To be honest, I don’t even know where to begin this post. I suppose that I could just cut to the chase and tell you that I have just eaten what could easily be the best meal of my life.
Morimoto is the namesake restaurant owned by Iron Chef Masaharu Morimoto, and is located in New York’s Chelsea neighborhood. From the moment we approached the entrance (which we almost passed, because it looked like a carwash) we knew we were in for a unique experience. Once inside, the gorgeous lighting, glowing lucite, and lush draped ceilings combined with beautiful natural wood for an ambiance that was simultaneously tranquil and strikingly modern. Our cozy corner table was dressed with simple glassware, white ceramic, and lucite chopsticks. The server was friendly and knowledgeable, and when she arrived we started with cocktails.
Steve had a Snapdragon, an exotic, berry-infused take on the Mojito. I went for the Morimotini; a gimmicky name, yes I know. However, the concoction of sake, wasabi-infused vodka, and cucumber was playful, intriguing and entirely delicious.
Ok. This next part is where my eloquence with words fails me, because calling the next courses to mind sends my brain to a far-off happy place… a place filled with raw fish… is that strange to anyone else? Anywho. Back on track. Overwhelmed by the gorgeous assortment of sushi and sashimi on the menu, we ordered the chef’s combination, be because we figured, “hey, the Iron chef would know what’s best around here, right?”. The platter arrived with 6 pieces of spicy tuna roll, as well as 9 pieces of assorted sushi, including toro (fatty tuna), hamachi, hand-caught snapper, barbecued eel, shrimp, and a few other delicious things I can only recall the incredible flavors of. The textures were unlike any I had ever experienced. Even the ubiquitous pickled ginger and wasabi paste were finer in texture and more delicate that I had previously encountered. Best sushi ever. No contest.
Once I reined in my giddiness from the sushi course, it was on to the main course. Enticed by Morimoto’s adeptness with seafood, I ordered the Seafood Toban Yaki. Steve opted for the Duck, Duck, Duck. The toban yaki was a steaming vessel containing king crab, a half-shell lobster, 2 large prawns, mussels, clams, and divers scallops, all swimming in an unimaginably rich red miso and sake broth. The seafood was fresh and meltingly tender, and the broth was unctuous and buttery. Heaven in a bowl, I tell you. Enough said. Steve’s entree showcased duck in 3 distinct forms: crispy roast duck, a foie gras croissant, and a soft-cooked duck egg. The proteins were paired with a port wine reduction, and a richly flavored red miso sauce, a play on the traditional hoisin. The roast duck was everything it should be; the meat was succulent and juicy without being too oily, and the skin was perfectly crisp. The light, flaky croissant was layered with thick slices of foie; it seemed to me street food, elevated. The duck egg, Steve says, he could take or leave; it was tasty but, as he so eloquently put, “it was just an egg”. Some people. The meal ended with me slouching blissfully back in my seat, and Steve contentedly dipping his chopsticks in the remaining red miso sauce. I won’t belabor the experience by wrapping up with trite cliches and cheesy Iron Chef puns. The meal was, in a word, perfect.
Dinner at Morimoto
To be honest, I don’t even know where to begin this post. I suppose that I could just cut to the chase and tell you that I have just eaten what could easily be the best meal of my life.
Morimoto is the namesake restaurant owned by Iron Chef Masaharu Morimoto, and is located in New York’s Chelsea neighborhood. From the moment we approached the entrance (which we almost passed, because it looked like a carwash) we knew we were in for a unique experience. Once inside, the gorgeous lighting, glowing lucite, and lush draped ceilings combined with beautiful natural wood for an ambiance that was simultaneously tranquil and strikingly modern. Our cozy corner table was dressed with simple glassware, white ceramic, and lucite chopsticks. The server was friendly and knowledgeable, and when she arrived we started with cocktails.
Steve had a Snapdragon, an exotic, berry-infused take on the Mojito. I went for the Morimotini; a gimmicky name, yes I know. However, the concoction of sake, wasabi-infused vodka, and cucumber was playful, intriguing and entirely delicious.
Ok. This next part is where my eloquence with words fails me, because calling the next courses to mind sends my brain to a far-off happy place… a place filled with raw fish… is that strange to anyone else? Anywho. Back on track. Overwhelmed by the gorgeous assortment of sushi and sashimi on the menu, we ordered the chef’s combination, be because we figured, “hey, the Iron chef would know what’s best around here, right?”. The platter arrived with 6 pieces of spicy tuna roll, as well as 9 pieces of assorted sushi, including toro (fatty tuna), hamachi, hand-caught snapper, barbecued eel, shrimp, and a few other delicious things I can only recall the incredible flavors of. The textures were unlike any I had ever experienced. Even the ubiquitous pickled ginger and wasabi paste were finer in texture and more delicate that I had previously encountered. Best sushi ever. No contest.
Once I reined in my giddiness from the sushi course, it was on to the main course. Enticed by Morimoto’s adeptness with seafood, I ordered the Seafood Toban Yaki. Steve opted for the Duck, Duck, Duck. The toban yaki was a steaming vessel containing king crab, a half-shell lobster, 2 large prawns, mussels, clams, and divers scallops, all swimming in an unimaginably rich red miso and sake broth. The seafood was fresh and meltingly tender, and the broth was unctuous and buttery. Heaven in a bowl, I tell you. Enough said. Steve’s entree showcased duck in 3 distinct forms: crispy roast duck, a foie gras croissant, and a soft-cooked duck egg. The proteins were paired with a port wine reduction, and a richly flavored red miso sauce, a play on the traditional hoisin. The roast duck was everything it should be; the meat was succulent and juicy without being too oily, and the skin was perfectly crisp. The light, flaky croissant was layered with thick slices of foie; it seemed to me street food, elevated. The duck egg, Steve says, he could take or leave; it was tasty but, as he so eloquently put, “it was just an egg”. Some people. The meal ended with me slouching blissfully back in my seat, and Steve contentedly dipping his chopsticks in the remaining red miso sauce. I won’t belabor the experience by wrapping up with trite cliches and cheesy Iron Chef puns. The meal was, in a word, perfect.