As a year’s worth of Kyōten omakases comes to an end, reaching those coldest months that promise seafood’s peak, I have little left to say.
No more talk of awards or changes in staff. No snickering at hapless customers trying to locate the entrance. No shared pours of rare wine. No talk of the performance (subtly tailored to each crowd yet consistent if only due to the fact that it’s sincere) Otto Phan puts on each night. No musing about what a meal of this price and quality and singular vision (one that is almost subversive in a global context) means to Chicago.
At this point, the stakes are pretty clear: $440 to $490 (inclusive of service) for some 18 or 19 bites of food centered predominantly on wild-caught fish (often subject to extended aging) in combination with larger-grained Inochi no Ichi rice and a clear imprint of aged red vinegar. Here, both size and seasoning are pushed to an extreme (one befitting a city where steakhouses remain the ultimate thrill) without any corresponding lapse in finesse.
Yes, the chef approaches his work with the utmost seriousness: pursuing the kind of incremental improvements, month by month and year by year, that affirm his lifelong commitment to craft. In turn, there’s nothing stoic about how he mans the counter and nothing staid about how he designs his menu. Force of personality and a certain shared nostalgia (rooted in contemporary American foodways or even culture more broadly) permeate the experience.
To be clear, Phan isn’t afraid to be reverent—in fact, it’s hard to think of another chef in the scene who (thanks to the flexibility granted by his chosen genre) has dined as frequently and intently at the world’s greatest restaurants. But he’s also not afraid to buck against convention or tradition when they lead consumers astray. Indeed, there’s a rawness to Kyōten that survives even as the concept’s refinement (as well as its price) has grown exponentially. Some might find this attitude abrasive, yet it forms the core of an overall approach (educational and irreverent in almost equal measure) that feels perfectly attuned to a city that also rejects pretension.
So, when the chef declared in October that 2025’s “cold season” is “one for the record books” (yielding “remarkable” fish that have not been equaled “since 2020”), I took notice. After all, Phan has no incentive to heighten expectations. The sum he charges only changes with the day of the week (not the point in the year) one visits. The beauty of Kyōten (and again I must invoke the foreboding state of its front door) is that it tries so little to disarm the suspicions of first-time guests until they are confronted—suddenly—by the superlative food.
However, for the repeat customer, the prospect of seeing Phan’s technical prowess and distinct house style applied to ingredients of rare quality is exciting (to say the least). By my measure, the meal served last month ranks among the best I have ever had at the restaurant. Its quality was especially observable when tasting the “lesser” fish that fall outside the menu’s usual highlights, forming a noteworthy consistency and cohesiveness from piece to piece.
That said, one impressive encounter does not a trend make. I am eager to see how reliably this season’s catch reaches the standard praised by the chef (he could have received one exceptional shipment for all I know). More importantly (given the trust I have for his judgment), I am dying to know if even higher peaks of pleasure are possible with this kind of seafood in hand.
In short, I hope this “crumb” gets right to the point in asking (and answering): does the present moment represent the greatest run of form in Kyōten’s seven-year history?
Let us begin.
The meal starts, as has been the case for the past handful of months, with a preparation of “Aka Ebi.” These red prawns, sourced from Hawaii, have made their way around many of Chicago’s top tasting menus during that time. So, for me, the novelty value here is low, and the weight of expectations (having seen other chefs try their hand at this ingredient) is correspondingly higher.
Phan always opts for the simplest of executions: three curling tails dressed with lemon juice and dashi in what he titles a “ceviche.” On the palate, each prawn lands with a beautiful plumpness (almost a crunch) that yields to a softer, creamier sensation with further chewing. The accompanying flavor is skewed, tonight, toward the freshness and tang of the citrus rather than the backing umami of the seaweed stock. I prefer the latter notes (as well as a softer acidity that emphasizes the seafood’s latent sweetness). However, this dish—with its purity and punchiness—still makes for a nice start.
The ”Kegani” (or horsehair crab) made for a rare and rather unfortunate miss back in September. I say that because this crustacean, sourced from Hokkaido, is usually such a guarantor of pleasure.
Last month’s example was formed into a piece of nigiri and brushed with soy sauce, yet it led with an abrasive irony quality rather than the expected delicacy. The present version, in turn, is served in a bowl with a dressing of butter, vinegar, and chives. It delivers soft, melty threads of the titular crab that are charged with briny (not dirty or funky) depth but finish on a note of lip-smacking, allium-tinged sweetness. In short, this is a spectacular expression of the chosen ingredient that leaves one longing for another bite. It is only blemished by a couple small pieces of shell in my dining companion’s serving, but (and this may be due to the size of the mouthfuls I take) I encountered no such problems with my portion.
Arriving next, the “Akamutsu Tempura” represents the latest in a long line of fried morsels served at Kyōten (often favoring beltfish) as well as a new guise for the blackthroat seaperch (what Phan invariably describes as the most luxurious fish he serves) that usually appears toward the tail end of the menu. This kind of synergy—beloved form and coveted ingredient—seems like a sure thing, and, in fact, I am happy to report that it yields fireworks.
The distinguishing factor really seems to be the tempura technique itself, which I can only guess has been influenced by the supreme fattiness of the akamutsu. Indeed, the chef usually serves pieces that are brittly crisp but rather pale in color. The present example, by contrast, achieves the kind of golden-brown tone that sends Westerners’ tongues a-wagging. Add an accompanying squeeze of lemon, and the result delivers a crunchy, flaky crust with a succulent, tender interior and just enough acid to draw out some transfixing sweet-savory depth. Overall, I think this represents the very peak of Phan’s work with tempura (and maybe even with this fish) to date!
Closing out this sequence of appetizers, the chef opts for a particularly luxurious preparation of the “Mother Cow” he first served back in May. This term, as a reminder, refers to older, refattened wagyu that have given birth multiple times (and whose meat has typically been thought to be of low value). However, in the right hands, these animals offer flavorful, vaca vieja-style beef that stills retains considerable fat content. Tonight, guests are served a few generous slices of the steak that have been lightly seared and topped with some grated white truffle.
The resulting bowl is sure to bring a smile to the face of any first-time customer who might be wary of spending so much money on mere raw fish. And, on the palate, I enjoy the interplay of the meat’s subtle chew and bursting streaks of marbling. The accompanying flavor is mildly savory and veers toward a sweet, garlicky finish. Nonetheless, I think this dish needs to be served a bit warmer (or, better yet, atop a mound of rice) in order to better activated the aromatics of the truffle. That said, the recipe has plenty of pleasure to give, and I love seeing it appear on the menu.
Tonight’s progression of nigiri starts, as it often does, with “Chū-Toro”—a medium-fatty cut of tuna belly sourced from a wild-caught Atlantic specimen. Some horizontal scoring helps to frame the fish’s flesh, which is distinguished by a fine web of interlacing fat alongside a couple thicker, whiter veins.
The resulting bite leads with a burst of fresh wasabi, yet the resulting pungency is quickly absorbed by a torrent of melting marbling. The cut retains a trace of structure, which helps to frame the otherwise fleeting mouthfeel. That said, the piece still disappears far too soon: leaving behind an imprint of sweetness and mouthcoating umami that one wishes would last forever. In short, this is a quintessential example of chū-toro that immediately justifies Kyōten’s ticket price.
The “Ōtoro” (an even fattier cut of belly from the same fish) that follows seems to promise even greater decadence. But Phan always invites his guests to challenge the traditional hierarchy of tuna cuts, juxtaposing these headlining pieces at an early stage in which their differences can more clearly be sensed.
Visually, the ōtoro displays more intricate, crosshatched scoring and even thicker streaks of fat. Texturally, this makes for a bite that melts in the mouth with greater cohesiveness (given that it lacks some of that fleshy structure). Despite a similar application of fresh wasabi, it also serves to further dampen any corresponding sharpness. The result, when it comes to flavor, preserves some of the same sweetness from the previous example while better highlighting the aged vinegar (charged with savory depth) found in the rice. Overall, this makes for a more elegant piece, but, on this occasion, I prefer the chū-toro for its raw power. Other diners may feel differently (it’s a close decision), and that’s part of the fun with these offerings.
Closing out the menu’s progression of tuna, the “Akami Zuké”—referring to the fish’s leaner (and in this case marinated) flesh—carries none of the same glamour as its fattier brethren. Nonetheless, Phan tries his best to make the bite competitive and often succeeds.
With this example, I note the vertical scoring that extends down either side of a central, horizontal cut. This yields distinct, glistening (though largely free of marbling) cubes of tuna that strike with subtle firmness and then a full, giving consistency with further mastication. Contextually, the mouthfeel here is immensely satisfying as a counterpoint to all the preceding, oozing fat. However, for my taste, the akami needs a stronger kick of wasabi, vinegar, and/or soy sauce to really sing. It feels ironic to say so (given the marination), but the muted backing flavor detracts from the fish’s substantial textural appeal.
“Buri” (referring to wild mature yellowtail) takes its conventional place on the back of all the tuna. It’s always a tough act to follow, but Phan touts the present example as being something like a chū-toro cut from the fish. Speaking to the quality of the current season, the chef also notes that it usually takes another month before the catch comes in at this level of fattiness.
Marked by checkerboard scoring and fine, webbed marbling, the yellowtail certainly looks the part. On the palate, it proves plump and melty with a weighty, perceivably oily sensation through the finish. When it comes to flavor, I find well-judged applications of wasabi and soy sauce that imbue the bite with briny, savory depth. Overall, I must admit that this buri is the full package: a wholly satisfying, particularly decadent expression of the fish that ranks just behind the fattier tunas tonight.
Arriving next, the “Tsumu-Buri” (a distinct species also called rainbow runner, rainbow yellowtail, Spanish jack, or Hawaiian salmon) first appeared in September as a substitute for the “Buri” proper. On this occasion, the fish actually gets to strut its stuff opposite its more luxurious counterpart.
Seasoned with lemon zest, the piece is distinguished by uneven (both horizontal and vertical) scoring and traces of silvery skin. Relatively to the preceding yellowtail, the rainbow runner is certainly firmer yet still buttery. Even better, it draws on this relative staying power to impart a flavor that is bright, cleansing, and fleetingly sweet (while being tinged with just enough soy sauce to ensure some savory backing). Ultimately, the tsumu-buri is not a star, but it is quietly enjoyable—uniquely so—and it speaks to how some of the omakase’s “lesser” fish have (on account of sourcing or technique) hit their stride.
“Uni,” certainly, does not rank among those lesser items. In fact, sea urchin may very well form the omakase’s absolute highlight (at least for a particular kind of guest). Rather than eye-catching wooden boxes, Phan favors the ensui (or preservative-free) variety of this ingredient. It can, on occasion, come “dry-packed” (what they chef views as his ideal). However, the present example comes soaked in saltwater solution and, thus, is strained before being spooned atop a clump of rice wrapped in nori.
On entry, the uni feels somewhat cold, yet it proves creamy and oozing upon making contact with the tongue. The pristine crispness of the seaweed wrapper and welcoming embrace of the rice work to extend and enhance the textural appeal. But it all hinges on the sea urchin’s actual flavor: one, tonight, that combines a clean, saline base note with those kisses of iron and sweetness that keep lovers of this form coming back for more. In short, this is beautiful rendition of the ingredient that is hard to fault.
Having just enjoyed the sea urchin in its traditional guise, I am thrilled to see Phan preparing more of the orange lobes. For this second act, the chef combines them with a heaping portion of salmon roe, serving the two over a mound of rice then garnishing the bowl with shreds of nori.
Guests are advised to enjoy bites of the “Uni and Ikura” one after another, yielding mouthfuls that alternatingly ooze then gently pop. The absorptive quality of the rice (and, again, some brittleness from the seaweed) help to anchor a sense of satisfaction. However, I am struck most by the elegantly briny quality of the salmon roe—one that works to further emphasize the sweetness of the sea urchin even as it shifts the recipe’s overall balance toward savory, oceanic complexity. Given that uni almost never appears twice on the same menu, this felt like quite a bonus.
Turning back toward nigiri, I am met by the “Sawara” (or Spanish mackerel). The fish’s whitish flesh seems to promise a milder (dare I say forgettable) flavor experience on the back of so many memorable bites. Nonetheless, the resulting piece (distinguished by crosshatched scoring and a visible application of soy sauce) blends admirable fattiness with just enough savory depth on the finish. On any other night, I could see myself thinking this item is bland. Yet, rather than slipping through the cracks, the sawara lands with a softness and surprising persistence that fits perfectly into the meal’s flow.
“Kohada” (or gizzard shad) returned to the menu in October, where it reaffirmed its status as one of Kyōten’s signatures—and, indeed, an ingredient on which any sushi chef’s skill should be measured. Here, Phan goes through his typical process of deboning, pickling, and smoking the fish. The resulting piece comes out looking more like a slab than usual: displaying long, horizontal scoring (along with a flap of exposed fat) rather than the crisscross pattern I am accustomed to. But its marriage of firmness (on entry) and an oily finish, in combination with such a high concentration of briny, tangy flavor, makes for one of the most characterful bites of the night. Overall, the kohada is almost an inversion of the preceding sawara, and the resulting juxtaposition (mild versus unapologetically pronounced) is quite enjoyable.
Every menu is destined to have a weak point, and tonight’s is the “Sanma”—a fish known as pike mackerel that, since first appearing in September, has shown uneven quality. Much of that has to do with the reintroduction of the kohada, which touches on the same oiliness and density while delivering greater overall personality. Yes, though the sanma (scored into cubes with some traces of dark skin) is certainly agreeable, I do not find its accompanying richness to be effectively countered. The bite is vaguely savory but unconvincing, meaning it gets lost in the shuffle among so many other, more satisfying pieces.
“Akamutsu” (blackthroat seaperch) reappears as a piece of nigiri after blowing me away in its earlier tempura form. The comparison (torched, brushed with soy sauce, set atop rice versus battered, fried, and tinged with lemon juice) seems like an unfair one. However, I actually find it instructive to taste how this coveted fish bends to the varying techniques. Here, rather than embracing a crispy/melty dichotomy, the akamutsu displays a warm, gooey, mouthcoating quality that feels totally cohesive. A tinge of sweetness rounds out the effect: one that strikes me as uniquely meditative and decadent at this late stage in the evening.
Closing out the savory section of the meal, one finds “Unagi”—the wild freshwater eel Phan describes as “the most special” thing he serves. Though gutting, grilling, and deboning the fish proves quite laborious, the chef is never too proud to embrace nostalgia. He serves the resulting fillets over rice with a drizzle of housemade eel sauce, yielding bites that are brittle, crunchy, sticky, and pleasantly fluffy when they meet one’s palate. There, the resulting flavor is resoundingly sweet but charged with enough salt and umami to avoid that stereotypical, sickly effect. Instead, I am only left licking my lips as each successive mouthful builds and builds in intensity. At its best, this dish forms one of the restaurant’s finest, and I can confirm that to be the case tonight.
Kyōten’s corn- and maple-infused “Tamago” announces the arrival of dessert, and the eggy custard (Phan’s twist on the traditional rolled omelet) is executed to perfection. The bite is cool to the touch, yet it melts beautifully on the tongue. The resulting flavor balances fresher, juicy sweetness with moderately caramelized tones, entwining the two in a rich, luscious package that leaves the audience begging for another piece (which the chef always indulges).
A ”White Cheddar Ice Cream,” which made its debut back in October, ends the evening on an even higher note of decadence. Topped with a drizzle of maple syrup, the frozen dessert possesses a beautifully homogenous texture (that is, free of any errant ice crystals) that speaks to Phan’s fluency with the form. The corresponding marriage of sharp, nutty, and salty tones with such a pure, caramelized expression of sugar is also skillfully arranged. Cheese and syrup harmonize in a manner that makes one wonder, “why didn’t I think of that?” Neither is obscured, but they add up to something greater: a concentration of pleasure that is every bit the match of the menu’s headlining savory fare.
In ranking the evening’s dishes:
The ”Kegani,” “Akamutsu Tempura,” “Chū-Toro,” “Ōtoro,” “Buri,” “Uni,” “Uni and Ikura,” “Unagi,” “Tamago,” and “White Cheddar Ice Cream” land in the highest category: superlative items that stand among the best things I will be served in any restaurant this year.
Next come the “Aka Ebi,” “Mother Cow,” “Akami Zuké,” “Tsumu-Buri,” “Sawara,” “Kohada,” and “Akamutsu”— very good—even great—preparations I would always be happy to sample again (but that just failed to elicit an extra degree of emotion).
Finally, there’s the “Sanma”—a merely good item that fell a bit short when it came to flavor. That said, the pike mackerel did not falter in more than one dimension, so there was still pleasure to be had (and, indeed, the bite could easily be improved).
Overall, this makes for an unimpeachable hit-rate of 94%, and, while none of the servings tonight reached that “legendary” level, some 56% of them were of a superlative, “best-of-the-year” standard.
Of these dishes, I expect the tuna, yellowtail, sea urchin, salmon roe, eel, and tamago to reliably perform. So, rather than being indicative of the present season’s exceptional bounty, might their quality simply reflect the chef’s conscientious preparation of the ingredients tonight? Put another way: maybe the minimization of technical flaws did more to shape this meal than any real difference in sourcing.
Certainly, the “Akamutsu Tempura” stands as a testament to Phan’s increasing mastery of the fried form. But, in turn, could the preparation have achieved such a bewitching golden-brown tone if the fat content of its fish did not allow for it? And what about the “Kegani,” a pure product of the season brought to its very quintessence in the chef’s hands?
When it comes to the “Aka Ebi,” “Mother Cow,” and “Akami Zuké,” I know these recipes are capable of more. Yet what strikes me the most after a year’s worth of omakases is how frequently bites like the tsumu-buri, sawara, kohada, and akamutsu (as well as all those other less conventionally glamorous fish) fail to make much of an impression. This feels sacrilegious for someone so devoted to the genre to say, but, even at this price point, they feel a lot like filler.
The best testament I can give to the present season is that these “lesser” pieces, due to brimming fat content at the corresponding intensity of flavor they enable, are finally ranking toward the top of the selection. I’m not sure they’ll ever match the pleasure of those primest cuts. Nonetheless, tonight, they stand right alongside the leaner tuna and wagyu, and they raise the average quality of Kyōten’s omakase (accounting for all the legitimate growth Phan has shown throughout 2025) to a level it has never attained before.
I will always dream of those “legendary” peaks of enjoyment that I know the omakase here can reach. Still, I can only admire how the restaurant has matured: swinging less from extreme to extreme and centering more on a steady, singular interpretation of wild seafood in the chef’s hands.
Years on, the menu here continues to educate me in the craft of sushi. Today, it has never been better equipped to bring diners—old and new—into that fold.