My experience at N/naka started on Chef's Table, a Netflix highlight of the journeys taken by today's most recognized chefs. It unmasks the face behind the food, making even the most formidable seem understandable and sometimes almost accessible. I watched Niki Nakayama struggle as a "female chef" with rapt fury, as stuffy old men called her creations "cute," labeling it "how a woman cooks."
Female or otherwise, Niki Nakayama is brilliant, and her work speaks for itself if you listen. The theme at N/naka is silent subtlety, no statement too strong; every dish is in the details. It's whispered elegance, more hints and suggestions than definitive commands.
You listen at N/naka and they listen too. Their schtick is to never serve you the same dish twice, and they plan your future based on what they see you enjoy. You determine your future experiences, and your autonomy starts immediately when you select your own cup for the welcome drink. The tray is full of colors, hues of light and dark. No two cups are alike but we all sip the same Umeshu, a light plum wine that tastes tart like tears.
The light sour of the plum wine segues into a fire-kissed Hama Hama Oyster. Sink into the tender belly - the roasting turns the mucus into something more supple. It sleeps in breaths of smoke and steeps in a juicy risotto from the sea.
Threads of hairy crab center a palate-opening plate. It's adorned with a fan of tempura enoki, flanked by the murky depths of a viscous seaweed and mountain yam. There's also a soft-boiled squid in a tiny bowl and a boldly crispy cannoli shell crammed with creamy chips of wagyu beef. Save the summer strawberry for last.
Sweet acid is a foil to the ribbons of celtuce that crunch bright and earthy. They swirl around a raw Red Snapper like a protective shroud, embellished by petals of flowers that flirt.
A clear Soup is a warm reset after so many things cold and raw. A delicate broth draws out the butter in a brick of black cod.
A playful Sashimi Plate shines with a milder striped jack against the glow of a meatier mackerel. An pliant snapper slides down fatty and slick, and a scallop yields to a small drop of citrus.
A slice of King Mackerel shifts from crispy skin to silvery slivers stuck to flaking seaweed. An avocado purée adds acid and an anchoring touch.
Lobster in lobster, a shellfish in its own dashi broth. The uni and egg over potato purée are an interesting twist, but it's the tomato I find surprising. You still get the sea-sweet flavors, but the tomato and egg remind me of China's peasant-dish stir-fry, an unexpected memory of home.
The pasta sits confident, comfortable with N/naka's defiance of kaiseki tradition, a rebel Spaghettini in hard mentaiko cream. Slices of elastic abalone and aromatic truffle complete this radical revolution. "It's just not done!" the critics cried. You do you, Niki Nakayama. And don't ever stop doing this.
A leap back to tradition - there are few things more time-honored than a salted slice of A5 Wagyu. There are gentle notes of preserved lemon and greenery to balance the fat, but the flavor will linger forever if you let it.
Take a breath, a reset with this Palate Cleanser of all colors. A vibrant blood orange citrus is refreshing, and slick squares of seaweed and shot of Yuzu Sake help the palate recalibrate.
This is the segway into what feels like an impromptu omakase, not quite a new journey but a delightful little side-trip. It starts serene with isaki then a more audacious big eye tuna.
There's Miso Soup to sip between the sushi bites.
Have a soft Ahi and save the show-stealing Sea Perch for last. It's smoky and meaty and fantastically sweet and fresh.
A scored slice of sturdy Beef contrasts a fragile half n' half of Uni and Ikura.
The sweetest Blue Crab spills from a hand roll.
Desserts are next, starting with a Jasmine cocktail. The dish is a cold and creamy orange sorbet that drops hints of passion fruit.
We finish with Sakura cream and ice cream, flowers against a green matcha spongecake.
They give you a foam-whisk Matcha to finish.
The final Truffles are a heavy hit of hazelnut.
I'm spooning my last bits of ice cream when she sneaks up behind me - I'm shocked speechless by her stealth. She bows and bows and thanks us for our presence, as if we did her a favor. Her graciousness is genuine, and her humility is not an act. You'd never guess you were speaking to the owner of the most coveted table in Los Angeles.
What is there to say? I'm at a loss for words and I lost them long before I sat down. The dishes defy explanation; there is no description to capture the fullness of the flavors and the completeness of the experience. I said it once and I'll say it again. N/naka speaks for itself. Just don't forget to listen.
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