Friends Only

Friends Only is an unmarked ten-seat room built around an eighteen-course omakase, and it earns the intimacy it insists on. Dinner runs close to three hours, sake and highballs moving as steadily as the courses, with music loud enough to feel like a party rather than a tasting menu people have to whisper through.

The nigiri is the foundation, dry-aged and precise, consistently flawless. But the kitchen's real strength shows in the smaller built dishes around it: tilefish seared until its scales fan out and crackle, lobster poached in butter and dusted with green garlic powder. Those plates do more work than most omakase counters attempt, and they land.

This isn't a quiet, reverent sushi room. It's a loud, sake-drenched dinner party that happens to serve eighteen courses of serious technique, and the two modes don't fight each other. The people running it bring real sushi pedigree underneath the theatrics, which is why the food holds up once the glasses stop clinking.

Michelin selected it in 2026, confirmation of what the room already proves on its own: this is one of the best nights out in the city, if you can get the seat.