The Chef is Fucking with Me

You know of whom I speak: Masaharu Morimoto. Iron Chef Japan, Iron Chef USA, proprietor of some of the world's finest restaurants, labeler of his own brand of sake, sushi ninja and culinary genius. And here he is in Mumbai. At our hotel. "Optional" is not a thought that crosses one's mind.

Up first is sake, his own. And really good (as it should be for what we paid).

And then the menu. Dear lord, the menu. This is not where you go for a California roll and a couple of pieces of nigiri, though if you choose that route you will not be disappointed (excepting that there's no such thing as a California roll on his menu). Rather, we chose a DYI three course.

To start, Oh Toro for Karen and Uni for me. One piece each, likely having arrived direct from Narita hours before. Toro is fatty tuna, and this is the highest grade: it left an oil slick on Karen's plate. Uni, or sea urchin gonads, is one of my favorite foods, and I've never had better: not meant to be chewed, it miraculously dissolves on the tongue like a sweet, briny, creamy, oceanic confection.

The pace of service was perfect--not rushed but not forgotten. So we were perfectly ready for the appetizer when it arrived.

Karen's carpaccio of white fish in hot oil and ponzu was something to behold: a flower petal of diaphanous fish arranged around a bird's nest of crispy, noodly goodness and dotted with caviar. Salty, tangy, hot, cold, smoky and nearly nonexistent.

Mine ventured into new territory. Eel foie gras, it was described. I love eel, and I adore foie, so of course I ordered it. What I wasn't expecting was the eel to be wrapped in a crepe, with the foie and a shiso leaf on top, and set in a lagoon of sweet miso paste and butter. Over-the-top fails to capture the decadence, but at the same time the butter-miso-crepe combination captured the essence of pancakes and maple syrup. Confusing at first, it ultimately made total sense. And the chef is fucking with you.

The mains did not disappoint. The black cod was unctuous and smoky while the lobster came paired with ponzu, miso and dark soy--it was comically reminiscent of a McNugget campaign McD's ran 25 years ago with "Oriental dipping sauces." Of course, the particle-chicken is now lobster, and the bad sweet'n'sour is now ponzu, but it was another nod to playful eating, the kind of sophistication one craves as an adult married to experiences one has at age ten.

From time to time I'm indicted for never having completely grown up, as if that's a bad or non-negotiable thing. Bullocks! I say. Remembering how to play is tantamount. Morimoto plays with his food. And we--and he--are all the better for it.