2006.11.28.
Ibid
On Tuesday, a classmate and I ran to grab lunch before class. We ended up at Kirala, having their very reasonably priced sushi special. Watery miso soup, average pieces of fish that mostly tasted the same, indistinct bland textures. The salmon was so soft it was almost slimy and I couldn’t finish it. I wasn’t too disappointed, I suppose, because I pretty much got what I paid for.
To make up for it, that evening I had possibly the best nigiri in my entire life. In Alameda, no less. I’d discovered the existence of this intimate, easily overlooked restaurant on yelp, of all places. When we walked into the 12-seat room it was empty except for the sushi chef and his wife. Feeling slightly intimidated, we sat down, made ourselves comfortable, and asked what was good. I knew it was going to be a good evening given his first offering…. the list is below.
hamachi belly (did I mention that this is my favorite thing ever?)
shiromaguro
kampachi
aji
escolar – he chose to sear it lightly, something he said that shocked him when he saw it in japan but eagerly adopted after finding out how much better it was. He was right.
–
“What else should we have?”
“What kind of stuff do you like?”
(shrug)
“Spicy tuna roll?”
(I make a face and indicate that I don’t really like rolls) “I like nigiri.”
“You like the clean flavor of each fish?”
I think I won his approval.
–
taira-gai – pen shell scallops, much meatier, denser, and better than hotate
sake (cured lightly in sea salt and then marinated in sake — quite complimentary)
hirame and toro – he’d had pieces leftover before Thanksgiving so he smoked them with alderwood. Genius.
anago, lightly steamed and sauced – more delicate than unagi. I’m glad I tried it.
I don’t think I’d previously uttered the word ‘delicious’ so many times in one evening. It was basically sushi as it should be — each piece unique in its flavor and texture, intense in its simplicity. I’m not sure how such a small place keeps such an incredibly fresh and varied selection of fish. We had the sushi chef to ourselves for most of the meal; two other diners didn’t appear until we were almost finished. I enjoyed his conversations. We argued about the actual origin of ocean trout; he said he’d find out for me exactly what it was. He laughed every time I identified the music — a series of fairly weighty classical tunes that had been given jazz treatment. He finally confessed that he’d gotten them on limewire.
When he asked how we’d heard of the place he was amused by the answer. Apparently quite a few others had mentioned yelp recently. “I like it this way,” he gestured toward the empty dining room, “not mass-produced.” He urged us not to tell too many people about it. Given the results of his rapt yet leisurely attention toward each piece of fish, I can’t argue. Who knew that utopia existed in my very own city?
