At a certain level of execution, sushi is very much an art of marginal differences: the precise angle to which one chef might hone the blade of his knife, or the particular way another vinegars his rice. These are variations that might be imperceptible to the casual sushi eater but which can send a connoisseur into raptures. Sendo, like those stand-up Tokyo joints, isn’t operating at that haute-omakase calibre (in this sushi-obsessed city, that species of experience will run you many hundreds of dollars), but there are plenty of details here that indicate a level of sophistication that well surpasses the price point. The rice in the nigiri, imported from Hokkaido and seasoned with a house-made vinegar, is packed notably loosely, a high-end technique that maximizes surface area and therefore the flavor. Unagi (freshwater eel), too often served drowning in a syrupy sugar sauce, here is a large, creamy, smooth-fleshed fillet lightly basted with sweet tamari and broiled just to the edge of caramelization. Even the room feels a little bit rich, with dark walls, glossy wood panelling, and an austere display of sake bottles against the back of the sushi bar.
Helen, Help Me!
E-mail your questions about dining, eating, and anything food-related, and Helen may respond in a future newsletter.
This high quality-to-cost ratio is, I have to assume, thanks to a number of logistical factors, including the no-reservations policy and speedy pace of service, which insure that the counter is always full. (My wait time was about half an hour, but as I ate my meal I overheard the host quoting estimates of ninety minutes and more.) There’s also the relative savings that come from operating a restaurant above street level. In Japan, upstairs restaurants are so common as to be unremarkable, but it’s still oddly underplayed here in New York—with notable exceptions, such as the nearby stretch of Thirty-second Street that serves as the heart of Manhattan’s Koreatown, where bars and restaurants are stacked like pancakes. At Sendo, that single flight of stairs makes a world of difference, not only keeping the prices in check but also summoning a bit of the Tokyo experience and cultivating a sense of privacy, a bit of a clubhouse feel, a pleasing awareness that anyone who arrives at this unmarked door is a person unpretentiously in-the-know. A meal ends with kaisendon—mixed fish and a dollop of ikura, salmon roe, in a bowl with rice—followed by whatever à-la-carte nigiri or hand rolls you might want to add on from a supplemental list presented once the kaisendon is cleared away. All the classics are there, plus special cuts like shima aji (striped jack), which I especially loved for its citrus-bright flavor and almost al-dente firmness, and ankimo (monkfish liver), buttery and iodine. There’s no dessert. Keep things moving. Someone’s waiting for your seat. ♦
