Something About Books and Covers

I can appreciate a good paradox, an ironic juxtaposition and a thoughtful fusion of disparate elements as much as any man.  That said, I was mildly skeptical when told to show up to the Chicago location of Sushi Samba on Wells St Saturday.  Going into it, I knew only that Chef Dan, the EC, was a fellow Napervillian, and what I gleaned from the corporate website.  While the former was encouraging, the latter managed to incorporate virtually every distasteful website attribute I can think of--obnoxious music, less than intuitive navigation, and in-your-face yet pointless animated graphics.  Mike can offer a more substantive critique from a professional perspective, but the web design, and, frankly, much-though-not-all of the posted menu reinforced to me the idea that I was about to enter an uber-hip, there-to-be-seen club atmosphere that, while I realize is some people’s legitimate cup of tea (and may well be yours), hovers somewhere between utter disinterest and polite contempt for me.  Perhaps at the root was that I can think of few more incompatible schools of culinary thought than Japanese and Latin.  I like them both, but don’t want to enjoy either in any close proximity to the other; the essential elements of each struck me as fundamentally destructive to the important elements of the other.  But in the hands of professionals, perhaps I’d be proven wrong.

It turns out that I wasn’t wrong, but fantastically, that didn’t detract from what turned out to be one of the most impressive meals I’ve sat down to.  My concern about the feasibility of fusing Japanese and Latin cuisine was neatly worked around by simply not fusing them.  Brilliant!  And so it turned out that one can get equally good Latin-inspired dishes and crushingly good Japanese inspired food side-by-side, and our dinner more or less bounced between the two successively.  This might violate some people’s philosophies about proper meal progression but with food of this caliber it just didn’t matter.  Sushi followed by pork roast and collard greens?  Well why-the-hell not?

Now, a word on menus and ‘special’ treatment.  Much, and possibly most of what we (Mike and two oenologically inspired dining companions) ate was not on the menu, except in the vaguest omakase (お任せ)-sense of the term.   We had, in a round-about way, been more or less ordered to show up by Chef Dan to be blown away by whatever he felt like putting in front of us.  This sounded great, since a lot of the menu didn’t seem too high on my blown-away scale, and expectations were raised further upon learning that hiding in Chef Dan’s curriculum vitae was a tour or two at Alinea. 

The point, though, is that if you show up to this place and order off the menu, I have every expectation that you will have an expertly executed, highly satisfying meal (at least that’s the case now; there are stories that things were scary-bad prior to Chef Dan’s arrival in the last year or so)--but it won’t be the meal we had, and won’t be near the meal you could have.  Push these guys--they won’t disappoint; order the omakase (which incorporates all the disparate elements of the restaurant, not just sushi) and tell them to go off script, that cost is (almost) no option, and really pull out all the stops.  It might not be a terrible idea to call ahead, or even the day prior to make clear you want to be placed firmly in the hands of the chef.  All of which brings me to a more general point that what you order in a restaurant can make a big difference on the experience that you are looking for (and probably a bigger difference than who you are, because, really, how many of us fall into that category?).  At the right place, ordering the screwy, possibly scary sounding special might just get you a quick 'hi-how-are-you' (or better, a ‘hey, try this!’) from the chef, who probably spent all week putting it together and is crushed that no one is ordering it.  Really.  No lie.

(So is this guy every going to get to the food?)

Yes, in fact he is.  Sort of.  There is something vaguely unsettling and voyeuristic about getting too deep-in-the-weeds talking about a meal you or anyone else ate (with the possible exception of French President Mitterand’s last one).  In any case, the point is less the food than the fantastic time I had eating it and talking with friends and a genuinely excited chef.  Plus  I don’t remember everything anyway.  But the important stuff I do remember, and why, so that’s what I’ll share here.

First course was sunomono--basically a light Japanese pickle; in this case baby radish, parsnip and carrot (and I do mean baby--carrot no longer than half an inch) with a generous chunk of king crab served in a soy-vineagar marinade familiar to anyone who’s had cold soba tsuyu.  This was important because I took it as a portend of good things to come; rewarded faith that we were in good hands.  This was followed up by a dish of radishes that, I kid you not, held their own among the best dishes of the night. 

The Francophilic presentation of radishes with butter and salt is something that intellectually I’ve long thought that I would like, but never have.  My first conscious interaction with the standard red radish was toddling around the kitchen in Slidell while materfamilias was preparing a salad.  Didn’t like them then, and unlike for things such as green vegetables and mushrooms, not much has changed in the intervening quarter-century, despite semi-regular attempts to test the contrary.  As with so many things, though, I think this came down to a quality of ingredients issue and a dash of culinary creativity.  The radishes were baby, but not miniscule, and were a mix of my old adversary the red radish, but also the French breakfast variety with a dollop of butter whipped with powdered breadcrumb and herbs topped with some very flaky sea salt.  Unconscionably good.  Probably ruined me from every seeking out a good radish again.

“But that doesn’t sound very Japanese, or South American!”,  one might protest.  You’re right.  That’s just how Chef Dan rolls.

From there, a clever malbec marinated watermelon salad with frisee, blue cheese and crouton that expertly demonstrated the ‘more-than-the-sum-of-its-parts’ dictum and was the brainchild of the sous chef.

And then the duck.  This singular dish was almost the entire point of showing up, and had the meal ended with it I’d have been entirely satisfied with the evening.  Confit duck, fried crispy skin, sweet corn arepa, lime crema, cilantro and other stuff I can’t do justice.  Far from me to presume to speak for the man, but I’d give even money that Latin-inspired Chicago super-chef Rick Bayless could go to his grave bitter that he didn’t make this dish.  A fascinating study in textural contrasts and balanced flavors.  Best fried skin I’ve had.  Don’t like fried skin?  Are you an American?  Perhaps forgivable if your only encounter with fried skin is the orange-hued packing Styrofoam that passes for pork rinds in gas station mini-marts.  This dish, incidentally, you have to call ahead for--possibly  a couple days ahead. 

Sushi being in the name of the joint, one assumed fish would show up at some point.  And did it.  Having spent some time in that region of the world, I’m occasionally asked about good sushi in the US.  I have no really satisfying answers for most of these people, because they’re just two different animals, each with their virtues.  I like sushi, I don’t think I’m a snob about it--I enjoy a well executed ‘spicy tuna roll’ as much as the next but the Japanese don’t do that stuff.  The Japanese don’t really do any rolls (except kappamaki) and in any case I’m pretty sure the idea of chopping up a chunk of the dangerously diminishing bluefin tuna (don’t think fisheries management matters? Look up what happened to the Grand Banks cod population) and squirting it with hot sauce would be considered an affront to God in Nippon.  Just saying.

And so with that said, while some very well executed and delicious (and, ergo, not traditional) sushi rolls did come out later, the star here was the ‘Traditional Sushi’ plate prepared by sushi chef Shigero Kitano.   I got the impression that this is what he would prepare for everyone if he had it his way, makizushi-be-damned.  This was, in case anyone is interested, far and away the most ‘Japanese’ sushi I have encountered in the U.S. (and not, I would add, to everyone’s taste).  Most authentic by a long shot.  A really long shot.  All nigirizushi, with a grilled hamachi cheek/collar and a perfect tempura shrimp.  I mean, perfect.  Say you’ve had that elsewhere in the States?  Quite possible, though likely not executed to the level this was.  Obviously I’m making some supposition there, but I think I’m on firm ground.  If your experience with nigiri is simply a piece of fish on a rectangle of rice, I’ll just offer that there can be quite a bit more to it than that.  That’s the extent of the detail I will offer there.  If you are of the persuasion that you only eat ‘authentic’ sushi, but have not, yourself, been to Japan, I would offer that 1) [redacted for purposes of civility] and 2) that you should seek this Shigero fellow out, because I think he might fundamentally alter your conception of what ‘real’ Japanese sushi is.  Or not.  But the man slices some mean fish.  Doesn’t mean you have to stop liking dragon rolls, et al either.

Just when we considered packing it in, the consensus was to go one or two more rounds.  Good decision, turned out.  What appeared next actually was on the menu more or less, and you need to order it--the churrasco.  Basically a mixed grill in the all-you-can-eat Brazillian-steakhouse school.   What appeared on our big wooden plate was the most perfectly cooked piece of pork I’ve encountered (with a simple, but great mustard gastrique) and chorizo and linguica sausage with some assorted accoutrement that I didn’t touch.  Now, I’ve kept a wayward eye out for a good sweet-smoky linguica ever since encountering the Philippino version, longanisa, by way of some enterprising navy cooks back when I was on Far East station three years and a lifetime ago.  In a city that manufactures some absurdly good artisanal sausages, these were really, really outstanding.  There was some sorcery on that plate--even gave that duck contraption a run for its money.

There were a few other, quite good dishes, and a damned impressive sake menu (you might have heartburn dropping $80--or conceivably $100 or $200--on a bottle of sake, and I wouldn’t blame you, but the waiter gave some genuinely excellent suggestions so I’d encourage spending a bit more than you might normally--or ever--otherwise).  Skipping to dessert, there was an excellent profiterole.   A green-tea crème brulee that was very good.  A ginger crème brulee that I liked a bit better.  And then a little ball of mango mochi filled with ice cream that was actually my favorite.  Now, I didn’t particularly like mochi even when I was at the source on the Home Islands--it’s largely bland with a strange, chewy-pasty texture; but with the ice cream this was really excellent --a nice, subtle, refreshing end to the meal.

So about this time we became cognizant that the crowd was changing and that a DJ had actually appeared from somewhere.  As implied earlier, I am not of the frosted tips/tight designer jean/cocktail dress crowd, and if you aren’t either and people-watching holds limited appeal, then eat early, or on a weekday and no worries.  If you are of that set, well, enjoy whatever it is that people do in those joints while their permanent baseline hearing threshold drops like a rock.  And then give the wilder side of the menu a whirl while you’re at it.

Comments

[Tatiana]

Wow. Steve, you got a way with words. Parts of this post made me tear up a bit. Loved reliving the night through your eyes. Glad to have met the Stash brothers. Here is to many more meals to come.

[sippitysup]

Like the previous poster said, who have a way with words. I was left feeling a bit cheated though. Maybe next time you could go into more detail. Seriously though I love the way you attack these reviews. GREG

[Chef E]

I will cook if you will write my reviews- Deal? lol I thought of you when I was in NYC three times this week eating so many wild and different Asian dishes on my quest for inspiration! One place, Asian had 'Fried Chicken', and I drew the line there, not sure they want me reviewing that dish!

How ya doing btw?

[sippitysup]

You come at things from such a "smart guy" perspective. I guess on top of "smart guy" I am going to have to start thinking of you as "fish guy". GREG