Den of Exclusion

christina ko discovers the pleasures of Japanese tradition at Wagyu Kaiseki Den

IT COULD HARDLY be called a secret, but it’s not as if there are lines out the door to visit Wagyu Kaiseki Den on Hollywood Road. And really, there should be – if street-side ramen joints can command hours-long queues and a certain four-letter private kitchen claims a waiting list a couple of months long, then this Sheung Wan hideaway deserves greater accolades than a few glowing press clippings and a Michelin star (in 2010, it was the first and only Japanese restaurant to be honoured in the Hong Kong & Macau guide).

Maybe there’s a reason the applause has come more from insiders than the mass market. Since it opened its doors in 2009, Wagyu Kaiseki Den has radiated exclusivity – there’s the imposing, immovable front door that opens only by switch; the refusal to entertain walk-in drinks clients, despite a bar area at the entrance; the $1,780-a-head kaiseki menu served only once a day, only at 7pm or later. But it takes more than that to set this restaurant apart from the stacks of others that take gastronomic cues from Japan.

Omakase (chef’s choice) menus have been the rage for Japanese-food lovers for some time. Their devotees stalk Causeway Bay holes in the wall for imported chefs and seasonal ingredients, cupping ears to doors to listen for Japanese patrons, that certain mark of authenticity. Kaiseki is a whole different ball game. It’s the highest form of culinary art in a culture whose gastronomic creations are already among the most aesthetically handsome in the world, an exercise in tradition and formality to a minute degree, with a focus on balance of colours, textures and flavours.

The ingredients for each night’s show (for make no mistake, it is a performance art of sorts, though it will end in the consumption of the oeuvre) arrive at 6pm daily, just an hour before patrons start arriving. The menu thus varies from day to day based on what has hit shore.

For us today, it starts with slivers of kamasu – barracuda – with aona (greens), ichidiku (fig) and a miso sauce. The portion may be small, but the flavours are big and so harmonious that you don’t realise you’re eating several disparate elements in each bite. It’s partnered with a portion of hollowed persimmon filled with taraba crab, vegetable seeds, a bean curd sauce and dashi (fish stock).

All of this is painstakingly prepared in an open kitchen by Chief Executive Chef Hiroyuki Saotome, a veteran of Nobu London and of Japan’s Ginza Kyubey and Waketokuyama. The size of the kitchen rivals that of the seating area in front, and edges right up against the place settings, so close that diners could pat the chef on the head as he works (don’t – Saotome is a serious man, and kaiseki is no laughing matter).

Two sides of the kitchen feature refrigerated lockers, each labelled in gold lettering with the names of patrons who store cuts of beef at minus-20 degrees Celsius. The staff at Wagyu Kaiseki Den play it low key when it comes to their roster of society clientele, but front and centre is restaurant owner and tycoon Peter Lam’s locker, alongside those of bigwigs such as Silas Chou, former Chief Secretary Rafael Hui and Chief Executive hopeful Henry Tang. The Wagyu can be stored for up to eight months, although consumption within four is recommended.

Charcoal grilling is the typical method of cooking, though today the beef we’re trying is A5 Saga beef nigiri. A near-identical duo is presented, one topped with autumn truffle from France, the other with Iranian caviar. The beef is so marbled it could be a tie-dyed hippy T-shirt, red meat and white fat bleeding into each other over a bed of sushi rice made with red vinegar, a trick to add sweetness that Saotome picked up from his Nobu days. Rather than bursting with taste, the fat thrills across the palate like a cold shiver, making you sit up and pay attention just as the sensation fades. It melts in the mouth so easily, so instantly, it’s like it never existed, and you’re left yearning for more, seeking that first touch on the tongue like a junkie chases the dragon. There isn’t more, at least not immediately. Food is imported to exact order, so there are hardly any leftovers.

There are other diversions, none quite so purely hedonistic, but offering more calculated pleasures. And there’s no gratification quite so deliberate as when you put sea urchin and truffle together in a bowl. Grilled onigiri is combined with fried uni and generous slices of truffle for a showy, deceptively simple dish that’s all about complex flavours: smoky, salty, pungent, woody.

Even more carefully crafted is red snapper, delicately wrapped in a steamed egg white through some miracle cooking method, topped with a sliver of chestnut and shaved yuzu, then half-submerged in a viscous mushroom bath. It’s tasty, but not the most wham-bam flavourful of the bunch. What it is, however, is the best exemplification of the art of kaiseki that we’ve seen today. The combination is alien but the taste not, a melody that travels across the palate and pronounces each note succinctly: the depth of mushrooms, the rawness of chestnut, the punch of yuzu and the fish, absorbing all of the elements into its own body. It’s packaged not to resemble food, but, aptly, like a jewellery pouch filled with untold treasure. You won’t find a diamond necklace inside, but something even more priceless.