TsuKuShi

I and two of my friends ate dinner here for the first time this evening and keeping it short we all three were left feeling disappointed . We tried the omakase and not only were we left hungry (not uncommon, I am used to smaller portions at omakase) but also underwhelmed. From the cold appetizer dishes that both consisted of marinated vegetables to a very underwhelming 6th and final plate that consisted of just two chicken wings with minimal flavor and a side what seemed like prepackaged potato salad. Ps. we have to another restaurant to get food after this, so we can fill our poor stomach!!!!

Traditional omakase menu, very affordable and no tipping policy. They have a late night menu as well. Both times I visited, we had already eaten earlier and didn't want to order the full omakase. Each time the bartender was kind and asked the chef if he could prepare a 3 dish course for us, and the chef kindly agreed. Each dish was excellent--traditional Japanese cuisine. Next time, I will definitely try the full menu or go after 11pm for the late night menu.

Authentic Japanese restaurant you can enjoy legit food. The portion is little too small but it was really good. Our noodle took little too much since we waited more than 30mins for soba and Udon. 😢

This place was really good. Owned and operated by one person who is Japanese. The omakase was well worth the $66 for 6 courses. While it may not fill you up, you can order curry rice, ramen, soba (hot or cold), and other dishes after if you are still hungry, I was. The sake was fantastic. I was the only person there speaking English and went at midnight. Good vibes, great food, excellent chef = great night.

This was three years ago. It was past midnight. In the base of an ordinary Manhattan apartment building, an unmarked door and a curtain concealed an izakaya. I stepped through, and the city fell away. I was in Sapporo. Inside, it was loud—but not American loud. This was practiced loudness, rhythmic and intentional. Loud but you can still hear a needle dropping. Japanese men in loosened ties laughed from deep in their chests, slapping shoulders with the ease of repetition. Their voices collided like waves. Across the room, a woman spoke in a thread-thin voice that wove beneath theirs. I didn’t understand a word. It felt like watching someone else’s memory loop quietly in the background. The chef didn’t smile. He didn’t need to. I ordered the omakase. Dishes arrived in calm succession—chi