A Midday Luxury

Among the restaurant-literate, the word omakase has quasi-mystical properties. Utter it in the company of any member of the self-styled fooderati and you’re likely to become an instant object of both fascination and envy—and not a little bit of speculation about how much money you’re making.

It’s a simple Japanese word that loosely translates as “entrust.” Essentially, you’re entrusting all decisions about your meal to the chef, and putting yourself in his or her hands. In colloquial English, however, it may as well mean “to mortgage your first born for a single meal.”

Yes, putting yourself in the chef’s hands does not come cheap. At Morimoto, for example, there are three dinner-service omakase options. And at $80, $100 and $120 before drinks, tax, and tip, these are not necessarily wallet-friendly, to say the least.

It was with this in mind that I ventured out to Morimoto to experience both the languorous, luxurious, surprisingly affordable lunchtime omakase and the new “lunch set,” a bargain-priced midday meal designed for people on a stricter budget or in a bit of a rush.

That lunchtime omakase comes in three varieties—$40, $60 and $80. The more you spend, the more luxurious the ingredients will be (this means more exotic fish, silky-soft slices of Kobe beef, that sort of thing). I decided to taste the least expensive option, if for no other reason than because its relatively reasonable price intrigued me: Would this be a true omakase, or would I merely be putting myself in the hands of some hapless kitchen intern for the pittance I’d be paying?

I had nothing to worry about. The level of creativity, if not the execution of every last detail, was more than worth the outlay of cash required.

A bowl of soy-dashi broth was the landscape from which a yellowtail tartare minaret rose. Crispy shallots provided the textural differentiation and certain piquant pop, though that broth, almost aggressively salty, threatened to overwhelm some of the more delicate nuances of the fish. Surprisingly, the crown of ossetra caviar, rather than adding to the saltiness, actually provided a sense of earthy richness that anchored the bites the little eggs found their way into.

Quickly seared slices of Spanish mackerel—really sashimi but with a superthin layer of cooked flesh at the far outer edges of the meat—were accompanied by micro-greens and a soy-onion vinaigrette that possessed a surprising crunch, nicely echoing that same texture in the preceding course and providing a sense of continuity.

Sake-steamed sea bass was the highlight of the omakase, its flesh both substantial and light at the same time, the natural sweetness of the fish brought to the fore by the layer of Chinese black bean paste painted on top. Here, in fact, was the revelatory experience I was hoping for in an omakase: That paste, and its interaction with both the sake-based broth puddling at the bottom of the dish and the buttery flavor of the fish itself, was as deeply satisfying and intense as I’d ever had before. Here before me was the apotheosis of what black beans were capable of. Ne plus ultras don’t happen often; when they do, you have to take notice.

The sushi selection was as fresh as it always is. Say what you will about Morimoto—the rolls are occasionally less-than-perfect, the color-changing booths are a bit kitschy—but I’ve never been anything but charmed by the freshness of the sushi. That day I tasted salmon, striped jack, yellowtail, salmon, and fluke, but over the years I’ve had any number of other ordinary and more exotic sushi, and it is, to be redundant for a moment, invariably consistent.

As for the dessert course, this finally solved a problem I’ve been struggling with for years—why the post-sushi sweets on offer at most Japanese restaurants seem to arrive inelegantly, not with a whisper—to both paraphrase and butcher T.S. Eliot’s famous line—but with a thud.

So instead of forcing the sweet card, and thereby repudiating any sense of balance and subtlety imparted by the sushi, I was sent out a sweet potato cake whose texture was vaguely reminiscent of a soufflé and whose level of sweetness was dialed down with care and intelligence. It was accompanied by an azuki-bean whipped cream and a puddle of those legumes. Savory desserts may not be the norm in this country, but that’s more a cultural issue than a taste one, I think. This dessert was too smart and delicious to ignore.

On the other end of the lunchtime—and financial—spectrum was the spicy beef lunch set, one of seven options recently added to the menu. They range in price from $13 to $26, and all come with a generous bowl of miso soup, slightly tangy and fattened up with uniquely silky slices of tofu, and a salad, which in this case was a bit wet with an overabundance of miso-soy vinaigrette.

The spicy beef, however, was fine—nothing fabulous, but certainly a very nice lunch portion that was not at all lacking in the flavor department. Thin, well-seared slices of sirloin were marinated in a spicy miso sauce, sautéed, and served with a generous tangle of onions and mushrooms. And while it may not have been the full-scale Morimoto experience, it was a fine deal for $18.

That omakase, however, was the standout. Sometimes the best thing you can do for your workday productivity is to take a break in the middle of it and treat yourself. We all need to be reminded of why we work so hard in the first place. When you look at it that way, $40 isn’t that much at all. Especially if you can convince the boss to spring for the bill.

Morimoto is located at 723 Chestnut Street in Philadelphia, and can be reached by phone at (215) 413-9070 or visited online at www.morimotorestaurant.com.