Sushi Yoshida

I brushed past the "valet guy", scarcely noticing his slick gel-slathered mane and mustache, only to realise it was Chef Yoshida himself. Why was Chef Yoshida working on his tan, instead of mulling behind the sushi counter during lunch time?



Think Harry Potter when he steps into The Leaky Cauldron for the first time, where nothing on the outside seems to suggest the actvity going on within. Like the indistinct pub, the entrance is missable if not pointed out by those been-there-done-that; inside however, the arena brimmed with corporate-clad folks and chatter.



So soon as our orders were taken, two bowls of onsen tamago formed opening credits. Also known as "hot spring eggs", the egg yolks were mysteriously cooked, despite its undercooked egg white outering. Apparently this is breakfast food in Japan, pretty much like our soft-boiled eggs sans kaya toasts. Soaked in a mix of dashi, mirin and light soy sauce, it wasn't the most spectacular of appetizers. Maybe I should have asked for dark soya sauce and pepper...



Along with our lunch sets, we were given a choice of miso or clear soup and I opted for the clear soup, which surprisingly contained meaty fish chunks. Simple but indelibly pleasing, this definitely made up for the special-hmm-not-quite eggs.



My chiraishi consisted of creamy sashimi slabs that oozed ephemeral pleasure upon mastication. It was as if the Squishy Sashimi Symposium was taking place right in my bento. The Ama-ebi, Kanikama, Chu-toro, Maguro, Hotate, Kanpachi and Tai assembled -all pledging to serve in the name of debauchery- witnessed by Tamago, Ikura, Sakura-denbu and Daikon.

If Nogawa's chiraishi was Hello Kitty's Dream Float in Puroland, Yoshida's was an exotic ikebana flower arrangement, bequest by Spring. Better yet, the rice was laced with Japanese pickles, resulting in a moist tingling aftertaste.



My friend had the assorted nigiri, which was basically similar to the chiraishi, only taken apart and molded into solitary entities with different agendas.