Omakase

Omakase sells the high-end ritual without the stiffness that usually comes with it. The format is the standard tasting-menu procession, but the room runs loose — the chef pours sake, cracks jokes, slides an extra cut of toro across the counter when he feels like it. Strangers end up trading small talk between courses. That's rare in this category, where seriousness usually substitutes for warmth.

The food backs it up. Custardy lobster tamago and a red miso soup built around clams show real technique dressed down as comfort food, and the wagyu course, finished with gold flake, still reads as fun rather than showy. Nothing here is coasting on the format's reputation — each course earns its spot in the lineup.

Service and atmosphere come back as strong as the fish itself, and the consistency holds across visits, which matters more than any single great night. A Michelin Guide selection for 2026 confirms what the room already proves: this is serious sushi that refuses to act like it.

Sit at the counter, talk to your neighbors, let the chef pour. This is omakase with the ceremony intact and the attitude removed.