KANSO
kanso — simplicity; the elimination of clutter.
Nine seats Nineteen pieces Nothing else
kanso — simplicity; the elimination of clutter.
Nine seats Nineteen pieces Nothing else
The omakase moves as five movements over two hours.
Chef Ito decides everything except when you smile.
A single bite to set the temperature of the evening. Often warm, always gone too soon.
White fish toward red, rice at body temperature, wasabi already where it belongs.
A clear broth to reset the palate — dashi drawn this afternoon, nothing added since.
The richer cuts, the aged ones, the piece Ito has been saving for you specifically.
Fruit at its exact moment, cut once. The evening ends the way it began — simply.
Planed each morning until it smells faintly of forest. No varnish, no cloth, no menu resting on it. The wood keeps the temperature of the room and the room keeps the temperature of the rice.
Chef Morio Ito — twenty-two years at the counter,
the last nine of them here.
Kagurazaka, Tokyo · closed Sundays and the first Monday of each month