Are You Guys Trying to Get Me Drunk?

In which I check out a well-touted classical sushi omakase experience.

Wait… what is this? I’ve come out to Belgrano to sample what is being touted as one of the best classical omakase experiences in town. I entered through the sushi bar downstairs (Haiku), headed up the indicated stairway, and I’m now sitting on a lounge banquette in a low lit room with absolutely pounding music that is, let’s say, not to my tastes. Are we being served sushi at lounge tables in this environment? I’m sure I saw photos of a sushi bar, but I look around and there’s just this and a terrace. Well, at least maybe I can sit on the terrace where it’s a bit quieter….

Ahh… now I get it. Separate room entered off the terrace. Welcome to Shimada Omakase, F.D. Roosevelt 1806. But, what about that music?

In short order, the nine of us who are there (four separate couples and myself, solo) are escorted into the sushi bar. Like a well oiled machine, as the sushi chef signals the start of the evening, the music in the next door room (Mixtape Bar) is switched to a soft folk pop sort of vibe and the volume is cut to the point where it’s just background for us.

Before things really get underway, we are treated to a little “amuse” of fresh trout, trout roe, and an almond tofu cream.

The eponymous chef, Shimada (a common Eastern Japanese last name, I am informed, meaning “island rice paddy”), comes to each couple (or single) and presents the fish of the evening, talking through each one. It takes a bit of time, as he’s repeating the entire two-plus minute spiel five times. And some of the fish are unfamiliar to some of the guests, so he spends a bit more time describing them. Of particular interest to me is that he’s using some lesser used fish (here) - like two types of mackerel, geoduck, and razor clam.

Before the fish, oddly, we are treated to a glazed chicken wing. I’m not sure I’ve ever had one served at a sushi bar, and a hot (temperature) wing prior to sushi seems odd. But it is delicious.

From there, we are on to a series of ten different nigiri. (Three picked out as illustrative.) Each is beautifully cut, simply presented, and flavorful. For the most part, the seasoning is very classical - just a simple brushing of tare. A few have pinches of extra flavor.

We finish with a trio of tempuras pieces, one after the other, and a chance for others at the sushi bar to taste a little bit of sake and awamori.

Awamori? What’s that? So, this is what happened. Everyone else at the sushi bar is busy ordering various bottles of wine. Argentines being Argentines, most of them are ordering bottles of Malbec. I’m all for “drink what you like”, but try something else for a change. Maybe even something that goes with raw fish. I ask if there’s sake available and the waitress says yes, and brings me a 180ml flask. It’s undrinkable, fizzy, and tastes like candied strawberries. It’s some sort of YA crap that’s the Japanese sake equivalent of a wine cooler.

I wave her back over and politely let her know that I’m not up for drinking it, though I understand that having ordered it, I may have to pay for it. She consults with the sushi chef off to the side, then disappears into another room and comes back and hands him this bottle. He opens it and offers me a taste. It’s strong, but it’s good. He starts explaining what it is and I get a bit lost - some sort of blend of rice, sweet potato, and wheat. I send the photo to my friend Michael who is the guru of all these things and he quickly responds back that it’s not sake, which is fermented rice wine, it’s a more potent distilled liquor called awamori.

Without further discussion, I suddenly have a 180ml flask of Ryūkyū Awamori Chūkō, from Okinawa, in front of me. I have no idea what this is going to cost me. Am I still paying for the previous sake? Is this stuff pricey? Well, in for a centavo, in for a peso, so to speak. Then when I finish it off about two-thirds of the way through the omakase, there’s suddenly a second flask of it in front of me. Are they just trying to get me drunk? We’re looking at half a bottle now of distilled liquor. But damn, it is good.

And you know what, in the end, they charged me for one flask of the basic sake. That’s it. A whole 14,000 pesos, or a little over $11. Add to that the superb omakase of sixteen pasos at 80,000, or about $70, and this was, among the various omakases I’ve had here, one of the best deals out there. If you want classic rather than creative, this is the place to come. Highly recommended.