Yoroniku

A friend who knows Tokyo better than I do put Yoroniku 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: Omotesando basement, hushed and exact. We were seated near the back, given menus we hardly needed, and brought a small bowl of olives without being asked.

We started with a half-dozen oysters from the raw bar, which set the tone — generous, unfussy, and confident enough not to crowd what was coming. With it we ordered a Burgundy that arrived too cold and rewarded patience, and were glad of both.

Then the main event: a5 wagyu yakiniku selection, the dish that puts Yoroniku on every short list. The crust was the colour of dark mahogany, and the inside was a confident, even pink the whole way through. The signature touch — the chateaubriand sukiyaki at the end — is not a gimmick; it is the reason to come.

For sides we asked for grilled radicchio with anchovy butter and thick-cut onion rings, stacked. Both arrived hot, both arrived early, both were exactly large enough to overdo it. We overdid it.

Dessert was key lime pie, mostly because the waiter raised an eyebrow when we hesitated. He was right to.

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