A Love Letter to Otaru
Hidden beneath a parking garage is what Yale students—or at least, the ones with good taste—call the best sushi in New Haven. You might think that they’re joking as you walk down Temple Street and look both ways before ducking under the overpass. But past the concrete, there’s a door that’s always locked. If Kathy lets you in, you’ll uncover a room with about twenty seats.
Behind the counter stands a long plank of wood, shaped like a surfboard, with one word delicately carved into it: Otaru. Nearby hangs a red rimmed round clock. It's rather on theme, with pieces of plastic sushi marking each hour and a pair of chopsticks for hands. Five small blackboard squares adorn one side of the room, each listing a special written in chalk. On September 19, Otaru served its last meal.
It's a little crazy to me now, but I used to hate sushi. Then, my boyfriend took me to Otaru on our first date. I spent the walk over planning how to hide my shameful secret. The restaurant eased me in with evenly salted edamame and crispy pork dumplings, giving me hope for what was to come. By the second piece, I had forgotten the plan. A5 wagyu nigiri became my new religion, and their spicy tuna rolls were all I could talk about for a week.
Alas, one year into my newfound appreciation for sushi, and about 15 trips to Otaru later…the restaurant announced it was closing. On Otaru’s last night, the room felt like a tight-knit going away party. Every seat was full. Regulars came back, some for the first time in years or others for their very first time.
A group of what seemed to be longtime friends sat along the bar. They called themselves the "All Stars." They toasted, teased, and talked to Sunny Cheng, the head chef, like they'd been coming for years. A few seats down, a man who finished grad school at Yale four years ago had come back for one last meal and brought a friend along, to prove that the food was just as fantastic as he’d always said.
Husband and wife Sunny and Kathy Cheng opened Otaru in 2018 and have run it together ever since: Kathy manages the front of house, while Sunny heads the sushi bar. The couple first ran a Japanese restaurant at 33rd and Lexington before opening Otaru under a New Haven parking garage. Sunny spent over two decades honing his techniques as a sushi chef in New York, at the famed Morimoto, Nobu, and O Ya. Kathy told the New Haven Independent that New York had become too competitive and too expensive, influencing their choice to open in New Haven.
That decision has clearly paid off for New Haven. The hardest part of the meal is not eating everything before you've had a chance to take a picture. An amuse-bouche of otoro and caviar in a crisp shell starts off the omakase. The course introduces three distinct textures into a bite that lasts a second: the crispy shell shatters, the melt-in-your-mouth otoro gives way with hardly a chew needed, and the caviar bursts over both, accenting the dish with a wash of salt that cuts through the fat of the otoro. I went looking for it à la carte afterward, but I had no such luck. It seems the only way to try this otoro tart is to take a leap of faith and let Sunny decide for you, which is the whole point of omakase.
What follows is a lesson in restraint. A square of black cod with a caramelized miso brown top arrives perched atop a banana leaf. The cod is lightly charred at the edges, and at the first touch of a chopstick it melts to give way into sweet, smoky layers. The Chengs are quick to follow up with cold slices of white fish, cut thin enough to see the blue of the plate through them and complemented with a small dot of citrus and salt.
The nigiri, the centerpiece of the meal, comes in two acts. The first arrives on a speckled grey oval, with pickled ginger pushed to the side. The plate brings with it a scallop seared just at the surface. The top tastes faintly of caramel. Garnet-colored bluefin tuna soon follows. For raw fish, it’s pleasantly firm on the tongue. Then came king salmonand a gunkan of roe that pops against the roof of your mouth in little bursts of salt.
The second act arrives on a long blue platter, five new pieces to answer the last. The otoro is Sunny's signature, dolloped with a spoon of caviar and finished with a flake of gold leaf that catches the light. Next to it, a smoky silver-skinned fish etched into a diamond pattern, followed by the salmon, then a white fish with shavings of something yellow on top. And next to it all, the uni, creamy and fat, oozing out beyond the confines of the seaweed. Underneath, something green and crunchy, a small crackle to balance out all that softness.
A bowl of piping hot miso soup arrives in between courses. The soup clears the palate, and more importantly, the head. The omakase closes on a block of castella, made from shrimp paste and eggs, the traditional Edomae way. Paired with the castella is a tight hand roll of chopped otoro, the nori still crisp. Dessert is a scoop of ginger ice cream that’s a tad medicinal, in the best way. The cold, hard spoon brings me back to the sobering reality that this is the last thing Otaru will ever serve me. It's over in less than three spoonfuls.
New Haven will always have pizza, but it won’t have another Otaru. When I left, long past their official closing time of 9:30 p.m., the “All Stars” were still toasting, Sunny was wiping down the counter to start on another roll, and Kathy was hugging a newcomer at the door. The sign in the window said OPEN and CLOSED at the same time. For one last night, both were true.
If you’ve ever sat at that counter, I’m sure you understand why I’m dressed in mourning garb. If you didn’t, I’m sorry. You missed one of the best meals of your life.
But don’t be too sad. Sunny and Kathy are set to open Ekimae in Westport this November, just a Metro-North ride away. The name translates to "in front of the station." Get off the train, and they'll be right there, waiting with open arms and lots of sushi.
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