A lot of Japanese restaurants here are not. Japanese that is. A friend of mine discovered this when she went from sushi bar to sushi bar seeking a translation of the warning message on the dashboard screen of her Japanese import. "We don't know," all the staff said, beaming with evident pride. "We are Korean."
Now, I'm not obsessive about the chef having the same nationality as the cuisine, but when I spent a couple of weeks in Japan last year, my contention that New Zealand was a great place to eat Japanese food took a hell of a dent.
At this Ponsonby Rd newcomer, in the spot formerly occupied by Thai Me Up, some of the choices are dispiritingly generic. Thai, Vietnamese and even Chinese touches are evident: a "bigger plate" choice of beef and veg with wasabi pepper sauce was positively food-hall. But among the small plates are hidden treasures.
It's certainly no standard sushi and tempura joint (although it serves both). Head chef Takashi Shitamoto, who has done time at the fabled Nobu and is blowfish-certified (it's a licence to not kill and if you don't know what it means, look it up; it's fascinating), presides at a bar that is, like most of the interior surfaces, blond wood.
