Four Stars for Yamada, the Height of Inebriated Cuisine in New York

Foolish decisions beget foolish decisions. For an April Fools' dinner, I booked a reservation at Yamada, a kaiseki with such notably unique distinctions as 1 Michelin star (shared with a select few 68 other New York restaurants) and 4 stars from New York Times chief restaurant critic Ligaya Mishan (who had been on the job for less than a full year before she decided to award 4 stars to Yamada). When I booked the reservation, I wanted to answer a question: is Yamada really the height of kaiseki cuisine or is Michelin right in withholding multiple Michelin stars from Yamada (an honor bestowed to only 19 restaurants)?

My first foolish decision was deciding I had the palate to make that determination. My second foolish decision came when I ordered the standard drinks pairing, a breezy $300 on top of the $330 tasting menu. Before I ordered the pairing, I held the sommelier at gunpoint and forced him to recite, course-by-course, the exact pairing. The sommelier gave the air of someone who knew what he was talking about and someone who only spoke English as a second language. Halfway through, I started snoring, but the sommelier, unfamiliar with the deeply American tradition of sleeping through lectures (fuck academia!), did not notice and continued on with his explanations. I didn't hear a word the sommelier said, but at least I can pretend I was cultured in that moment.

Like all great kaisekis and chef's counters, the chef stared at all of the diners as we got seated with such obvious disdain that I almost started apologizing profusely for my presence.

The first course was chawanmushi, of course. I am so sick and tired of chawanmushi and chawanmushi derivatives, but this was a good one. The focus was on the freshness of the mix-ins, prawn, scallop, and a dashi topping, rather than blowing my taste buds out with oil, butter, and truffles. Not that Yamada didn't try. One of the servers tried to offer me a 45 dollar black truffle supplement with the chawanmushi, but I looked at her with such intensity and fear in my eye that she backed away and didn't interact with me for the rest of the meal.

Next was the hassun, a seasonal mix of random bullshit that tastes good[^1], garnished with random flowers and branches that look good. At this point, I'd like to introduce you to some secondary characters in my quest: the party of 4 Cantonese speaking aunties to my left and 3 Japanese speaking non-aunties to my right. The four Cantonese aunties devoured all of their courses in record time, while the Japanese trio and I took our sweet time savoring each individual morsel. The dessert course would later reveal that we were all here to celebrate a birthday, but I was the only April fool who kept the birthday a secret from the chef and staff at Yamada. Where's my damn candle?

Afterwards came the sashimi course. The Cantonese aunties devoured this one, and I spent my time contemplating that I was already drunk as shit and only 3 courses in. The sashimi was great. I'll be honest; I only remember that one of the 7 fishes was some kind of fluke, and that in itself is a fluke. It was bold of the chef and staff to believe in my ability to 1) remember 7 different items on the plate 2) remember which of the two sauces I was given each item paired with and 3) remember which of the sake and white wine they poured me each item paired with.

I was falling behind in my drinking at this point. In front of me were 3 different wine glasses and 2 different sakes. At one point, the sommelier tried to pull the fine dining sneaky on me and take one of my unfinished sake cups. He came back 15 seconds later, head hung low and clearly ashamed of himself. "Sorry, I didn't realize you hadn't finished the sake; it's hard to see because it's so clear."

I told him to do better. Also, have you considered serving only cloudy sake?

A soup dish appeared in front of me. I have the impression that the servers did try to explain all the dishes to me, but once again, they were unfamiliar with the deeply American tradition of ignoring the nicely packaged explanation in favor of learning things the hard way. I was lucky this time around. There was only a single beverage pairing, and the soup turned out to be an easy-to-eat and wonderful Hokkaido crab broth served with a big hunk of Hokkaido crab dumpling[^2]. The obligatory seasonal spring white asparagus chunks weren't from Hokkaido. Where is Hokkaido again? All I learned was that Hokkaido can give Maryland a run for its money. Baltimore crab cakes ain't got shit on Yamada crab dumplings.

I was so drunk I forgot the beverage paired with the crab. Oops.

One of the servers toted a hunk of A5 wagyu sirloin and shoved it in our faces. Foreshadowing! There was a great big leaf draped over the wagyu, and the server made a big deal of how the wagyu was aged and smoked with sakura (seasonal!).

They put a pile of fish and deep-fried things in front of me. This was the most forgettable course. The sauce was green and saucy. It tasted green and saucy. Fried food is tasty. I managed to pull it together long enough to look at the chef as he was preparing this dish, and I saw him tending to a saucier of oil with little bits of vegetables frying away inside. Like all great Japanese master chefs™, he used only chopsticks to manipulate the food, and as he tried to lift a vegetable piece out of the oil, it dropped onto the stove. Thirty dollars of food lost due to his negligence.

I asked him if he cared about the starving children in Africa.

Surprise! Like a culinary Chekhov's gun, the wagyu arrived. I will drop the act and say this is the best wagyu dish I've had in my life. When you serve wagyu at a restaurant, there's a temptation to let wagyu speak for itself. The temptation is understandable, but at this point, there are dozens of restaurants serving A5 wagyu, and they've all succumbed to the same temptation. The wagyu at Yamada came paired with a delightfully tart cherry sauce which, combined with the sakura leaf smoking, offset the standard A5 richness that I've come to expect. The chef and I made eye contact and I couldn't help but bounce up and down like a little ball of joy.

The final savory course was a seafood donabe. The third foolish decision of the night was paying 75 dollars extra for an uni supplement. The uni came with a bunch of nori, and the servers instructed me to start making handrolls with the donabe and uni. I ate the donabe and the uni. Compared to Odo, my last experience with donabe at a kaiseki, this donabe emphasized the individual ingredients over the whole. Odo's donabe tasted like the sea, bursts of salt and iodine contributing to the overall conjuration. Yamada's donabe was studded with whole firefly squid, indulgent hunks of savory chewiness.

I ate my entire bowl. One of the servers walked by and asked if I wanted another bowl. A lifetime of eating fine dining had not prepared me for this moment. Seconds? What the fuck are seconds? I was already so full, my stomach conditioned to accept that it was not receiving any more savory food after the first bowl. The server sensed my hesitation and helpfully let me know, "you can get half a bowl." I conceded and asked for half. The server walked to Chef Yamada and whispered, "You see that guy? He only wants half of a bowl. What a poor example of an American glutton." The chef laughed and scooped me half a scoop.

Two dessert courses followed. Chef portioned out amazake ice cream with moscato grapes and strawberries flown in from Japan. At this point, I noticed that the ice cream was being quenelled from a cylindrical metal tub. I grabbed the nearest server by the arm and screamed, "DID THIS COME FROM A PACOJET?" She admitted she didn't know and walked straight up to chef to relay my question. Chef said, "YES, ARE YOU A CHEF?" I told him, "YES, I AM A CHEF. BETTER THAN YOU." I've never felt so acknowledged in my life.

The amazake ice cream was ama-zing and a great example of Swiss-Japanese fusion, one of the most popular cuisines in the world. I love amazake! The final dessert was a concession to those seeking more seasonality in their kaiseki: a sakura mochi and a sakura red bean jelly. The server told me the former represented sakura at twilight and the latter represented sakura at dusk. I didn't understand. Aren't twilight and dusk the same? These two items certainly weren't.

By the end of the meal, they had liquored me up enough that they could have served me a McDouble and I would have proclaimed it the height of kaiseki cuisine in New York. On my original purpose of determining whether Yamada really was the best kaiseki in the city, I failed. I suppose that doesn't matter because I certainly enjoyed myself. I guess I'll have to visit again and talk some more to chef about Pacojets.

[1]: 6 beautifully presented dishes ranging from monkfish liver buried in foam to abalone drenched in sauce. There was even a tiny Lego brick of broccoli rabe to assuage the part of my soul that cares about my health! Notably, this course was served with sake and a white wine, and the sommelier instructed me to pair the sake with 3 of the 6 courses and the white wine with the other 3. The sommelier, clearly unfamiliar with the deeply American tradition of not giving a fuck, looked at me with disdain as I dumped all 6 dishes with the sake and white wine into my Vitamix™ blender and created a masterpiece.

[2]: Dumpling in the "chicken and dumplings" sense. There was no dough wrapper.