I’ve never been a fan of surprises. As a child, I would secretly open Christmas presents and re-wrap them while my parents were out. As an adult, I usually set plans in motion for big days to avoid a surprise later on. Yet, when it comes to eating, a secret menu is one surprise I don’t mind. At LUST (Luke’s Underground Supper Table) you sign up knowing only the date and theme, even the location (somewhere in downtown Toronto) is a secret with the exact address being released two days before the dinner.

After a pandemic hiatus, February marked the launch of LUST 2.0, my first foray at dining at Luke’s table. The theme of the menu ($100 per person) would be influenced by his travels around India and LUST described the experience as, “a dinner party atmosphere, combined with sexy foods from around the world. It’s about laughing, sipping, chatting, and eating groovy comfort food.”

True to their promise, the Thursday before the dinner, they announced the event was being held at an event space at Queen and Bathurst. Based on website photos and past articles, I was expecting a long communal table amongst an open kitchen where guests could watch him cook while they mingled and conversed. Somehow, the 2.0 version downgraded the dinner party to packing thirty people into a small dark room with terrible lighting (hence the weird sepia hued photos) seated at a mishmash of tables and chairs that seemed to be borrowed from different homes. If you enjoy eating dinner on a barstool at a console table, LUST 2.0 is the place for you.

The open kitchen was also a pipe dream, rather our meal seemed to be reheated in toaster ovens before being assembled and served on disposable dishes. Sure, the dinner invite said to BYOB; little did I realize I should also bring my own wine glass as well. For a dinner series that is reoccurring, I’m surprised LUST isn’t investing in a set of dishes, cups, and utensils that would certainly increase the enjoyment factor of the meal.

Still, it’s amazing what Chef Luke can do with five toaster ovens and a small table for plating. The first course was a chicken “lollipop”. Generally, this dish features the drumette of a chicken wing where the meat is frenched from the bone to create a sphere of meat that can be bitten off in a bite. LUST’s version is more ice cream cone sized than a lollipop, with minced dark meat mixed with spices, reformed onto the bone, and coated with panko crumbs.

The lollipop was described as stuffed with butter, which will ooze out in a sexy tantalizing manner and enhanced with an addictive spicy garlic sauce. In reality, the chicken was too pulverized and the butter must have already soaked into the binding ingredients as there wasn’t a drop to ooze. The accompanying sauce was also run-of-the-mill (it reminds of Trader Joe’s crunchy chili oil) and didn’t go well with the lollipop; a traditional chili mint chutney would have been preferred.

Luckily, as the menu progressed, it improved. Although the chaat looked messy and wasn’t the easiest to eat, this oversized “king” version was delicious. Chef Luke noted 25 ingredients were used in the dish including black and white channa (chickpea curries), nori, yogurt, a host of spices, and various tasty bits on top. As I cut through the different parts of the chaat and scooped up the various elements into the bite, the mix of flavours and textures pulled together deliciously. There was too much yoghurt, its saucy tanginess overpowering a lot of the other ingredients, but at least it helped bind the 20+ ingredients together.

With the limited counter space, plating seemed to be a challenging affair. Consequently, dishes took a while to assemble causing the shrimp curry to arrive lukewarm. Nonetheless, the flavours were on point, the spicy ginger curry having enough kick to leave the tongue tingling but still mellowed with the coconut milk. Served on top of a mound of cumin-laced jeera rice, the grain was interestingly the sticky variety (rather than a traditional basmati rice), likely to help with the dish’s presentation.

The shrimp curry was only the warmup as the heat increased in the following Kerala pepper pork and had everyone requesting more water – why didn’t I save the bowl of chaat yoghurt? The chunks of shredded pork shoulder were rather lean tasting but still tender. We were greeted with big bursts of peppery bites that ended with a savoury acidic finish. And while the dish lacked the cooling raita it desperately needed, there was a chilled cucumber and onion salad to create a brief respite against the spice.

The end of the meal brought what I’ll describe as silver leaf cookies with a thick creamy rose water sauce. While I was stuffed by dessert, the soft cookies were delicious and satisfied the sweet tooth without the heavy sugariness of traditional Indian sweets. Alas, the cookies were missing a cup of chai.

Chef Luke’s attention also fizzled out as the evening progressed. With the chicken lollipops, he introduced the dish before it was served – a practice you’d expect from a chef led dinner. With the second and third courses, the explanations came later, and by dessert he didn’t even bother announcing what we were having.

Ultimately, the experience ended awkwardly with no final announcement. Finally, a few tables just started leaving spurring us and about half the restaurant to do the same. There was no goodbye speech, a missed opportunity to promote the next dinner or Chef Luke’s catering business.

Consequently, while the food was decent, what the experience lacked was the “groovy” dinner party atmosphere you’d expect a supper club would capture. The dimly lit packed environment made it difficult to walk around and meet the other guests. People ended up keeping to themselves and the loud music made it hard to even converse with the strangers at our table. By the end of the three-and-a-half-hour meal, guests just seemed tired and ready to leave. It certainly wasn’t a sexy event and not something I’d LUST after experiencing again. 

What’s old – er… excuse me, vintage – seems to be in demand lately. The era of a simpler life, less demands, better quality, whatever. We yearn for it. Stepping into Old Avenue Restaurant and Bakery, these vintage elements scream at you from the walls. It’s designed to look like it’s been operating forever, not newly opened in late 2022.

Their menu offers a variety of dishes from the Southern Caucasus region - modern day Armenia, Georgia, and Azerbaijan. It’s a lengthy proposal with so many delicious sounding dishes that it will take several visits for me to try everything I want. That is, if I can stop ordering items I’ve already found tasty.

A post-university trip took me around Europe for a month and it was along the Austrian borders I was introduced to goulash, a fragrant spiced beef and vegetable soup that was so comforting. The goulash in North America is different, usually a thicker stew-like consistency and while stocked with meat and potatoes there’s generally little spice.

Seeing borscht ($8) described on Old Avenue’s menu, the ingredients instantly reminded me of the goulash of Austria: beef, tomatoes, cabbage, onions, potatoes, carrots, greens, and a touch of beets. Served in a covered claypot, the soup arrived piping hot and once the lid was removed, I was greeted with the European aroma. The broth was teeming with umami without the acidy of the tomatoes and filled with chunks of tender beef and finely sliced vegetables that blended wonderfully.

Old Avenue’s blintzes with meat ($10 for 2 pieces) arrived with a spectacular golden crust, adding a bit of crunch to the otherwise soft and delicate crepes. The mixture of finely ground beef and onion inside was perfectly seasoned creating flavour without being overly fussy or salty.

In fact, anything wrapped at Old Avenue is a hit. Their Azerbaijan style lula wrap ($20) reminded me of a burger, donair, and burrito all mixed into one. Ground beef and lamb were formed into kebabs and grilled then combined with thinly sliced tomatoes, pickles, onion, and mayo in a chewy wrap that got a lovely toasting just like the blintzes.

My error was taking the paper off the wrap as the thin creamy sauce simply wanted to gush out of the wrap on the first bite. A bit of messiness aside, the lula wrap was delicious – its heartiness balanced out by the acid of the garlicky pickles. The fries were equally impressive, uber crispy on the outside and fluffy inside. They were also perfect for dipping into the saucy wrap – next time I’ll even stuff a couple inside to create a dish like a gyro.

After all the meaty dishes, we were glad the kitchen sent out some pumpkin manti ($14 for 4 pieces) that were mistakenly mixed with the meat version we had ordered. Personally, I preferred the pumpkin; the squash made into a puree with some strands left in for texture that went nicely with the thin chewy dumpling wrapper. Conversely, the beef and onion version were too dense, the filling forming a meatball rather than loose like the blintzes.

Served with a slightly spicy salsa, the condiment added a pop of flavour and freshness that awoken the manti. Still, I couldn’t help smearing more sauce from the other dishes (like the garlicky humus that comes with the complimentary hot bread or the ricotta-like spread from the khachapuri lobiani) to give the manti even more flavour. My recommendation: don’t give back any of the house-made sauces as they are wonderful across the dishes.

The Georgian khachapuri lobiani ($24) wouldn’t be a dish I’d order again. While I enjoyed the buttery thin bread surrounding the “pie”, the mashed red kidney bean filling was too dry, too dense, and lacked flavour. The menu describes the beans as being mixed with onion, seasoning, and “special” cheese, but all I could taste was beans and maybe a hint of cumin. In the end, there wasn’t much flavour, and the only cheese was the small dollop of the ricotta-like spread that arrived with the gigantic pie.

I tried to salvage the dish by loading it with the salsa, garlic hummus and the mayo from the lula wrap. While it improved the flavours a bit, I still couldn’t get through a full slice of the khachapuri lobiani. Still, don’t let me stop you from trying this Georgian dish, just order it with a large table as one slice is more than enough.

Having had a lovely dinner at Old Avenue, I decided to go back for brunch. The Turkish breakfast ($40 for two people) sounded like an amazing spread but turned out to be a mishmash of cheeses (run of the mill cheddar, smoked gouda, Swiss, cottage, goat cheese, and feta), chopped vegetables, olives, and condiments. It’s not overly exciting and oddly served with a cheese pede when there’s already so much dairy.

The scrambled eggs and Turkish sausage, also meant to serve two people, consisted of literally two eggs and a handful of cut sausage medallions that was hardly enough for a duo. For my tastes, I’d rather Old Avenue should remove some of the cheeses and serve more of the hot items.

Still, the Turkish breakfast was a cost-effective option as it also included a large pot of Turkish tea served in gorgeous ornate cups.

Normally, a restaurant omelette is large and fluffy. The Old Avenue omelet ($15) was thin like a crepe and filled with tons of vegetables and herbs creating a light and refreshing dish. Still, I could have done without the tarte vinegar drizzled over the top and found it needed a richer element to give the eggs interest. Luckily, there was plenty of feta and goat cheese from the Turkish breakfast I could add to the omelette.

So maybe a Southern Caucasus breakfast is not my thing. Nevertheless, I love the atmosphere at Old Avenue Restaurant and Bakery: warm, inviting, and the real tapered candles gives the restaurant an almost romantic feeling if the dining room wasn’t so eccentric. 

After dining in so many minimalist dining rooms, the blast-from-the-past kitschy items adorning the walls is a welcomed change.

Overall mark - 7.5 out of 10

If mom and pop restaurants are your jam, Yunxi Handmade Noodles will have you swooning as it’s an intimate establishment. Technically, Yunxi would be considered a mom restaurant as the female owner acts as the Jill of all trades: hostess, chef, server, and cleaner. She’s a sweet lady describing what was freshly prepared for the day (in my case, the noodles) as she rotates between making noodles and preparing dumplings daily.

The broth of the braised beef noodles ($14.99) was salty and strong, as one should expect from a dish that’s essentially beef braised in soy sauce. I liked that Yunxi finishes the freshly made noodles in the soup to allow it to soak in flavours and develop a brownish tint. While there wasn’t a whole lot of beef, the handful of chunks were lean and tender.

Halfway through the meal, the owner returns with a small bowl of extra noodles, asking if we’d like a complementary top-up. Why of course, and into the bowl they go for round two.

My first choice in dumplings (leek, shrimp, and pork) was sold out so we opted for the chicken and mushroom instead ($10.99 for 12). With a choice of preparation - steamed, boiled, or pan fried – I generally order them steamed as I find this leaves the dumplings the most neutral so you can appreciate the filling’s flavours and the consistency of the wrapper.

Unlike the noodles, the dumplings were made previously (at least a couple of days prior) so the wrapper was too hard and chewy. Consequently, I’d recommend asking the owner when things were prepared and if it isn’t fresh, order the dumplings boiled to give the wrapper some extra hydration.

At least the filling was juicy – use a spoon to ensure the juices aren’t lost as they squirt out – and the dumplings were filled with a decent portion of the well seasoned, finely minced chicken and mushrooms.

Yunxi Handmade Noodles is a bit of a hole-in-the-wall: the décor is sparse and the communal steel spoons housed at each table seem unhygienic. Luckily, larger ladles were given after serving the braised noodles so we didn’t need to rely on the dubious spoons. Yet, what Yunxi lacks was more than made up by the friendly owner and the wonderful noodles, a definite highlight to our meal. 

I’m not a comic book reader, but I do wonder what captions are used to describe eating scenes… assuming comic books even depict meals. I’m sure there would be noises like SLURP mentioned, but would the artist try to portray the flavour elements with descriptions like POW or BAM?

What attracts me to Korean food is that POW of flavour that hits the taste buds and causes it to beg for more. A slurp of gamjatang or pork bone soup hits the tongue with saltiness giving away to spiciness and finishing off with a whole concoction of umami and garlic. That POW is what I was hoping for when I entered Mapo Gamjatang but was greeted with a KNOCK instead – as in, knock knock, where are you flavour?

I should have clued in when a dipping sauce was brought over with instructions that it was for the pork bones. Unfortunately, since it was given at the beginning of the meal with all the banchan, the dipping sauce was set aside and forgotten.

Why would we need a condiment for gamjatang? The soup is supposed to be powerful on its own. Yet, what I experienced was like a chunkier elevated version of the soup packages you get with ramen. Yes, there’s flavour, but it’s fairly one dimensional – there’s the initial burst but no layers afterwards.

Perhaps it’s because all the flavours were concentrated in the spices topping the pork bones – it provided a snap of tastiness when it hit the tongue but soon was relegated onto the plate or sunk to the bottom of the bowl. Good… if you get to the last drop.

Offering noodles in lieu of rice on their menu is a smart choice with three choices – ramen, Korean noodles, and hand pulled. We opted for the gamjatang kalguksu ($17.99) or the Korean noodles, which was the middle thickness between the other pastas. They were good, silky with a slight chew, but its density definitely needed a more flavourful broth to match.

I suspect the noodles were prepared and portioned into bowls ahead of time, then soup was added into the bowl when we ordered. The room temperature noodle quickly cooled down the broth so by the time the dish arrived, the soup was already lukewarm. The smart thing to do would be to undercook the noodles to allow chefs to re-boil it for a minute before serving. Better yet, invest in a larger stone bowl and serve the gamjatang kalguksu in a heated stone bowl so that it’s bubbling and piping hot like the rice version.  

Even the meat itself wasn’t the greatest. The neck bone was cut in a fashion that made it impossible to break apart to access the meat and gelatinous cartilage that’s wedged between the bones. Also, it just wasn’t tender enough. The only saving grace was the two pieces were fairly large and meaty.

So, the gamjatang didn’t create a POW, surely the bulgogi ($18.99) that’s described as being served on a sizzling plate surely will? Alas, no, it was also a KNOCK. Firstly, the beef was dispersed amongst so many vegetables – carrots, mushrooms, huge pieces of green onion, and bean sprouts – diluting the garlicky sweet soy flavours of the bulgogi. Secondly, the “sizzling” plate was more décor than function as the plate didn’t make a peep of noise. No sizzle, no aroma, no heat.

To be fair, the bulgogi was decent and the mushroom and vegetables does help break down the monotony of an otherwise meaty meal. Mapo Gamjatang should just set better expectations by properly describing it on their menu and drop the sizzling plate if it wasn’t going to be heated and actually sizzling at the table.

It’s a shame because I can see beginning of a great meal. I enjoyed Mapo Gamjantang’s bright clean décor and the friendly attentive service. Their food just needs more heat (both in terms of temperature and spice) and flavour to bring it from a KNOCK to a POW.

Getting into Sushi Masaki Saito is probably the most frustrating part of the experience. Opened five days a week, the restaurant does two seatings nightly – up to five diners starting at 6pm and up to seven people at 8:30pm. Despite the odd number availability, trying to book for a table of three is impossible, and I had to eventually give up.

So, how did I get my reservation? It took weeks of signing onto Tock on Tuesdays at exactly 11am and searching a table for three (fail) and then quickly switching to a table for two (ding ding ding) before finally securing a reservation after several attempts. Reservations open one month in advance and the Tuesday time frame was when the Friday seatings were released. Good luck and may your patience be with you.

Arriving in front of 88 Avenue Road, a flight of stairs led us to their doorway past a set of navy drapes. As soon as I pushed through the cloth, smiling faces greeted me, beckoning me to come up to the warmth of the dining room. Before we were seated, they led us into a sitting area where we could peruse their sake menu while the chefs finished setting up and we waited for the other guests to arrive.

At $680 per person, dining at Masaki Saito is a special occasion affair where you’re paying a premium for these elements:

• Their fish is flown in from Japan twice a week on a direct flight for maximum freshness. It’s interesting a direct flight is required given so much of their ingredients are aged before consumption. Presumably, having the fish aged in kelp or hung is very different than sitting packed in ice.

• Rice, being the cornerstone of sushi, is equally if not more important. Saito buys award winning rice from the Nikka prefecture from a supplier that exclusively sells to them in Canada. You can taste the difference: the rice is sticky but also fluffy so that you can feel each grain as you bite through it.  Mixed with a blend of five red vinegars, the rice takes on a brown hue that’s unlike other sushi I’ve sampled.

• Condiments are also made in-house, their ginger takes a week to develop and uses bamboo ginger so that it’s really crisp, fresh, and not overly pungent. Even the wasabi is enhanced by having the chef chop to the group wasabi root to make a really smooth paste.

• You’re paying for the décor, including the sushi counter made from 200-year old Hinoki wood imported from Japan. Sadly, their roof collapsed during COVID, so parts of the bar are damaged, but it still has a lovely, reclaimed wood look. Their wood cabinetry was also made by craftsmen in Japan to make you feel like you’re dining in Edo.

• Rest assured, despite being over a 2-hour dinner, you’ll be comfortable on the oversized plush bar stools. The design of the sushi bar is well thought out with an under-counter shelf to store purses and a raised marble ledge that acts as a footrest. You don’t even need to reach for the dishes as Chef Saito places them down, a server quickly whisks it from the bar and transfers it in front of you.

• Ultimately, you’re paying for Masaki Saito who is there the whole time, preparing and serving the courses. No step is below him from grinding the wasabi to mixing the vinegar into the sushi rice (a technique that’s taken him ten years to perfect).

Seven appetizers began the meal before the first nigiri made an appearance. Octopus was slowly simmered allowing the outer layer of the tentacle to become gelatinous, almost like pork belly, while the centre remained meaty and tender. Simmered in a roasted green tea, it’s already flavourful but with a dollop of spicy yuzu it morphed into a vibrant bite. With two pieces, I’d recommend having one solo and another with the spice.

The potential gumminess of the raw Botan ebi was minimized by marinating the sweet shrimp in a fermented rice sauce allowing the seafood to soak in flavours and mellow. At Masaki Saito, there’s certainly no shortage of uni, the first topped the shrimp and created a chewy creamy bite with a refreshing finish from the citrusy sisho flowers.

Even though Chef Saito removed the skin off the saba and the mackerel was seared and paired with grated daikon, I still found it tasted fishier than I’d like. Hello taste buds! Let me grab a sip of sake to chase that away.

Another fantastic uni combo followed paired with deep-fried tile fish and its scales. The meatiness of the fish, crunchiness of the scales, and silkiness of the sea urchin was an amazing combination and one of my favourite bites of the evening. We’re told to eat it in one bite… do yourself a favour and give it a minute to cool down as it’s incredibly hot and I would have scorched my tongue if it weren’t for the cold relief of the uni.

Chef Saito derives inspiration from various Japanese cuisine including shabu shabu, which inspired the luscious sesame sauce he coats slices of wild yellowtail into so that the delicate fish was swathed in a fragrant paste made from three types of sesame, soy, and chili oil.

Soaked in the rich sesame, the yellowtail has a tuna-like finish, and the starter feels like eating salad with the fish topped with fine slivers of ginger, green onion and sisho leaf. Be sure to smell the dish before eating. It’s so aromatic and consequently also why the restaurant recommends not wearing strong perfumes to dinner.

Cue the dreaded shirako, a blubbery fish sperm sack I’ve tried in Japan that’s haunted me. They jokingly describe it as a roasted marshmallow… good luck convincing a kid to put this into a smore! Roasted over glowing hot Japanese oak, the milt roe is simply topped with cool caviar.

The shirako is soft and creamy, akin to a silken tofu, and thankfully didn’t have the gross bitter fishiness I experienced in Japan. While this still isn’t my favourite piece, it was nonetheless a good bite and I loved that it brought out Chef Saito’s cheekiness as he described his thought process of pairing the sperm with eggs.

And the last appetizer was a bowl of pickled Japanese cabbage with orange zest, a nice palette cleanser between the shirako and sushi.

We’re advised that Chef Saito prefers to serve his sushi hand-to-hand so that the rice remains at the optimal body temperature and diners can put it directly into their mouth with the fish side down. Consequently, this is why I’m missing some sushi photos and the ones that are shown aren’t the greatest quality … I indulged hand-to-hand prior to sneaking a photo of my neighbour’s bite.

A golden eye snapper that’s aged for a scant four days (compared to some of the other seafood that follows) begins the sushi procession. Having been aged in kelp, the seaweed gives the fish another level of umami creating a lovely taste that lingered on the tongue.

After the first piece, we’re advised that Chef Saito can customize the bites to our tastes, whether we want more or less rice or wasabi. Indeed, this level of precision is certainly a factor that likely helped Sushi Masaki Saito earn a second star.

Another dish that was a miss for me was the ark shell clam. Perhaps it was because I was already traumatized after a staff member told me it was alive as the chef scored it - realizing a living creature was suffering was certainly something I didn’t need to hear. It also doesn’t look the greatest spread out on the cutting board… it looks awfully like it could be part of a women’s anatomy. Ultimately, it just didn’t taste good: the clam needed a stronger glaze or condiment to cover the gaminess of the seafood. In the end, if the clam was dropped from the menu, it wouldn’t be missed.

Chef Saito then takes the skirt of the ark shell clam and creates a maki wrapping it with spices and sisho leaf. Having been marinated and well rinsed, the gaminess of the clam was subdued. Still, the crunchy texture of the mollusk is still an acquired taste.

Luckily, it was followed by a stronger hay-seared Spanish mackerel, which had a lovely meaty smokiness. Unlike the prior mackerel, this was not fishy, despite only being garnished with a rich soy sauce.

As soon the blubbery bits of fish liver were presented, I knew we were in for a treat. Chef Saito sandwiched the liver between a slice a file fish and rice to create an incredible texture combination: as you bite through the fish’s soft flesh, you’re greeted with the silky liver filling.

We’re told not many chefs create this sushi as it takes skill to ensure it all holds together. I love how they are using different parts of the fish, perhaps topping this with a couple of crunchy fish scales would make for an even more fulsome presentation.

Next, a seven-day dry aged toro was served and the blue fin tuna was of course an explosion of flavour. At Saito, theirs was less greasy and the flavour lingered longer on the tongue.

If you like stir-fried ginger and onion lobster, the following needle fish has a flavour reminiscent of the dish thanks to the finely chopped scallion paste topping the fish and the ginger paste inside. It’s a bit surprising these stronger flavours were used on the needle fish, which seems like a more neutral fish. While delicious, this should have been paired with the ark shell clam to mask its gaminess better.

The meaty piece of lightly grilled sea perch would be great on its own. But then, it’s hardly luxurious. Chef Saito amped up the luxe factor by serving the fish on top of whipped uni sushi rice - the combination of sea urchin, spices, and rice created a decadent over-the-top risotto. Dried four-year old fish eggs topped the perch creating a plethora of flavours and textures that made me wish I could sample each separately. It should be eaten all together, the chef says, so I listened and devoured it in two incredible bites.

A pale fish that looked like needle fish followed, except it was actually slow poached sea eel. Chef Saito slathered a thick molasses-like sauce on top and added hint of spice with Sandro pepper. The unagi was unlike others I’ve had; it melted into the rice and tongue flooding my mouth with a sweet umami essence.

On the left of the sushi bar, you’ll notice a trio of brand name chests on display. Chef Saito pulled out the LV one and joked it’s his tuna chest (the others house caviar and truffle as well as a rare whisky). Within the tuna chest, we were treated to a toro and pickled daikon paste. Nori was toasted piece-by-piece and presented to Chef Saito who quickly added rice, spices, and the tuna paste before handed it to me, so the seaweed was still hot and crispy. Yum!

As the tomago arrived, I got ready for the meal to end. And while we had sampled so much, like all great meals, I was still yearning for more. Saito’s egg cake was mixed with Japanese mountain potato and sweet shrimp so while there was a sweetness to the tomago, it also had a rich savouriness.

After the sushi, Chef Saito thanked us and left to clean up before the second seating. There’s a bit of confusion as we thought it was time to settle the bill. No, not quite yet. A bowl of miso soup arrives, made with different types of miso and a broth developed with several fish.

Of course, Saito doesn’t simply boil the broth the day of, it was cooked over seven days to concentrate the flavours. In the end, the miso soup was rich but not overly salty and while I did need to stir the miso into the broth, it also didn’t separate much either. As a finish, pieces of finely chopped seaweed and scallions were added to make the soup more substantial.

Surprisingly, dessert was not a slice of musk melon - this is reserved for birthdays and anniversaries - but rather an actual sweet treat. The matcha blancmange consisted of a silky coconut milk base, topped with smooth thickened matcha and a single red bean that’s oh so creamy. A heavenly way to end the meal.

The meal was exquisite and being in such close proximity to Chef Saito we were able to converse with him. He’s certainly happy with the Michelin recognition but is quick to point out the earning the accolade was a group effort. Still, he will not rest of his laurels and knows he will continue to develop and improve his craft. The life of a true chef.

Note to diners: Tipping isn’t the easiest affair as the pay terminal doesn’t have a % calculation option and you need to add back the prepaid portion when doing your own calculation. Hopefully, Sushi Masaki Saito will eventually just charge the entire meal experience up front on Tock with taxes and gratuities (a practice many other restaurants follow). That way, guests only need to settle the drinks on the day of, making it an easier calculation for all.