I've been putting off writing this post for quite some time.
Not because I want to.
Not because there's nothing to write.
I had wanted to wait a little while first before writing about this (debut) omakase experience of mine but as life goes, the (little) while turned into a (long) while and now we're midway into the new year with me not having yet written a single word.
Maybe that makes the post a tad more meaningful.
I don't know.
It might have been a good thing if I were a foodie who knows her cuisine and knows what she's talking about.
It might also have been a good thing if I were a connoisseur with the ability to remember and dissect (expertly) what it were I were putting inside my mouth.
As it stands I'm neither.
I just know how to eat.
Unfortunately, not just only know how to eat, but eat already also can forget.
And so it is that, in all embarrassed honesty, looking at these pictures now I have no idea what the names of these dishes were, and I can't even remember what most of them are.
However I'll try.
First thing you'll notice about these dishes is just how pretty they are.
Nothing about the plating was slapdash put together in a haphazard manner.
Whether it were served on a spoon, a bowl or a plate, no tiniest detail was overlooked.
It didn't matter if it were seaweed or tuna or scallop or salmon.
If it were sliced, it was sliced skilfully.
If it were rolled, it was rolled beautifully.
Aesthetics played a very important role in the presentation of each dish. From the tiny, adorable little flowers to the cute, charming miniature of a serving board, every dish here was made to the degree that you felt like you were seated there at its natural source, enjoying the freshness the food had to offer.
It's a humungous pity that I cannot remember just what these dishes were.
I just know they were very, very good.
Right on top in the first picture were a series of dishes that, for the life of me, I cannot recall their names.
Neither, to my embarrassment, can I even remember just what dishes they were.
All I know is that every single dish there was prepared with a lot of effort, and a lot of heart. Nothing there seemed to be factory made, and even if there were, it were minute, tiny portions that (to the noob me) made no difference anyway.
Something I appreciated was just how they took every ingredient and made it special.
Like the edamame.
Now it might be just regular good ol' edamame, no big deal, but somehow, the way they arranged it made me think of a spring garden full of fresh blossoms and freshest of fresh produce (in a miniature form) brought to my table.
I'm now starting to recall (vaguely) what the dishes were.
One dish was, I believe, a seared scallop amongst one of the first dishes that were brought. I don't know if it were served with anything else but if I'm not wrong there was a bit of sauce (or pureed something) and then there was seaweed.
Then another dish had slices of pork in dashi soup, and this I remember a bit better because even though they had only one big leaf as a sort of decoration, the soup was so rich and so full of flavor that I decided I would not have dashi soup in any other place anymore.
There was, perhaps, something that was pureed- either it was a chestnut puree or some other ingredient which was pureed- but I know it was unusual because I know it was a food which needed a whole lot of effort and I was impressed by the time and heart taken to prepare this simple, cute, tiny little bowl of puree.
Other more obvious dishes include the sushi, which, by the way, instead the usual and very familiar salmon, had rare, not oft served fishes atop skilfully rolled rice. Again it's an annoying irritation that I can't recall just exactly what these fishes were. Was it monkfish? Yellowtail? They really slip my mind- entirely.
A good thing therefore that I remember the ikura.
It's actually one of the most difficult dishes to forget.
Not because the ikura is a special kind of ikura but because over here the chef comes over to you with a gigantic bowl of it and he'll keep filling your little bowl until you announce a word- in Japanese- for him to stop.
My dining companion (who loves ikura) had at least five or six ladles of it overflowing his little bowl before he said the word.
I, on the other hand, got paisei by the third ladle and decided my portion was enough.
Would have been nice if I could remember the word, but alas, no.
Maybe I'll be able to find it somewhere, but that's for another time.
There can be no great meal without a sweet at the end, and this evening we ended this amazing, pretty, delicious, elegant dinner with a wonderful dessert- a scoop of ice cream between two very delicate crackers which the chor lor us decided we'd just separate out the crackers and eat them on its own instead of it being like a burger with the ice cream clamped together.