Ushigoro S

A friend who knows Tokyo better than I do put Ushigoro S at the top of a list of three. He was right, as he often is.

The room is exactly what you want it to be: Nishiazabu speakeasy with binchotan smoke. We were seated near the back, given menus we hardly needed, and brought a small bowl of olives without being asked.

We started with French onion soup with the cap of cheese intact, which set the tone — generous, unfussy, and confident enough not to crowd what was coming. With it we ordered an Argentine malbec the waiter chose for me, and were glad of both.

Then the main event: sirloin sushi, the dish that puts Ushigoro S on every short list. Cut through it and you found that deep, beefy, almost iron-tasting interior that only comes from time and dry air. The signature touch — the eight-course wagyu omakase — is not a gimmick; it is the reason to come.

For sides we asked for hash browns the size of a hubcap and wild mushrooms in butter. Both arrived hot, both arrived early, both were exactly large enough to overdo it. We overdid it.

Dessert was a wedge of chocolate cake to share, fork divided, mostly because the waiter raised an eyebrow when we hesitated. He was right to.

A perfect Sunday lunch, which is what I came for.