Avoided all the raw fish while at sea, and for that my stomach thanks me. But I landed with a sushi craving that makes addiction look mild, and Sushi Kashiba is just the kitchen to feed my fancy.
After a whole day of exploring Seattle, my appetite hits The Peak, a point higher than the Space Needle by the time we arrive at Sushi Kashiba. The line for the bar is too long, so I settle for that prix fixe Peak dinner and a table on the patio.
Everything went south from here. I couldn't quite catch the name of my first appetizer no matter many times my server repeated it. It sounded something like O-toshi and tasted just as confusing. Freshwater eel on a date? Ummm... What??? Both are sweet, but the sweet-sweet overpowers the savory-sweet, and the combination is sickening.
The kitchen's version of Ceviche is an even bigger fail, a plate of what looks like the scraps they cut off the sushi fish, pieces that are no longer fresh enough to serve. Each piece was crudely hacked, and several tasted unnaturally fishy, like tuna in a can. I usually love ceviche, but this one felt so wrong.
I was relieved when the sushi arrived, but disappointment was imminent as my teeth sank into the Flounder. This one is expectedly pure and smooth, but not much of a stand-out.
The Madai, or Sea Bream is softer and sweeter, with a fine, flaky edge that falls a little flat.
Toro spreads it's sticky granules of fat luxuriously across the tongue. The texture and flavor of this piece are infallible, but still, I've had better.
By the fourth piece, I'm realizing that the problem is the rice. The vinegar is barely detectable, and this lackluster Bincho, (Albacore Tuna) needs all the boost it can get.
The Akami brings on the bold sophistication of Lean Tuna, a denser, fleshy, meaty piece that pops... a little.
The Maguro Zuke, or the Marinated Tuna is similarly sophisticated with a salty, hard edge of soy.
The King Salmon slides down, sweet and smooth. It's hard to mess up a good cut of salmon, and this one is A-ok.
The Hamachi is another A-ok. The texture is in soft, blended shreds, comfortably confident.
The Scallop is cool and sweet as it breaks apart with minimal chews. Standard and generic.
The Amebi is as sweet as its name would claim, a solid yet slightly viscous texture that teases the tongue as it lingers, dragging all the flavor down. The deep fried head is the best part, crunchy and brainy, with a taste like a stronger roe.
Aburi Toro. Toro. Tingly, tantalizing, so melty it tastes sexy TORO. A repeat from the first plate but one I'd gladly have over and over, again and again. Except this one is seared. COOKED. WHY??? I want to cry as the solid, a waste of soft, scintillating belly, gives way to the magnificent middle.
Then there are two pieces of roll, squished together like woe, exiled to the corner of the plate. A side tangent, a thoughtless filler, two pieces of rice encasing fish that I can't even taste.
The Uni. Finally, the uni. I saved the best for last. I've waiting so long for it... Only to have it served in a sloppy pile on an inconveniently-shaped spoon, collapsing under the weight of so much wasabi. I had to scrape off most of the green stuff for fear of burning my mouth.
At least the Tamago and Miso Soup took the edge off at the end. The egg is perfect and shrimpy-sweet, and the soup is an emolliating digestif. At least they still know how to cook an egg.
It's been a while since I've had good sushi, so when I heard that Shiro, student of Jiro set up shop in Seattle, I just had to go. So much anticipation, such a set-up. But what? What is this? This lackluster, impersonal plate of higher-end, cranked-off-a-conveyer-belt sushi? I don't know who made my sushi that night, but I sure hope it wasn't Shiro.
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