Sushi Ichimura ⭐️

TLDR: Ichimura is a national treasure, Chef Manabu is one to watch, but the contract isn’t being renewed next month, and I think that’s a good thing. 

Not Recommended. 

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What I talk about when I talk about worth is enthusiasm independent of cost. Price-blindness is justified when you can walk out of the restaurant dancing with joy, with a renewed sense of curiosity, and indisputably satisfied. That is not what happened here. Sushi Ichimura was fine. But the cons won over the pros, and this is the first time in my fine dining life I can say it wasn’t worth the money.

Thank God they had the funds for the embroidered phone pillows on the counter though. (Did you laugh? I laughed. I almost fainted in embarrassment for this generation.)

The Details Matter:

You check in inside, then are asked to wait outside to be called back in. Order of check-in is not the same order you will be seated. Watching people who arrived ~5 minutes past the reservation time be seated before arrivals ~5 minutes prior was a poor first impression.

Service had hiccups: not pulling out or pushing in chairs, not offering to hang jackets. Offering pairings and supplements to some guests and not others. An air of aloofness only those with hospitality experience themselves might clock as contempt. The chefs stood in contrast, both warm and kind, welcoming guests by name and sending us off personally at the door.

The bar was intimate: the counter section, service section, and prep section are all carved nearly flush into the same giant wood slab, providing a homely view of the chefs at work (it’s sanded twice a year and had stains, compared to Noda’s stain-free daily sanding. I'm two glasses on Chardonnay deep here: pedantic, or it is that everything really does matter? I think it does.)

I do have a bone to pick with the design team about the bar wall. It’s textured like coarse sandpaper, such that even slightest pressure from resting my crossed foot against it (I have to plead my case as a dainty lady here) ripped right through the edges of my patent leather heels. I’m not one to shy away from a battle scar or two on a night out, but I want them to be hard fought and won. This was just irritating. Pointy heels and pricey leathers beware. 

The Food:

Chef Manabu, alum of Mifune and Odo, starts off with a delicate array of dishes. Uni and hairy crab spaghetti worked beautifully, uni-topped clam soup served in shells was rich and warming, and the perfect crisp eel sat on the best eel sauce I’ve had to date, under a shiso slaw. He closed us out with a piña colada desert of milk ice cream, pineapple foam, and fresh mango. It was lovely, Chef Manabu has a new fan and I will follow him wherever he goes next.

Of the nigiri progression, my favorite piece was the ika. I don’t like ika very much. I came in excited to be trying the sushi of such a legend, but walked out disappointed. Half the pieces were forgettable, and other half were too sinewy, including his toro which I struggled to chew through. All of them minuscule in comparison to other Michelin star omakases. The saving grace was his impeccable tamago, a marbled caramel delight. It was also the piece he has full control over, which led me to think…

It’s hard to imagine a tour-de-force like him standing proudly behind the quality of fish served. Maybe it was a remarkably unlucky day, maybe I don’t know him well enough to make that call, but I would bet on cost-cutting friction of what chef knows he should serve, and what he is allowed to. And If I were a gambling man, I would put my money on Ichimura leaving due to misaligned values in the partnership. But let’s not dive into salacious speculation. 

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Scattered across the internet are reviews of the highest praise, but chatter between patrons seated at omakase counters across the city echo my experience. Is the magic of the place only in its name, or was this an off night? We'll find out if a new chef takes the helm behind the counter.

What do you talk about when you talk about Sushi Ichimura?

Cheers!