Ushigoro S

We came to Ushigoro S on a Tuesday because the calendar was kinder than the weekend. The room was three-quarters full and somehow more honest for it.

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 chopped salad with too much bacon, exactly right, which set the tone — generous, unfussy, and confident enough not to crowd what was coming. With it we ordered a heavy California zinfandel, no apologies, and were glad of both.

Then the main event: sirloin sushi, the dish that puts Ushigoro S on every short list. Was it the very best steak I have ever eaten? No. Was it among the dozen I think about most? Yes. The signature touch — the eight-course wagyu omakase — is not a gimmick; it is the reason to come.

For sides we asked for asparagus with hollandaise and skin-on fries, twice-fried. 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.

I paid the bill, walked out into the Tokyo evening, and put the address back into the notebook with a star next to it.