Sushi Sawada (Tokyo)

I’ve wanted to write about Sawada since my meal there in December 2012, but couldn’t find the words.  How does one describe the sublime?  What can be said?  Even now, months later, I haven’t found a way to communicate just how different Sawada was, on every level, from all my previous experiences with sushi, fish, rice, flavor, texture, and the heart of what food is.

Still, I’d like to try and share what I can.

For the past few years, whenever I read an article on “Best Sushi In Japan,” or watched a film like Jiro Dreams of Sushi, I would try to imagine what it would be like to eat sushi at the highest level.  I would see close-up shots and think, “Holy what, that rice looks incredible!  And look, how the fish glistens!”  I could almost taste it.  To begin with, I was no stranger to the form– I had dined at a few revered sushi-ya’s on multiple trips to Tokyo.  And after reading so much, and seeing– even studying— so many pictures of delectable-looking fish draped over rice, I thought that I could somewhat imagine what it would be like.

Yet, the reality was so much more than simply an incarnation of my imagination.  It transcended and redefined all kinds of things I thought I knew about food– things like freshness and complexity.  Is it fresh if it’s aged?  Because it tasted “fresher” than any fish I’d ever known.  How can two ingredients, simply cooked or not at all, contain such depth?  Sawada was the polar opposite of uber-avante-garde Alinea, where I experienced another best-meal-of-my-life (if such a thing can be said).  It was utterly refined rusticity and simplicity; perhaps this is why it amounted to something even greater.  Sushi Dai was decent, and Kyubei better, but Sawada was on another plane, better by an order of magnitude; there was simply no comparison; it was not the same food whatsoever.  I immediately felt that all the others had been playing with scraps, cheap imitations (throw fish on rice and voila!  Sushi!), but Sawada was the real thing, the true craft of sushi.  It was tasting sushi for the first time.  Both the fish and the rice at Sawada were consistently of a much higher quality than I had ever tasted, in any kind of restaurant, anywhere in the world.  But I expected this.  What I didn’t expect was that at Sawada, one comes to understand what it means that sushi is not only about perfect fish and perfect rice, but rather the marriage between the two, a husband and wife that become more than the sum of their parts.  I finally felt the heart of sushi.

Much could be written on the physical qualities of the sushi, but perhaps an anecdote would be more telling. The morning after my meal at Sawada, I took a friend to the famed Sushi Dai, and found that I had to force myself to swallow their sushi.  Suddenly, Sushi Dai tasted like cheap, days-old box sushi from a Chicago supermarket.  Now, this had nothing to do with snobbery or attitude.  It was simply that after Sawada, Sushi Dai’s fish seemed to stink from “improper” handling/seasoning, and the rice seemed sloppy.  But this was because the fish actually did stink, and the rice was a mess, and there was no marriage between the two– I just hadn’t realized it before.

For the first time, I tasted sushi that was made in such a natural way– like, why doesn’t everybody do this?  So much so that all the other sushi just didn’t even make sense anymore.  I mean, why would you take a piece of raw fish and just slap it on rice?  That’s not sushi, is it?  Sawada’s extensive prep and attention to detail made the sushi Sushi, you see, so the former way was revealed as incomplete, like a burger without buns or an unsalted steak– a piece of meat, but the flavor isn’t there.

Which brings me to the question of Perfection.  In Jiro Dreams of Sushi, the legendary sushi chef is asked whether he believed that perfection could be achieved.  He answers, “No, I don’t think it’s possible.”

Yet in a way, I think it is possible.  If food were static, a complete universe by itself, then it would not be possible.  Yet I keep coming back to what I mentioned in my first post: that food is not simply “all by itself.”  Rather, it is dynamic and interactive– with our taste buds, memories, friends, atmosphere, mood, etc.  So I answer for myself:

If at a meal, one is the happiest that he has ever been, and is filled with joy, laughter, and thankfulness; if he has tasted none better and can imagine no more; if it compels him to shake his head in disbelief that he could be so blessed; if it brings tears to his eyes and wonder to his heart– This is perfection.

Such was my experience at Sawada.

I’ll close with an excerpt from my email to my two brothers and their wives immediately after eating at Sawada:

“Sushi Sawada was indescribably sublime . . . I now dream of eating here with you.  Actually, since Sawada only has six seats, if the five of us (and my date) visit Sawada, we would rent out the entire restaurant.  Sounds crazy, but if you ever want to visit, I would fly to Japan– if only for a day– just to eat there with you.”

I haven’t had sushi since, and don’t intend to until I visit Sawada again.

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Sushi Sawada
MC Blg, 3/F, 5-9-19 Ginza
Chuo-ku, Tokyo
Reservations essential: +81 (0) 3 3571 4711

*No photos were allowed

*A great review on Sawada here:

6 thoughts on “Sushi Sawada (Tokyo)

    1. I went for lunch– though I believe the meal is identical to dinner– and chose the shorter set (no sashimi). It was about 1 1/2 hours, which actually felt quite leisurely– it doesn’t take long to pop a nigiri in your mouth. =)

      1. Thanks! I’ve heard people say it ranges from 90 mins to as long as 3 hours. Guessing 3 hours is the max though

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