Dip excessively in egg yolk for extra extravagance.
Forget the sweets, the perfect ending here is savory. An entire foot of buttery Bone Marrow, sizzling from the grill, drizzled onto a garlic mochi bread with a crispy-chewy contrasting texture.
It's so pretty, but almost too pretty, clean but a bit too sterile. The preparation is perfect but the flavors seem muted, and it dampens the experience of this beautifully sexy place. I liked it, but I didn't love it - give me the nitty-gritty of the South Bay's Shensengumi and the dark boisterousness of Torihei any day.
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