Well well well. What an extraordinary meal we had at Chef Naoki Okumura’s restaurant in the heart of Kyoto’s old entertainment district, Gion. Restaurant Okumura was recommended to us by our friend Asako back in London. Asako san – what can we say – thank you, thank you, thank you!!!
Tucked away in a side street, Okumura’s frontage is traditional looking enough. It’s only when we are greeted at the door by chefs in western whites
and toques that things look a little different. The service is, of course, perfectly fitting for any Kaiseki restaurant; elegant, polite, understated. We are ushered up the stairs and shown our seats at a counter, behind which about seven or eight chefs are busy preparing dish after dish. The whole atmosphere is relaxed; Paul remarks how calm the chefs seem. I ask him how he’d feel out there working a station in front of all the customers – to which I got a wry smile in reply. I think at the peak of service at The Lanesborough’s Conservatory, he and the boys would probably always prefer the cover of the kitchen swing doors.
The next sign that this isn’t straight-down-the-line kaiseki – we are offered a wine menu. We choose a Premier Cru Chablis once we have an idea of what is to come.
We are brought an “amuses-gueule” of a cup of potato-leek soup – a vichysoisse, in effect. It isn’t overly cold and is served in the first of many beautiful pieces of crockery, and garnished with a sprig of flat parsley. An elegant start to what was to come, a bit of a palate-freshener, western in inspiration but with the subtlety of kaiseki.
Next comes a beautiful tray of spring tasters – mouthfuls on thin slices of daikon arranged around a sprig of cherry blossom to introduce you to the season, all chilled on a bed of crushed ice. You probably aren’t meant to eat the daikon but I find it a useful palate cleanser after each set of flavours.
First, some cubes of takenoko, again, the star of the Kyoto spring ingredient cast; dressed in a dressing of a Japanese herb I don’t know the name of. All I can say is, the earthy flavour of the tender young bamboo shoot is lifted by the tang of the herb, in which I could taste a touch of yuzu, I think – a type of limey citrus fruit. Next, a single tender firefly squid, accompanied by what tasted like tender young leek greens, and a yellow dressing I can’t find the English word for; but tangy and fresh. At twelve o’clock on the tray, a slice of langoustine dressed in a light, loose aspic accompanied by a slice of okra and a small heap of wet yuba, the layer of creamy skin taken from the top of soya whey (described in a previous post). Scrumptious. Next, a little sushi – I think it’s a type of soused horse mackerel – wrapped in cherry blossom leaf; then finally, some stalks of something I couldn’t translate – but with the texture of cooked white asparagus and dressed with white sesame dressing.
Next, a simple salad, dressed perfectly with Japanese flavours piled on swipes of softened aspic, but with pink peppercorns that lend it that western touch. Another nice palate freshener.
Cream of bamboo shoot soup was brought in a rustic hand-turned pottery cup. Paul and I had been discussing how to use bamboo shoot to its best advantage in western-style cooking and this certainly would be one way. Incredibly smooth, subtle and earthy, this simple soup with a drop of prime virgin olive oil and a green herb is absolutely delicious.
Onwards, appearing with perfectly timed pauses after finishing each set of flavours, the dishes keep coming. To continue, a masterpiece – white fish sashimi and kiwi salad with a wasabi dressing. This is truly fantastic; the dish so zippy and fresh it’s just about leaping out of its bowl. Slivers of myoga, a kind of earthy Japanese onion, adds to the zip and gives it some texture, as do the carrot and daikon cherry blossom decoration on top.
Langoustine bites wrapped in Thai dough skins and deep fried to perfection appear on a rustic semi-circular plate, with dribbles of balsamic vinegar and mâche lettuce to lift. Again, meltingly gorgeous with a toasty crunch at the edges.
A sudden glow of warmth felt over my left shoulder announces the arrival of the next dish – a perfecty round, baking hot stone brought to the counter along with a dish of yuzu marinated scallop, squid, mirugai (a type of shellfish)) and abalone slices. You cook the slices yourself the way you want – the sizzling smells are luscious, each slice tender and moist.
Having had what was like a robatayaki, a Japanese hot stone grill dish, rustic and traditional, we move on to something a little more western in approach – a large clam and morsel of sea bream, cooked to perfection, dressed in a saffron sauce and topped with broccoli, the perfect contrast.
We were offered the choice of bread, rice, or curry rice at the start of the meal. This would be the “carb” portion of any kaiseki meal, which is usually brought at the end. Paul was offered his bread earlier in the meal; he was shown a basket of different breads – walnut, garlic, chestnut, plain – so that they could take his selection and warm it up for him. He loses no opportunity to wipe up what remains of the saffron sauce with his bread.
We are then taken right back to traditional Japanese kaiseki with an exquisite dish of spankingly fresh sea urchin, bonito stock egg custard, with a clear gloss sauce made with suppon stock. Suppon is terrapin, considered a delicacy. This is jaw-droppingly good, the custard comforting and the sea urchin firm, plump and tasting of the sea.
Again, from Japanese to western. We are treated a dish of the most sublime fois gras topped with male cod roe. Tender, soft, juicy, this was another contrast to the previous dish. Somehow the richness of this dish is offset by the fresher, lighter Japanese dishes around it and makes it more digestible.
This is enhanced by an okuchinaoshi – literally, a “mouth-mender”. a giant, juicy Japanese strawberry filled with a dab each of intense strawberry and creamy-fresh milk sorbets.
We are asked whether we prefer loin or fillet of beef, and how we want them cooked. Having asked for a blue fillet, this is what I get, and how. The ladies next to me who had chosen a different menu look longingly at my dish and exclaim “tabetaaaai”!!! (I want to eat some of that!) but mine is definitely not for sharing. Slices of beef so tender they hardly need chewing are accompanied by slow baked, crisp slices of garlic, dabs of wasabi and yellow Japanese mustard and a pile of shredded daikon. Each slice is dipped in a choice of garlic or ponzu sauces – yuzu and soya sauce, a fresh tangy taste. This is heaven on a plate.
The approach of the end of the meal is signalled by my rice, pickles and tea being brought to me. I feel a bit sad, even though I know my stomach will soon run out of space, that things are coming to an end, rather like coming to the end of a riveting book for whose characters you feel a great deal of affection. We had been shown a magnificent array of desserts on a tray earlier on though, so I knew we had something superlative to finish the meal with.
I had chosen a crème brulée and a layer cake of green tea crepes, azuki beans, whipped cream and strawberries. These choices appear in little portions, beautifully arranged on a plate together with a scoop of home-made vanilla ice cream and a heart shaped loop of crisp-on-the-outside and chewy-on-the-inside meringue. Just fantastic.
The whole meal, from start to finish, is a masterpiece. Things had quietened just a little by the end of the meal and I feel I can ask Okumura san, who, even as chef de cuisine, occasionally cleared plates from the counter, served wine and plated up while clearly running his kitchen with calm control.
I ask him how he had come to create this partiular type of cuisine, and whether he thought it was more Japanese or western. He tells me that his father has a kaiseki restaurant in Kyoto, and having helped out in the kitchens there from an early age, had developed a deep interest in flavours and taste combinations. He spent a year in France, in Beaune, the heart of the Bourgogne, the food capital of France. I’ve had marvellous food there, on my way from my father’s house on the edge of Burgundy to the Cevennes many years ago, on a food pilgrimage with some friends. No wonder Okumura san, a native son of Kyoto, considered the capital of Japanese fine dining, chose to spend a year in its French equivalent. Either way, the food he serves tells his story. He says he doesn’t like to classify his food one way or the other – more that this is simply food he likes best; that each dish was more western or Japanese depending on what was in season, on where that particuar dish sat in the progression of dishes – fois gras, for example, following on from a delicate Japanese morsel.
“What about Michelin stars?” I asked. “One, two or three?”
He hestitated, modestly.
“Three” he said.
Of course.
Okumura san, I hope I’ve done justice to your fabulous food; some of the ingredients I couldn’t find the English for, so the translations are an approximation. Either way, those of you reading this, if you ever pass by Kyoto, don’t miss out on a chance to eat at this incredible place. Like I said in my previous post, this ranks in our top three lifetime food experiences (vying with Foliage at the Mandarin and Chez Bruce in London). We feel compelled to come back another season to sample Kyoto’s best as soon as we can.
