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 burrata with peaches and basil, which set the tone — generous, unfussy, and confident enough not to crowd what was coming. With it we ordered a quiet Brunello from the back of the list, and were glad of both.

Then the main event: a5 wagyu yakiniku selection, the dish that puts Yoroniku 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 chateaubriand sukiyaki at the end — is not a gimmick; it is the reason to come.

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

Dessert was crème brûlée with a proper glass crust, mostly because the waiter raised an eyebrow when we hesitated. He was right to.

I will be back. With company, next time, and a longer reservation.