What’s smaller than a morsel? A tidbit. And since I already had plenty to say about Kyōten after sampling the omakase in February, I thought it might be instructive to go even more streamlined—ever more concise (admittedly still a struggle)—and look to only answer a couple simple questions: how does the menu here change month to month? How does the perception of quality and value, when one no longer approaches Phan’s work with the romanticism of a “special occasion” splurge, change with it?
Let us begin.
Kyōten looks the same as ever: a pleasure palace hidden behind paper-covered doors that make the restaurant look under construction (if not condemned). But the same team—Otto Phan and Jose Tejada—waits to welcome you into the omakase’s warm inner sanctum. They stand ready to put on the two-man show that (not only in terms of price but sincerity, intimacy, and pleasure too) can rival Chicago’s most expensive, multi-starred tasting menus.
Tonight, the audience really symbolizes the concept’s dichotomy of appeal. On one side, I see a middle-aged man and his mother. They’re taking a chance, somewhat warily, on an experience that seems new to them (but that will still represent a “special occasion,” perhaps a funny story to recount, no matter what they ultimately think of it). Nonetheless, once the first bites start flowing and Phan begins firing his irreverent thoughts (on all things sushi, gastronomy, even pop culture) from the hip, uncertainty quickly makes way for comfort.
On the other side, I note a younger group of diners led by a repeat customer who is in from New York. They immediately engage the chef about his wine selection: scanning through the options and, after a conversation, eventually securing a couple of unlisted bottles from the cellar. During the meal, these patrons share pours with Phan and engage him further in discussions about vintages, producers, and regions. In participating, the chef demonstrates an appreciation for craft that transcends his own work, enriching the omakase by framing it within a larger aesthetic context.
It can be jarring when one’s “special occasion” seems a little less special due to the familiarity other guests bring to the table and the unique connection they seem to have with the chef. But Phan, as long as I have known him, has been an outspoken critic of “bromakase” culture. This is not to say that’s what’s happening here. Rather, the chef is sensitive to how his interactions with repeat (or simply more sociable) customers can appear, and he always makes an effort to share the love and attention across the full breadth of the counter. Given the polarizing image Phan has sometimes maintained, I find this quality (a total rejection of snobbishness or exclusion) really helps clarify his intentions. The chef deeply appreciates the presence of his diners and, indeed, fights as hard as he can to make them all “regulars.”
Tonight’s meal begins on a familiar note: the “Kue” (or longtooth grouper) that Phan has favored for years. However, on this occasion, the fish is joined by a couple “Hotaru Ika” (or firefly squid) the chef introduces as being “symbolic of spring in Japan.”
The former bites of “Kue,” though comprising a smaller portion than in February, display less chew than last time and more of the softness and succulence I desire. Dressed with a combination of Japanese fish sauce and lemon juice, they leave the palate with a lovely kiss of tang and umami. The latter, newer bites of “Hotaru Ika” are more textural, with the cephalopod’s slender arms being fairly tender and the bulbous head offering a more pronounced bounce. Despite its wee size, the delivers a strong dose of brine that almost feels caper-like in its pungency once one pierces the crown. This intensity, nonetheless, is also well-matched by the dressing, which helps to round out the flavor and express some of the ingredient’s latent sweetness. Overall, this makes for a bolder—even better—start to the menu.
The “Snow Crab” that arrives next can be thought of as an evolution of the “Live King Crab” served during my previous visit. Though that dish combined larger chunks of meat with a butter dashi, the present preparation centers on thin shreds (sourced from the male crustacean’s body) soaked in what the chef calls a “soup.” In truth, the liquid is a crab broth spiked with just a touch of vinegar. It arrives just short of hot, imbuing the tender ribbons of snow crab with a sharp—then soothing, and richly savory—sensation that builds in sweetness which each subsequent bite. In sum, this dish is perfectly executed and makes for one of the unexpected highlights of the night: that rare instance when the delectable combination of king crab and butter is actually bested by its more subtle, diminutive brethren!
The “Ankimo” (or monkfish liver) was a hit last time, and Phan is savvy enough not to mess with a good thing. This dish’s combination of smooth, luscious offal (cured, marinated in sake, and braised in-house) and vividly sweet, spicy ginger sauce remains a winner. However, the chef switches the substitutes the strands of pickled gourd used to garnish the liver last time for a sprinkle of toasted buckwheat. This addition not only yields a sharper textural contrast, but a nutty, earthy quality that deepens the decadence provided by the sauce. With only a minor change, Phan has brought this winning dish to an even higher level.
Next comes the tempura course. Though Phan has often favored the creamy (and quite eyebrow-raising once one learns its identity) “Fugu Shirako” for this preparation, tonight the chef goes a more conventional route. His “Amadai” (a kind of tilefish the Japanese sometimes termed “sweet seabream”) arrives as a trio of white-fleshed morsels tucked into a brittle, fried coating. Sometimes the scales can be crisped separately (the matsukasa-yaki technique I discussed when writing about Kumiko), but Kyōten, here, aims for straightforward pleasure.
On the palate, the tempura tilefish displays a clean crunch that frames a moist and meaty chunk of fillet. Though one of my three pieces proves a little too dense, the accompanying grated daikon with ponzu helps to moisten even the toughest bite. Otherwise, the condiment’s tang and sweetness (also used as a foil for the pufferfish milt) marry beautifully with the fried, mild-tasting treat. Even considering the slight flaw in that one portion, I’d give a slight edge to the “Amadai” over the previous meal’s “Fugu Shirako.” While the latter is more adventurous and provocative (emotions that are certainly part of the experience here), the former is simply enjoyable. I think preserving this sense of comfort and familiarity ensures that Phan doesn’t break the spell—that the menu consistently feels like it only gets better and better.
Arriving next, the “Hokkaido Scallop” marked a rare misstep when the chef served it last time. Indeed, it’s a mollusk that most diners at this level will know fairly well, and whose prevalence allows little room for error when it comes to texture. On this occasion, the preparation more or less remains the same: a single, plump piece of the bivalve is torched and then bisected, yielding two mouthfilling bites. In terms of dressing, brown butter ponzu has now been substituted for a nitsume (the infamous, syrupy “eel sauce” Phan actually makes himself, the traditional way, by “boiling down” the grilled bones of the eel he frequently serves).
This is a decidedly decadent choice. However, it imbues the soft, succulent scallop—so much of its interior being impossible to coat—with a lasting sweetness and umami that is punctuated by notes of ginger and scallion. Yes, the mollusk is cooked perfectly on this occasion, and the choice of sauce, in combination with the bivalve’s caramelized crust and its own latent sweetness, helps this ingredient attain an uncommon degree of decadence. Overall, this dish was a rousing success, and it marked a total redemption of the previous meal’s lapse.
After a strong series of opening courses, the nigiri now begins to flow.
While Phan kicked off the lineup with “Chū-toro” last time, he opts for “Hagashi Toro” (a cut sourced from the bottom of the tuna’s tail that demands the chef carefully remove layers of surrounding sinew). Described as “super melty,” the piece is not as perceptibly fatty as my top-ranked bite from February (a once-in-a-lifetime level “Ōtoro”). Nonetheless, it displays a delectable smoothness and softness that trades some of the “Chū-toro’s” savory power for greater overall delicacy. For me, it’s hard to pick a favorite between the two.
The “Ōtoro” that arrives next can be thought of as the direct competitor to the piece I found so spellbinding before. Phan describes this iteration as his “favorite cut,” being taken from the lower portion of the belly. Indeed, the web of fat spread across this scored grid of tuna flesh is a sight to behold. The resulting mouthful delivers a bit more structure and much more pronounced meatiness than the “Hagashi Toro.” Of course, it’s still supremely soft (that bewitching combination of concentration and weightlessness), but I can better feel the tuna against the grains of rice and also appreciate the dark, deep savory note that comes through on the finish. This “Ōtoro” does not match the titanic quality of last meal’s example (i.e., a tidal wave of fat matched by extremes of wasabi pungency and umami power). However, it only comes in a step or two behind that life-changing bite and still ranks as a top expression of the ingredient (as well as one of the starring items tonight).
While the “Akami” served in February represented a particularly fatty cut of the otherwise “lean” tuna, this rendition is true to type. Phan, in fact, marinates the flesh (a process that yields a noticeably darker shade). On the palate, this piece displays more of the density and firmness (however fleeting) I have come to expect. Certainly, the fattier “Akami” is a real treat (who wouldn’t want an example of this humbler tuna that punches above its weight?), but I like the contrast this conventional version provides. It does not try to compete with the “Hagashi Toro” or “Ōtoro” but strikes with an even darker, more savory flavor (enlivened by a more noticeable dose of wasabi than anything prior) that is wholly its own. Contextually, I like it more than the “Akami” from the preceding meal, but splitting the two really means choosing texture or taste. In truth, they’re both quite nice.
Moving away from tuna, the chef’s “Buri” (wild mature yellowtail) often competes with the very best of his nigiri. In February, the piece didn’t quite reach that height. However, on this occasion, it really rivals the “Hagashi Toro” and “Akami.” Visually, it is easy to note how the fish differs from last time. Rather than being scored like a tight grid, the flesh receives only a few vertical lacerations that frame larger, fattier chunks of the meat. As a result, this “Buri” displays less firmness on the palate than its predecessor. Instead, the mouthfeel is entirely smooth and uniquely sweet, offering a clear kiss of soy (and only a mild expression of wasabi) that leaves me licking my lips through the finish. What a delight.
Phan has only started to serve “Ika” (or squid) more recently (though somewhat infrequently), and, in fact, this piece did not feature during the last meal at all. It’s one of my favorite ingredients to see used in omakase, and the chef stokes my excitement by boasting there’s “no chewy squid [served] here” at Kyōten. Of course, a bit of bounce is part of the thrill, and the resulting piece (scored lengthwise a couple times) marries fleeting resistance with a tender, creamy finish. In terms of flavor, the accompanying shreds of nori and lemon zest lend the bite a cleansing, sweet quality anchored by enough savory satisfaction. I just find the citrus notes to be a bit too tart of the finish, robbing the “Ika” (no matter how predisposed I am to like it) of some of its potential pleasure. I still enjoyed it though.
The arrival of the “Uni” carries with it many of the same expectations that can be ascribed to the various tunas. This is a totemic luxury ingredient that Kyōten is expected to knock out of the park, and Phan has typically relied on the ensui style of Hokkaido sea urchin (preserved in saltwater solution rather than laid out in a tray) in trying to do so. The idea here is to avoid a different preservative (alum) that helps the lobes keep their shape but some say can impart a metallic or fishy flavor over time. However, on this occasion, the chef has sourced a “dry-packed” (sans saltwater solution) version of the preservative-free sea urchin that he calls the “ideal uni if I can get it.”
Served on a ball of rice wrapped in nori, this “Uni” does indeed outshine its ensui predecessor. Both are immaculately clean (avoiding the iron notes that spoil this ingredient for some diners) and creamy. Nonetheless, the dry-packed variety displays an extra degree of weight and richness with a greater concentration of sweetness and that haunting deep-sea quality that marks the ingredient at its very best. The finish, too, is simply immense—the kind that makes me close my eyes and think wistfully of those other, maddeningly rare encounters with sea urchin of this caliber. This all makes for an eye-opening reminder of why the ingredient is so prized.
It has been years since the chef has served the “Royal Red Shrimp” that was a fixture back at Kyōten “1.0.” Phan maintains that this variety is the best of its kind “in the world” and notes that he’s had trouble sourcing the crustacean (predominantly cultivated in Alabama) for a while. On the palate, the shrimp is as plump and juicy and buttery as I remember. However, when it comes to flavor, the ingredient is marked by a bit of a metallic note that detracts from the richly sweet character it is known for. This ultimately makes for a good—not great—piece that signals sourcing may still not be up to par.
During the previous meal, the chef served “Saba” (or mackerel) as part of a nori wrap. On this occasion, he favors “Sawara” (or Spanish mackerel) for a more conventional piece of nigiri. Described by Phan as “hamachi (yellowtail) meets madai (red seabream),” this cut of fish displays just a minor amount of crisscross scoring across its reddish, whitish flesh. Yet, despite the light touch, the mackerel feels soft and clean on the palate with a notable melty quality drawn from its fat. The fish’s flavor, too, impresses: combining the tang of some accompanying ginger with a lightly briny quality that builds toward a rich, umami finish. As much as I liked the interactivity of the “Saba’s” form, this “Sawara” feels more cohesive and deeply pleasing. It ranks as one of the surprises of the night.
The “Kohada” (or gizzard shad) that arrives next has often been introduced by Phan as the one bite on which many sushi chefs are judged. This is due to the level of care (in deboning, washing, salting, marinating) required to make a palatable finished product. Kyōten’s rendition does justice to the form, with the fish feeling dense and oily on entry but proving smooth and tender with further chewing. Its flavor balances the tang of vinegar with a briny, (cleanly) fishy quality. Over time, a little sweetness comes to the fore, lending this otherwise powerful, meaty piece a degree of complexity. I’m not sure the “Kohada” represents Kyōten at its most superlative, but the fish is skillfully handled and offers some real pleasure.
In somewhat of a reversal of the “Saba”/”Sawara” preparations, the chef takes the “Iwashi” (or sardine) that featured as nigiri last time and transforms it, on this occasion, into a handroll. Thin strips of the fish’s flesh (described as Phan’s “favorite” tonight) are pressed against rice and joined by a generous sprinkling of chives in a slender cylinder of the restaurant’s faultlessly crisp nori. Bite after bite, the wrapper is delightfully brittle, depositing its rich, meaty (but otherwise tender) filling onto the palate. There, the notes of allium and a mild dose of wasabi help to round out the sardine’s strong savory character and enhance its finish. I’m not sure this handroll clearly surpasses the nigiri version (garnished with green onion), but it stands alongside it as another elegant expression of an otherwise underestimated ingredient.
Tonight’s serving of “Kinmedai” (golden-eye snapper) appears far later in this meal than it did in February’s. That’s because it represents a “super fatty” cut of the fish that benefits further from the torching of its skin. The resulting bite, marked by brown and black strips of crust, is beautifully soft and buttery. Nonetheless, I find the piece to otherwise be too mild—almost bordering on bland. Certainly, there’s something to really like about the texture here. The seasoning just feels incomplete.
The ”Amadai with Caviar” that arrives next can be thought of as a reimagining of the “Amadai” used in the meal’s opening tempura course. There, I noted that Phan did not utilize the matsukasa-yaki technique to crisp the tilefish’s scales (perhaps due to the fact that he was making use of some irregular cuts). Here, the chef is working with a prime piece of the fillet, so he embraces this extra flourish and pairs it with an added dose of luxury courtesy of the titular sturgeon roe. On the palate, this iteration of the “Amadai” is doubly crisp (the scales being particularly delicate) but moist and tender throughout its interior. It is hard to sense the subtle pop of the caviar, yet its depth of nuttiness and brine combines beautifully with the tilefish’s own hint of sweetness. Ultimately, it is interesting to see this ingredient make two somewhat similar appearances on the menu. Nonetheless, the “Amadai with Caviar” takes everything I enjoyed about the earlier preparation and drives it to a higher peak of the pleasure. Thus, the dish forms an enjoyable bookend (as well as an effective means of featuring the roe at this late stage in the evening).
“Wagyu,” like the “Royal Red Shrimp,” is a piece of nigiri I associate more with Kyōten “1.0” than the work Phan has done over the past few years. Yes, the bite appears pretty rarely these days, and I respect the chef for it. Many omakases now defer to this prized beef as a kind of gimmick—a means of appealing to raw fish skeptics who, nonetheless, took the plunge. Here, when the well-marbled meat turns up, it is a real surprise: amply rewarding diners who have chosen to pair red wine with the earlier morsels of tuna. On the palate, the “Wagyu” displays traces of structure and chew on entry but proves tender and juicy with further mastication. The flavor is good—being mildly beefy—but I’d like a bit more salt or wasabi to really push its unique character to a further extreme. Still, I have no complaints. This was a fun throwback, executed well, and did nothing to sap the creativity shown elsewhere in the menu.
The final savory item of the evening, a “Fatty Tuna Handroll,” benefits from some of the same chives that accompanied the “Saba” handroll and, even more enticingly, a portion of leftover wagyu. I sometimes find that these closing wraps underperform—too much of a good thing, in too tempting of a form, lacking the same punch these ingredients provide when handled alone. However, tonight, it delivers everything that’s promised: brittle nori, oozing fat, a bright burst of wasabi, and a touch of allium that helps delineate the unctuous chunks of beef and tuna as the whole package comes to a rousing finish. What a way to round out the menu.
Of course, there’s also dessert to consider. Phan’s “Tamago” (rendered in a “Midwestern” fashion with corn and maple syrup) provides a familiar thrill. But it actually arrives a bit too cold tonight, muting some of the sweet, custardy attack and leaving most of the pleasure (which is still substantial) for the finish.
The “Vanilla Ice Cream with Kirschwasser” looks to improve upon the “Green Tea Ice Cream” that formed one of the previous meal’s letdowns (due to the starring element being too frozen). Here, I am happy to say that the texture is perfect: delivering a soft, smooth consistency that could equal the effort of any pastry chef. The dessert, more broadly, is probably Phan’s most complex to date. It not only combines the vanilla character of the ice cream with the cherry and almond notes of Schwarzwälder Kirschwasser brandy but brings stewed blueberries and shaved chocolate into the mix as well. Served with a sip of Passito wine, the dessert delivers alternating layers of milk, tangy fruit, spiced fruit, and cocoa that are simply sublime. What a surprise—and a real demonstration that Phan continues to push himself beyond the ordinary limits of his craft.
Looking back at this meal, I think it forms an instructive point of comparison with the one from February. On the surface, one might simply note how different the menu was: items like the “Live King Crab,” “Fugu Shirako,” “Chū-toro,” “Saba,” “Akamutsu,” “Anago,” and “Green Tea Ice Cream” from last time were substituted for ones like the “Hotaru Ika,” “Snow Crab,” “Amadai,” “Hagashi Toro,” “Ika,” “Royal Red Shrimp,” “Sawara,” “Kohada,” “Amadai with Caviar,” “Wagyu,” “Fatty Tuna Handroll,” and “Vanilla Ice Cream with Kirschwasser” this. Indeed, one may simply compare the fact that Phan served 17 courses in February and 22 in March (a difference I think that might also be explained by the swapping of expensive ingredients like the “Live King Crab,” “Fugu Shirako,” and “Akamutsu” for a greater variety of humbler cuts).
Added to this, one finds the reimagining of familiar dishes: the addition of buckwheat to the “Ankimo,” the changing of sauce for the “Hokkaido Scallop,” the marinade applied to the “Akami,” the use of dry-packed (rather than ensui) “Uni,” the transformation of the “Iwashi” into a handroll, and the positioning of the “Kinmedai” as a fatty, closing piece rather than a brighter, opening one. Each of these preparations were as good or even better than those served before, and, most importantly, Phan remedied the flaws that blemished the “Hokkaido Scallop” (overcooking) and “Green Tea Ice Cream” (too frozen). Tonight, only the “Tamago” underperformed just a bit (being served too cold but otherwise remaining enjoyable). This was an avoidable error; however, it takes little away from what was still a real tour de force.
Yes, while the “Ōtoro” from February might have reached a higher high—the kind of “once-in-a-lifetime” level bite that one never knows when to expect—tonight’s example was no slouch either. In fact, tonight’s meal was stronger overall: testifying to the fact that Phan consistently adapts and refines his cooking so that whenever these magical wild fish do appear he’ll be ready. And, should the mythical “100-point” tuna not arrive (and guests have to settle for something in the 95- to 99-point range instead), the chef stands ready with a suite of other canonical recipes that are all but guaranteed to please.
In formally ranking this menu’s offerings, I would place the “Snow Crab,” “Ankimo,” “Hokkaido Scallop,” “Hagashi Toro,” “Ōtoro,” “Akami,” “Buri,” “Fatty Tuna Handroll,” and “Vanilla Ice Cream with Kirschwasser” in the second category I defined last time: superlative bites that stand among the best items I will be served in any restaurant this year.
I would then rank the “Kue,” “Uni,” “Sawara,” “Iwashi,” and “Amadai with Caviar” in the third category from last time: very good bites I would always be happy to sample again.
The remainder—“Hotaru Ika,” “Amadai,” “Ika,” “Royal Red Shrimp,” “Kohada,” “Kinmedai,” “Wagyu,” and “Tamago”—land in the fourth category: merely good items that land more on the side of intellectual appeal (or, otherwise, do not quite rise to the level of being memorable).
While, again, none of the pieces tonight landed in the first (“legendary, lifetime status”) category occupied by February’s cut of “Ōtoro,” not one landed in the fifth (“below average”) category either. This makes for an overall hit-rate of 100%, with 41% of bites being “best of the year” caliber.
To be fair, omakase must be judged differently than conventional tasting menus serving intricate plated fare. Phan also surely has more room to grow (given that “merely good” is not the standard he is looking to achieve with any of his dishes at this price point).
Still, the chef has always resolved to balance dynamism and experimentation with a desire, night after night, to always field his strongest players. The vagaries of ingredient sourcing and his own ever-evolving approach to craft (inspired by the kind of gastronomic travels few other professionals have the ability to engage in) ensure that the Kyōten experience is always bound to change. Nonetheless, Phan knows enough now—about himself as well as his first-time and more frequent patrons—to serve hit after hit, in his inimitable style, with total confidence. He keeps things fresh but rarely falters by getting too clever, cooking too much for himself, when the goal is really to please.
Phan never takes the fact that Chicagoans are willing to spend this high sum (without receiving many of the conventional luxuries of “fine dining”) for granted. The chef always looks to reward those who take the plunge using all the tools at his disposal, and this meal is a good example of the kind of quality he routinely delivers.