The arrival of summer marks one of the most interesting chapters in Kyōten’s yearly work.
Chef Otto Phan ensures, night after night, that guests paying the premium his omakase commands will be treated to his best work: a selection of wild-caught fish (aged tuna and yellowtail being the headliners) paired with a pronounced imprint of aged vinegar and the concept’s signature, large-grained Inochi no Ichi rice. But, for the returning customer, so much of Kyōten’s character is defined by the ebb and flow of ingredients from week to week and, consequentially, the ever-changing nature of the small plates and more obscure pieces of nigiri that make up the meal.
Summer sees Phan increasingly incorporate produce from purveyors at the Green City Market, a move that notably expands the palette of textures and flavors he is able to utilize while also connecting his menu (so predominantly tied to ingredients from Japan) more closely with Midwestern terroir.
For a chef who is so well-traveled and so passionate about dining as a (rather opinionated) consumer in his own right, playing with the fruits and vegetables of the season offers a chance to transcend the traditional limitations of his chosen genre. It allows Kyōten to enter a wider conversation regarding sourcing, quality, and the way things should taste—here in the concept’s own backyard—that is typically the domain of friends and peers whose work is defined less strictly by raw fish.
The results are often (but not always) convincing: adding an exciting degree of depth to this month’s meal even as they affirm, from time to time, that sushi expertise does not always translate clearly to other forms of cookery.
Let us begin.
Tonight, I arrive at Kyōten a few minutes early and am treated to a familiar sight. A group of patrons, finely attired in colorful suits and gowns, does a double take upon reaching 2507 W Armitage Avenue. “They have to be here for Kyōten,” I think to myself, but, after consulting with a smartphone, the would-be customers head down to Next Door.
Certainly, Phan’s sister restaurant is more than worthy of a special occasion too (just look at how difficult it remains to get a reservation). Yet it is somewhat gratifying to see this party retrace its steps and now confidently pull open the flagship’s papered-over door. I am not amused by their confusion or minor inconvenience so much as I am excited to see first-timers take the leap. Kyōten’s conscious rejection of curb appeal makes one question if they’ve made a horrible mistake—only for the actual experience, I think, to surpass any prior expectation. Witnessing this slow realization (akin to someone being inducted into a kind of secret club) never gets old.
And the crowd this evening—the well-dressed ones (mostly locals) celebrating a milestone birthday and a couple others visiting Chicago on business—infuses the meal with the kind of curiosity and positive energy Phan feeds off so well.
After a short lull (those habitual 20 minutes of prep and small talk that allow everyone to get settled in), the menu begins.
The “Sungold Tomatoes” that arrive first are emblematic of Phan’s seasonal, local approach at this point in the year. He sources the ingredient from Northern Indiana’s Iron Creek Organic Farm, carefully skinning the fruit and serving it—three pristine, orange orbs—in a broth of its own juices.
On the palate, the tomatoes feel soft and seamless. They lead with their sweetness but display a ripe depth of fruit and ample backing acidity over time as one laps up the accompanying liquid. This is a simple dish at the end of the day, but one—so elegantly composed, so quick to disappear—that teases and excites the tongue for the omakase that lies ahead.
“Kue” (or longtooth grouper) is one of the chef’s perennial favorites. The fish did not appear on the menu back in May, but it’s never far away: representing, I have come to appreciate, a kind of early (relatively friendly) textural challenge that prepares guests to step outside their comfort zone at certain moments during the meal. In practice, the kue is described as quite a rare, luxurious offering. Tonight, Phan prepares slices of its flesh in a shabu-shabu style (that is, briefly boiled) with Japanese fish sauce and a squeeze of lemon serving as the dressing.
Relative to my previous encounters with this ingredient, the manner of preparation here imbues the longtooth grouper with a degree of wrinkliness and softness that is rather unique. Still, there remains a certain weight and lasting chew to the fish that gives this item its memorable—somewhat surprising—mouthfeel. When it comes to flavor, the citrus (rather than the umami) proves defining, making for a clean finish that builds off of the freshness of the tomatoes. Ultimately, the kue is still not an ingredient I absolutely love, yet it’s one whose intellectual appeal (and occasional evolution as seen through the shabu-shabu technique) remains engaging.
Kyōten’s preparation of “Octopus”—by all means a signature—is also subject to some tweaking when appearing on this menu. The result, I am happy to say, is explosive. To start, the cephalopod (arriving fresh from Japan) is boiled in the typical fashion. However, the ingredient is then breaded and fried in the karaage style to add an extra layer of texture. A sauce of avocado ponzu forms a familiar pairing, yet a finishing sprinkle of chive blossoms adds additional color and depth.
On the palate, Phan’s octopus delivers the subtle chew and prevailing tenderness that he has mastered so well. A hint of crunch now adds to the fun, and I further appreciate how the breading helps to catch and incorporate the finer chunks of avocado. The sauce, on that note, imbues the meat with all the brightness and richness I have come to expect. Yet it is those chive blossoms—delivering a burst of allium flavor—that really make the dish. This seasonal accompaniment drives the octopus, faithfully executed, toward an even higher level of savory satisfaction. Subsequently, it will be hard to enjoy this recipe any other way. Well done!
A preparation of “Carabinero Prawn”—tempura-fried and paired with a jus made from the crustacean’s head—partners with what is perhaps the most pronounced seasonal flourish of the night. These peas, sourced from Nichols Farms, also end up being the meal’s only real misstep.
At core, the combination of the prawn’s crisp coating, plump interior, and deeply savory dressing is delectable. Building on this foundation, the peas provide a lovely dose of sweetness that draws out the same note in the shellfish. However, rather than adding to the dish’s texture with a pleasing pop, the legume feels hard and overcooked on the tongue. This does not spoil the pleasure that the prawn, itself, has to offer, but it does undermine what could have one of the night’s most winning compositions: a synergy of land and sea that elevated both components. Ultimately, this was a lamentable mistake but one that can be easily remedied going forward.
Thankfully, a dish of “Grilled Mackerel” that arrives next hits the mark. This entirely new creation sees the skin of the fish (sourced from Boston) cooked to a beautiful crispness. These resulting pieces (two to a bowl) are then paired with a ginger and green onion ponzu.
On the palate, the mackerel pairs brittleness—on entry—with moisty, flaky flesh. Though the fish shows a notable briny, irony quality, these notes are softened by the combination of uplifting ginger and savory allium. The result is a series of bites that evoke a certain meatiness (recall that this is a part of the menu where actual beef may sometimes appear) but retain total balance. In fact, the textures and flavors at hand are so finely woven, so marked by depth rather than power, that this dish ranks as one of the most decidedly “Japanese” I have seen Phan serve in quite some time. It is one I hope to encounter again.
The turn toward nigiri proceeds in a familiar fashion, with Phan serving his “Ōtoro” (that fattiest and most prized cut of tuna belly) first. The chef actually admits that this piece, despite its formal categorization, comes somewhat close to chū-toro in character. I do not think this is a bad thing at all, for the bite (boasting only a small amount of horizontal scoring) remains totally soft, seamless, and melty on the tongue but also strikes with a profound savory concentration through the finish.
Compared to past examples, the use of wasabi here seems a bit more restrained. And yet, despite being someone who enjoys that kind of pungency, I appreciate the shift in balance. Overall, this is a beautiful example of the form that is hard to fault. It does not reach that legendary, “once-in-a-lifetime” status (something always dependent on the vagaries of sourcing) but affirms how reliably this restaurant delivers a top expression of this coveted piece.
The ”Akami” (or lean tuna) that comes next continues the longstanding tradition (here at Kyōten) of actually rivaling its luxurious predecessor. Tonight—and I know it is sacrilegious to say so—the two cuts are only separated by a hair. Certainly, it helps that the leaner flesh is subject to some intricate (both horizontal and vertical) scoring. And, when it reaches one’s tongue, the akami strikes with a wonderful softness and succulence, marked strongly by soy sauce, that only falls short of the ōtoro on the finish. At the end of the day, the belly’s lusciousness and length maintains a structural advantage. Nonetheless, the lean tuna more than matches it in terms of pure attack. It forms a real treat of a follow-up.
“Buri” (a term denoting mature wild yellowtail) is often among the night’s best bites too. This occasion is no different. The fish, which retains a bit more of its skin than is typical, is scored in a crosshatched fashion (the resulting grooves brimming with soy sauce). On the palate, it displays a touch of firmness—almost crunchiness—I am not used to. However, this quickly yields to a soft, slick consistency with a subsequent richness and savory depth of flavor that transcends the piece’s lighter-colored flesh.
The “Keiji” (or chum salmon) that arrives next, has not yet featured during my meals this year. Phan only features the fish when he gets his hands on the toki shirazu variety from Hokkaido (a fatty specimen said to “not know time” because it continually feeds rather than traveling up river to spawn). The chef smokes this salmon using alder wood, which imbues its rich flesh (barely subject to any scoring) with a subtly sweet note that melds nicely with the umami backing of the soy sauce. While the akami is also sometimes smoked, the effect here—so elegant and lip-smacking—really shines. It affirms why this particular salmon, prepared this particular way, is worth the wait.
The ”Isaki”—a kind of grunt fish (likened to a “meatier snapper”)—is also a piece that’s scarcely seen at Kyōten. I am sure that Phan has served it before, but, peaking in the summer and featuring such an unglamorous name, the bite seems destined to get lost in the shuffle. Tonight, the fish is rested on seaweed before being scored in a crosshatched pattern (with traces of its reddish and silvery skin still visible).
On the palate, the isaki displays a fleeting firmness but ultimately proves soft and slightly fatty. The piece’s flavor, in turn, is rather mild on entry but shows some decent savory depth on the finish. Ultimately, it’s hard to make any real complaint about this bite. The grunt fish doesn’t contend with any of the meal’s highlights, but it also a perfectly good job maintaining the flow of the meal with a more understated, almost shy character that draws the diner back in.
“Kinmedai” (or golden-eye snapper) appeared as part of the omakase in February and March but took a reprieve in May. Though the chef has sometimes chosen to torch this fish’s when encountering particularly fatty examples, he opts for his traditional manner of preparation this time: the addition of a touch of lemon zest.
Texturally, the kinmedai is marked by a slight snap and sense of chew that frames its flesh. This engaging mouthfeel is mirrored by the citrus, which tends almost toward bitterness but collides with (and counteracts) the piece’s latent umami. The finish here, relative to the other fish on offer, feels pristine and almost cleansing. Again, this is not a bite that ranks near the top of the pile for me, yet it helps to expand the menu’s range in a way that allows subsequent servings to shine more brightly.
Of those, “Uni” is definitely one that carries the highest of expectations. For a certain kind of diner, it is fair to say that this serving of sea urchin “roe” (technically the gonads) rivals tuna or yellowtail as the star of the meal. I’ll admit I’ve gone from being an uni obsessive to something more like a skeptic over the years—given how rare it is to find great examples of the ingredient (and, when I do, the bar only gets set higher).
But Phan, who occasionally omits sea urchin from his menus when the quality is not up to snuff, has undoubtedly established Chicago’s benchmark when it comes to these luxurious lobes. He favors the ensui style of Hokkaido uni (preserved in saltwater solution rather than laid out on a tray), and tonight the tongues look particularly large. Spooned atop a ball of rice wrapped in nori, the sea urchin feels smooth, moist, and almost whipped once it meets the tongue. There, it strikes with a balance of fruity (almost sweet) and deep-sea (saline but more complex) notes that tend toward an elegant—not at all overwhelming—tinge of iron on the finish. In sum, this is a beautiful example of the ingredient that might just be the best served here this year!
The “Akamutsu” (or blackthroat seaperch) appeared toward the end of my meals in February and May. Phan always introduces the ingredient as one of the most luxurious fish he serves, and its fat content—in combination with the Searzall used to torch its flesh—tends to prove his point. Tonight, the akamutsu feels wonderfully warm and gooey on the palate. Its flavor does not benefit from a dose of lemon (which proved so effective back in May). However, the familiar combination of aged vinegar, fresh wasabi, and soy sauce does more than enough to carry the bite. The fish’s richness is matched by a pungency and lip-smacking savory quality that I think, once more, must rank as the best version of this piece served in 2025.
“Anago” (that is, saltwater eel) has long formed one of Phan’s secret specialties. I recall how the chef, during his early years in Chicago, would reliably decry the low quality of sourcing one would find elsewhere: the pre-packaged, sickly variety many diners have come to know (and even love). Today, he just lets the bite speak for itself: the crisp nori wrapper, the cushion of rice, and the white, meaty flesh of the slippery fish. There’s a purity and lusciousness to this eel that is totally distinct—as well as just a touch of sweet backing (Kyōten’s own take on the infamous sticky sauce) to underscore its latent umami. If anything, I’d like just a bit more of the dressing (relative to the size of the piece) tonight. But there’s no question this remains a highlight.
At this late stage, the menu swings back toward the kind of fresh seasonal produce that helped to define many of the early dishes. I am happy to say it does so convincingly. Phan’s take on “Beef Shabu-Shabu” (the same technique used to briefly cook the “Kue”) combines slices of aged A5 wagyu flatiron with pieces of Mick Klüg Farms purple asparagus in a concentrated broth made from all the scraps of all the wagyu used at Kyōten Next Door. This liquid—so deeply funky and savory and maddening in its length—makes many a bowl of ramen in town seem like dirty dishwater by comparison. The broth supercharges the softly chewy ribbons of steak while drawing out the sweet, nutty character of the crunching vegetables. If I’m being honest, the A5 wagyu doesn’t really live up to its lofty status from a purely textural perspective. Yet the overall dish is delightful, and I’m sure just about anything would taste delicious when soaked in this fashion.
The ”Uni Handroll” that concludes the savory section of the meal builds on the sea urchin’s impressive performance when it appeared earlier. Tucked into a cylindrical roll of nori, the melty lobes deliver all the same creamy, sweet, saline, and (slightly) irony tones. However, in this form, one can better appreciate the crunch of the seaweed and the accompanying punch of wasabi (whose concentration, well matched by the uni, forms a fitting crescendo at this stage). Ultimately, it’s hard to say which version of the sea urchin is better. Both benefit wildly from the quality of sourcing on display tonight.
Phan’s “Tamago” has, on occasion, been served a touch too cold this year. Here, nonetheless, the egg omelet (rendered more like a custard at Kyōten) is in fine form. The rich and creamy bite delivers all the corn-packed, maple-tinged enjoyment that has secured its status as a signature over the years. The chef, as is standard, offers a second helping to any patron who would like one.
Over the past few months, Phan has really raised his frozen dessert game. Indeed, while his most recent creation—“Vanilla Ice Cream with Kirschwasser”—was a consistent hit, the chef does not resist changing things up in line with nature’s bounty. His “Coconut-Basil Sorbet” is something of a throwback to his earliest efforts with the frozen form. Nonetheless, the introduction of stewed strawberries (sourced from Michigan’s Seedling Farms) and fermented rhubarb charges the creamy, tropical-toned dessert with sweet and sour intensity. Even the basil, I must say, comes through quite clearly: adding an uplifting anisey depth that secures this dish’s place among the evening’s best.
Looking back at my experience tonight, I would contend this ranks as a fairly classic (though perhaps not “all-time great”) Kyōten meal.
I say that based on the introduction of several completely new dishes—the “Sungold Tomatoes,” “Carabinero Prawn,” “Grilled Mackerel,” “Keiji,” “Isaki,” and “Coconut-Basil Sorbet”—relative to the past three meals. Of these, the “Carabinero Prawn” certainly displayed a small flaw (the overcooking of the accompanying peas), yet the rest of the dish was successfully executed. The remainder of these debutants ranged from good, to great, to among the best items of the night—quite a showing.
I also say that based on the manner in which familiar preparations—the “Kue” and the “Octopus”—benefited from new flashes of technique or the savvy introduction of a novel ingredient (i.e., the chive blossoms). This extends to pieces like the “Ōtoro,” “Akami,” “Buri,” “Kinmedai,” “Anago,” and “Tamago” that fulfilled the high standard Phan usually sets, as well as the “Uni,” “Akamutsu,” and “Uni Handroll” that (even if only due to the stars aligning with sourcing) reached their highest level of the year.
In formally ranking the evening’s dishes:
I must reiterate (as I have in every one of the articles on Kyōten) how nothing has yet measured up to the “once-in-a-lifetime” quality of the “Ōtoro” from the meal in February. That being said, the “Ōtoro,” “Akami,” “Buri,” “Uni,” “Uni Handroll,” “Tamago,” and “Coconut-Basil Sorbet” all land just below it: superlative items that stand among the best things I will be served in any restaurant this year.
I would place the “Octopus,” “Keiji,” “Akamutsu,” “Anago,” and “Beef Shabu-Shabu” in the next category: very good—even great—bites I would always be happy to sample again (but that just failed to elicit an extra degree of emotion).
The “Sungold Tomatoes,” “Kue,” “Grilled Mackerel,” “Isaki,” and “Kinmedai” follow: ranking as merely good items that delivered more intellectual appeal than sheer enjoyment (or, otherwise, did not quite rise to the level of being memorable).
Finally, the “Carabinero Prawn” ranks as below average due to the aforementioned overcooking of the peas. Still, I will reiterate that the prawn itself—paired with the jus made from its head—would have ranked in the “very good to great” category if the vegetables were simply omitted.
Overall, this makes for a hit-rate of 65% to 94% (depending on how harshly one chooses to judge the dishes in the “merely good” category). Personally, I wouldn’t mind encountering any of those “merely good” items again, for only a small tweak in scoring or seasoning could very well see them rise in the ranks.
In the final analysis, Kyōten’s price point—along with a certain mystique (a kind way of saying a lack of formal awards) and a continued rejection of fine dining’s conventions—will always demand that Phan brings his best work to the table.
Month after month, the chef continues to strike the right balance: blending his classic bites (the tuna, the yellowtail, the uni whose quality ranges from superlative to life-changing) with rotating seasonal offerings, a certain degree of experimentation, and a dash—here and there—of something strange. An occasional error may slip through, but it’s never fatal and never repeated. Evolution (with a mind toward offering the same, reliable pleasure in a slightly new way) remains the rule here.
Phan, at this point in his career, is always sure to reward his guests more than he does provoke them. And that’s why—whether for the first-timer, the yearly return visitor, or the regular who wants to eat here on a monthly or weekly basis—I still feel comfortable recommending Kyōten.
It’s a restaurant that has negotiated many of fine dining’s core tensions: pursuing a strategy that ensures its omakase remains engaging and enjoyable no matter when (or how many times) one chooses to meet it.