With the arrival of the year’s hottest month, omakase—and its corresponding parade of cool or gently warmed bites—starts to sound particularly enticing. However, typically, summer is not the most prized of seasons (given that many of the genre’s most coveted fish now lack the quantity of fat they put on during the winter). Should one really take the leap on one of Chicago’s most expensive and mysterious dining experiences at a time when Mother Nature has stacked the deck against its chef?
As mentioned when describing my meal from June, this time of year offers chef Otto Phan the chance to get a little more creative: embracing produce from local farms, casting a wider net when sourcing certain seafood, and changing up the techniques with which he prepares his signature items. Indeed, this extra degree of challenge inspires Kyōten to engage in some of its most meaningful creative work (rather than simply offering a pale facsimile of what the restaurant serves during more favorable times).
Factor in the natural ebb and flow that Phan’s wild-caught fish—each a unique specimen—undergo from visit to visit, and one finds plenty to like about this peak of summer. Yes, experience has taught me that the chef, against all odds, is more than capable of putting out his best pieces of the year at this very moment.
In doing so, he affirms what makes Kyōten, even if it’s not geographically privileged, so distinct: a confident hand (informed but not bound by tradition) that molds fish with a clear sense of its target audience and the depth of umami they desire. Omakase, as served here, never leaves one searching to understand what all the fuss is about. Instead, bites are striking, immediately convincing, and frequently haunting in just how far they push extremes of texture and flavor.
Connoisseurs from other cities, touting their own timeworn tastes, may not appreciate Phan’s chosen style. But I’ve met plenty who do—and what matters more is that the chef has built and grown a baseline of quality that is entirely Chicago’s own.
It is from this perspective (i.e., sushi that evokes the palate of a particular place no matter how closely the craft is associated with Japan) that any meal at Kyōten, at any time, takes on real import. As it happens, this was a particularly delicious meal too.
Let us begin.
The guests I share the counter with tonight—well-dressed men and women in their 30s and 40s—seem to have no trouble finding the place (hidden, as always, behind a papered-up, lightly graffitied storefront that screams anything but luxury). I don’t know if they’ve ever been here before, but they acclimate immediately to the mood that Phan and Jose Tejada try to set: easygoing, conversational, with flashes of excitement and good humor throughout.
As usual, the majority of diners opt for the “Beverage Tasting” (a friendly $120 pairing that spans sake and wine). There’s a bit of conversation regarding which of the bottles of sake listed will appear as part of this selection. Phan clarifies and generously offers to pour anything else the diner might like to try by the glass.
With so many choosing the pairing, the chef also throws in a bit of a bonus tonight. He pours two Burgundies from Domaine Kuheiji (a 2021 Chassagne-Montrachet and a 2021 Pommard) for the entire counter. This project, from a sake producer that has turned its attention to wine, symbolizes Phan’s own tastes (which, again, are grounded in tradition but have grown to prize and incorporate certain Western influences). In truth, pairing fine Burgundies with omakase is not at all rare in Japan. However, with this gesture, the chef generously invites the audience to share in one of his passions, explore something new (I’ve certainly never seen this producer before), and experience just how boldly wine (particularly the combination of Pinot Noir and tuna) can match Kyōten’s food.
As I have said before, Phan’s cellar (many of its contents stored in cabinets directly behind the diners) remains one of the restaurant’s secret weapons. It not only trounces (in terms of pricing and selection) what is offered at other omakases around town but also (if not in scale then in thoughtfulness) rivals wine-focused restaurants across all genres. At the same time, few patrons feel the need to dig deeply into the offerings when the “Beverage Tasting” offers such a cheap, turnkey solution (at a place already charging $400+ per head).
By opening these wines (which have been Coravined and thus cannot be sold as full bottles), the chef shares the spirit of discovery that informs his work and, moreso, his appreciation of others’. In taking a glass for himself and toasting with the guests, Phan marks the evening with a sense of familiarity and intimacy that distinguishes his counter—one that maybe seems foreboding on the surface—from all others.
(The Omakase Room, I recall, invites diners to share in a toast of their branded sake. Yet it’s hard to compare this kind of staged moment—an “are we having fun yet?” of such unctuous corporate sheen—to the thrill of a lone craftsman offering up a singular treasure from his collection. The former is just a performance, however enjoyable, while the latter is appropriately raw: an authentic expression of a chef-patron’s hospitality that will never occur in this same form again.)
Whenever they occur, these are special moments—and the wines themselves weren’t half bad either!
To kick things off, Phan opts for a serving of “Aka Ebi” (or red shrimp) sourced from Hawaii and dressed with a combination of lemon juice and dashi. A couple cherry tomatoes (a successor to the Sungolds that starred in their own course back in June) complete the preparation.
On the palate, the raw shrimp feels soft and succulent, striking with a latent sweetness that is unlocked by the citrus. The dashi, importantly, helps to ground the dish by matching the sharp acid with some clean, savory backing. This persistent umami, which lasts nicely through the finish, allows the tomatoes to strike with a renewed ripeness and tang. In this manner, harmonizing layers of bright, sweet, and savory flavor build toward real satisfaction (almost uncommonly so considering how light and textural Kyōten’s openers can be).
I do have to note that, as much as I liked this item, my dining companion found a hair in their bowl. It did not stop them enjoying the food (all that lemon juice surely helped to sanitize it), and errors of this kind can be accepted so long as they are not repeated. (In fact, I can count at least one Chicago restaurant with multiple Michelin stars that served me a dish with a hair in it this month.) That being said, disclosing and contextualizing these lapses feels important given that I have chosen to write about this particular restaurant so much. All chefs and all kitchens need an occasional reminder to look at little more closely at their work.
With the arrival of the “Octopus,” my mouth waters. This signature Kyōten creation, dating back to the concept’s earliest days, is one of the omakase’s sure things. Phan has not done much to alter his core method (which involves massaging and boiling the cephalopod until tender). However, with the chef’s turn toward incorporating fried bites over the past couple years, he has further distinguished the octopus courtesy of a karaage-style fried coating. An avocado ponzu dressing, as always, forms the finishing touch in what Phan titles his “ugly delicious” course of the night.
When the reach one’s tongue, the chunks of octopus display a fleetingly crisp exterior (slick with creamy avocado) that yields to a soft, rich interior. Few other places, to this day, can imbue the ingredient with such a satisfying mouthfeel. And the accompanying ponzu dressing—bright but moreso savory (without imparting much perceptible salt)—does a brilliant job of teasing out the dish’s sweeter, buttery undertones. In short, this is a faithful rendition of a classic recipe that continues to deeply, memorably please.
Phan describes the “Tachiuo” (or beltfish) that comes next as his favorite (of all fish) for use in tempura. The chef lightly batters and fries the fillet in front of his guests, slicing it apart with a satisfying crunch then placing two generous pieces (boasting milky white flesh and a strip of silvery skin) in each bowl. A dab of grated daikon soaked in ponzu forms the finishing touch.
On the palate, the beltfish displays a clean, brittle exterior that leads to a pocket of warm, tender flesh. Though the resulting flavor here is fairly mild, the accompanying daikon—marked by invigorating tang—penetrates the full thickness of each bite and brings forth some sweetness on the finish. In turn, the accompanying Kuheiji Chassagne-Montrachet, served with this course, accentuates the fish’s rich and buttery qualities (while retaining enough acidity to avoid feeling flabby). Overall, thanks to its relative simplicity but technical finesse, this dish is a winner. It ranks, for me, as the best example of tempura Phan has served to date.
The next item to arrive is entirely new to me: a cut of “Noten” (referring to meat sourced from the top of the tuna’s head). Phan clarifies that this section of the fish is totally distinct from the prized cheeks. He describes the location as being more toward the “roof of the mouth” and notes that the meat looks something like whale. Given that the cut is “very irony,” the chef smokes and sears the tuna to yield something akin to “steak.” He dresses the five generous pieces with a ginger and green onion ponzu.
True to Phan’s description, the noten displays a unique firmness when it meets one’s teeth that, with further mastication, turns toward a softer, meltier mouthfeel. When it comes to flavor, the flesh is unquestionably robust: marked by iron, yes, but matched by beefy depth and a boatload of tang (sharply imprinted with the ginger and allium). The resulting expression of umami is totally mouthcoating and almost aching in its intensity, yet, for my palate, it does not prove overwhelming. The Kuheiji Pommard (paired here) is more darkly fruited and structured than anticipated (according to the chef). I’ll admit that the drying sensation competes a bit with the tuna rather than subtly amplifying its character. That being said, it still demonstrates why these bold combinations of red wine and fish can be so memorable. I savor the pour and particularly prize getting to try this rare, unabashedly carnal cut.
Fresh off the back of a cut that showed such startling intensity, Phan begins his nigiri sequence with a piece of incomparable elegance. The chef’s “Ōtoro” (the fattiest and most prized cut of tuna belly) almost always kickstarts this segment of the meal—a strategy, the chef admits, that amounts to playing his strongest card first. This particular piece, scored a few times horizontally, displays a slightly paler color and a much more intricate web of marbling than what I encountered in June.
True to its appearance, this piece of ōtoro is absolutely ephemeral on the palate: striking like some kind of fatty tuna butter that displays not even a trace of the structure that distinguishes (not at all unpleasantly) the majority of other examples. When it melts, the bite leaves behind a fairly pristine expression of the fish: long and savory, yes, but speaking in a cool, confident tone rather than screaming through extremes of vinegar, soy sauce, and wasabi. Personally, I adore those high-toned iterations. However, this is an ōtoro of superlative mouthfeel and class that (even if it lacks a touch of concentration) comes closest to that “once-in-a-lifetime” level rendition I encountered back in February. Some diners might very well prefer this expression!
Arriving next, Phan’s “Akami Zuké” looks to distinguish this leaner cut of tuna (typically served after the ōtoro and more than capable of matching its pleasure) by way of a brief marination. This yields a piece—scored lengthwise down the middle—that displays deep, dark-red flesh and an almost palpable intensity.
On the palate, the akami zuké distinguishes itself from a cut like the noten courtesy of its smooth, homogenous mouthfeel. There’s nothing here approaching the same kind of “chew,” yet, in turn, the lean tuna retains just a trace of resistance that actually helps one appreciate its presence on the tongue. As the bite disappears, a concentrated flavor takes hold: tangy, smacking of soy, and complicated by a hint of iron. Still, there’s no smoking or searing going on here: just a powerful expression of tuna, enhanced but not obscured, with a 30-second finish. This is a real highlight.
The ”Wild Alaskan King Salmon” that follows is described by the chef as being “very seasonal.” I actually cannot remember him ever serving this particular example of the fish, which may lack something of the cachet of the “Keiji” (a chum salmon sourced from Hokkaido) served last meal but represents a notable embrace (along with the occasional Boston tuna or Alabama shrimp) of American seafood.
Visually, this piece of salmon is distinguished by central, widthwise scoring and some remaining traces of its skin. Upon reaching the tongue, the fish’s flesh feels cool to the touch and displays a kind of “cold butter” style of melting. This is to say, the cut is plenty rich, and it’s backed by a touch of soy sauce and some noticeable wasabi (the first instance tonight) on the finish. That being said, while I like the bite, I wonder if the serving temperature was not just a bit too cold, dampening my impression of the texture and flavor on hand.
The ”Kanpachi” (or greater amberjack) that comes next is something I haven’t seen at Kyōten in quite a while (given that, within this category, Phan is so partial to the mature wild yellowtail known as buri). It’s a fish, in all honesty, I associate with more conventional omakases, yet the chef, working with a rarer wild specimen, shows the ingredient’s full potential.
Boasting a trace of its silver skin and some ruffled, lengthwise scoring, the kanpachi possesses a blushing, off-white tone that tends toward pink and even red in certain sections. On the palate, the bite displays a fleeting firmness that turns buttery with further chewing. Its resulting flavor is mild, but a good note of wasabi comes through on the finish to help draw out the fish’s latent sweetness. Overall, there’s nothing loud about this piece; however, it strikes with a degree of clarity and precision that remains impressive.
“Kinmedai” (or golden-eye snapper) has featured during most of my meals here this year. The fish, at its fattiest, has been torched. Otherwise, it is served raw with the addition of lemon zest. Usually, the bite lands firmly in the middle of the pack, and, when I see that it will be served in the latter style (with citrus), I prepare myself for something that will taste just fine.
Tonight, for whatever reason, the kinmedai reaches that next level. Visually, the fish is subject to more intricate scoring than I have seen in the past, with these many ridges housing streaks of soy sauce. On the palate, the piece displays traces of structure but breaks apart cleanly and displays a rich, oily quality as it leaves the tongue. The application of lemon zest, as usual, adds an element of brightness here. Nonetheless, on this occasion, the golden-eye snapper’s finish is noticeably sweet. On this occasion, I really savor it.
In the past, Phan has frequently positioned “Katsuo” (or skipjack tuna) toward the start of the menu, before the nigiri, where the thick slices of flesh could tease diners for the fattier cuts to come. Tonight, the ingredient appears far later in the game: having been smoked and paired with ginger and green onion.
When it reaches the tongue, the skipjack tuna distinguishes itself from its brethren by way of a denser (but altogether smooth) consistency. For all the smoking and accompaniments, the fish tastes surprisingly mild—only showing a faint sweetness on the finish. Overall, this is an immaculate expression of katsuo yet one that I wish showed more intensity or personality to match its texture.
At this stage, Phan makes a show of unveiling his “Uni” and for good reason. The chef has sourced the “dry-packed” (i.e., without saltwater solution) version of the preserved ensui sea urchin he favors. Coming from Fukuoka, this form of the ingredient is said to represent the “ideal.”
Being served simply on top of rice in a more traditional nigiri style (rather than being wrapped with nori as is standard), the dry-packed unilives up to its status. These pristine lobes, coated ever so slightly with soy sauce, display a remarkable smoothness and purity. Indeed, the sea urchin almost has a whipped, airy quality when compared to the denser, creamier examples I am used to. The uni’s flavor, in turn, is totally free of that deep-sea, irony quality that can prove so polarizing. Instead, it strikes only with a subtle sweetness—perhaps too subtle for certain palates that like a bit of that background complexity. However, there’s no denying that this expression of sea urchin is superlative.
Arriving next, the “Mackerel Roll” hasn’t been seen since back in February. I think of it as one of the chef’s favorite forms from over the years: a marriage of ingredient and technique that does well to anchor the menu at this later stage. This serving comprises a thick segment of the titular fish that has been formed (in a kind of upside-down “U” shape) around a chunk of rice then positioned at the end of a strip of nori. Guests are instructed to wrap the bite “like a taco” and enjoy it in a few mouthfuls.
Doing so, one can appreciate the interplay of the perfectly brittle seaweed (always one of the restaurant’s secret weapons) and the rich, chunky mackerel. When it comes to flavor, I sense both notes allium and a certain fishiness on the finish. The combination is not at all unpleasant, but I am left wanting more. Ultimately, this is a nice construction that just feels a little undistinguished tonight.
“Akamutsu” (or blackthroat seaperch) has been a staple of almost all of my meals here this year. Phan regularly describes the fish as being one of his most luxurious, harnessing the ingredient’s fatty flesh (torched but not crisped on this occasion) to draw the nigiri progression to a close.
Visually, this version of the akamutsu is paler and positively shining with fattiness in comparison to the examples that preceded it. Rather than framing the fish with that brittle layer of charred skin, the chef now allows it to land without any distraction: delivering a degree of butteriness I can only compare to the headlining “Ōtoro.” Texturally, I am not sure this bite has ever been better. Nonetheless, the resulting flavor remains fairly mild, and the piece demands a little more depth if it is truly to be memorable.
As of late, Phan has been experimenting with preparations of beef—whether a pre-sushi of offering “mother cow” meat, a take on shabu-shabu, or a straight-up piece of nigiri. Tonight, he pursues the latter form yet again, looking to see out this sequence (which started with the apotheosis of tuna) on a bookending note of indulgence. What better way than to serve auction-grade “A5 Wagyu” that is sourced, the chef says, “from the Kobe area.”
Formed onto rice, the steak boasts a glistening, pinkish hue with some visible streaks of marbling. On reaching the tongue, it offers a satisfying chew that tends toward a rich, buttery mouthfeel with further mastication. Surprisingly, there’s a great underlying tang to the meat (whether from vinegar or wasabi I am unsure). It cuts the fat of the wagyu without overwhelming it with acid, revealing a persistent umami character one rarely finds in more precious preparations of this prized beef. In sum, I think this represents a real high point for Kyōten’s work with this ingredient.
To close out the savory side of the menu, the chef serves “Unagi” (or freshwater eel). As with all seafood on offer here, the fish is wild-caught, and Phan has, over many years, always drawn a contrast between the quality of his product and those (prepacked in sickly sauce) that have worked to denigrate the ingredient’s reputation. That being said, he isn’t afraid of tapping into the cultural consciousness either: roasting the eel and serving it on top of rice with his own version of its namesake sauce.
On the palate, the unagi displays a beautifully brittle, crackly exterior that frames luscious, melty flesh. Texturally, I must admit that eel always forms one of this omakase’s highlights. However, I find the fish’s flavor expression tonight to be more straightforwardly savory than I’m used to. It’s still plenty enjoyable (in a pure, reverential kind of way), but I miss that delectable kiss of sweetness—however clichéd it might be—for its indulgent, nostalgic character. Still, there’s nothing to really complain about with this preparation. The mouthfeel is sublime.
Turning toward dessert, Phan’s “Tamago” (the egg omelet rendered here as more of a custard) is in great form tonight. The bite’s rich, creamy consistency smacks of the corn and maple syrup notes that have become the chef’s signature. I’m always left wanting another, and it has become standard practice for Phan to provide his diners, should they so desire, with another piece.
The ”Basil Ice Cream” (technically made without dairy) that closes out the evening represents a throwback to one of Kyōten’s older, longstanding preparations. Understandably, Phan describes the combination of this bright, anisey herb with strawberries as one of his favorites. The fruit is sourced from Mick Klüg Farms and stewed with rhubarb, yielding a loose, jammy consistency that paints the smooth, melty dessert with pronounced tang and sweetness. As much as I’ve enjoyed seeing the chef’s work in this frozen format evolve over time, this recipe undoubtedly remains a winner.
With that, Phan thanks his guests for coming and treks—wine glass in hand—out into the foyer: where he will wait, with total patience, for the diners to finish their drinks and conversations. When it comes time to leave, the chef will linger for whatever kind of interaction they wish to have: warmly inviting first-timers to come back again (by booking directly through him) and sealing an evening of bite-sized precision with an exclamation point of sincere hospitality.
Overall, while this menu might have lacked the same imprint of local, seasonal produce that made June’s omakase so distinctive, July’s offerings remained quite unique in their own right. Phan accomplished this through a combination of new bites (i.e., the “Aka Ebi,” “Tachiuo,” “Noten,” “Wild Alaskan King Salmon”) and old ones (i.e., the “Akami Zuké,” “Kanpachi,” “Katsuo,” “Mackerel Roll,” “Unagi,” “Basil Ice Cream”) that hadn’t appeared in quite some time nor in the exact same form.
Factor in staples like the “Octopus,” “Ōtoro,” “Kinmedai,” “Uni,” “Akamutsu,” “A5 Wagyu,” and “Tamago” (many displaying their own subtle variation, a few reaching their highest level of quality in recent memory), and one finds an experience that balances creativity and consistency in just the way that Kyōten intends.
At the end of the day, while the careful use of fruits and vegetables infuses meals here with an essential sense of terroir, people are really paying for the promise of Chicago’s best seafood. Phan, at this point in his career, has developed that kind of canon that can rise to meet whatever fish, on whatever week, comes his way. However, it’s important to remember that any particular preparation flows downstream from an overarching process: a clear vision of how fish and rice should work together, in accordance with a distinct Midwestern palate, and actualized through repetition, refinement, and the courage to restart from scratch when necessary.
This is the spirit of experimentation that fuels Kyōten, and it is quite easy to miss because the headlining bites hog all the attention. Nonetheless, for those lucky enough to eat regularly at this (or any) ingredient-focused restaurant, noting which ideas persist, which reappear down the line, and which (it seems) never show their face again is a large part of the fun.
Tracking this kind of development through short pieces like these might form the only written record of creative efforts that, otherwise, only exist inside the chef’s head. Some kind of running commentary, in turn, allows those planning to visit Phan’s counter to brush up on the state of his craft and respond thoughtfully to what they, themselves, might be exposed to for the first time.
All that said, the fruits of Kyōten’s process are best judged through my ranking of the food:
Tonight, I am happy to report that the “Ōtoro” has come very close to that “legendary, lifetime status” of fatty tuna I encountered back in February. To be honest, the present example does not quite reach that prior specimen’s degree of flavor intensity. Nonetheless, it is still worthy of placing in its own highest stratum. I dream of encountering bites like this again.
The “Octopus,” “Akami Zuké,” “Uni,” “A5 Wagyu,” “Tamago,” and “Basil Ice Cream” land in the next category: superlative items that stand among the best things I will be served in any restaurant this year.
Next come the “Aka Ebi,” “Tachiuo,” “Noten,” “Kanpachi,” “Kinmedai,” and “Unagi”— very good—even great—bites I would always be happy to sample again (but that just failed to elicit an extra degree of emotion).
Finally, there’s the “Wild Alaskan King Salmon,” “Mackerel Roll,” and “Akamutsu”—merely good items that, while they could all claim impressive textures, fell a bit short when it came to flavor (and thus did not rise to the level of being memorable). That being said, imbuing these bites with a little more seasoning (whatever form that takes) is one of the easiest things to do.
Overall, this makes for a hit-rate of 100% to 82% (depending on how harshly one chooses to judge the dishes in the “merely good” category). I think, given the quality of mouthfeel offered by each of those latter items, they should not be judged too harshly. Just the same, the hair found in the “Aka Ebi” (even if it did not appear on my particular plate) should be penalized. Thus, I think a hit-rate of 94% sounds fair—with 41% of the dishes landing in that “best-of-year” (or slightly higher) category.
In the final analysis, this was a great meal (even with that one clear mistake), and one, on the back of such great tuna and sea urchin along with a few new (or revived) forms, that stands among the best of the year.
Throw in those special moments (like Phan’s sharing of wine with the counter), as well as the evolving role beverages of any kind (have I mentioned corkage?) can play alongside this cuisine, and I remain convinced of Kyōten’s value proposition.
Would-be guests, I always warn, should be well aware of the unconventional aspects of this experience. Yet, in return, they will get a meal of intimacy, authenticity (of self-expression), and enjoyment that is unmatched even by concepts touting all the bells and whistles of luxury dining.
I look forward to seeing Kyōten take new risks and scale new heights in the months to come.