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Inside Sushi Azabu, Manhattan's Hidden Japanese Gem

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Sirio Maccioni once told The Hotel Detective that New Yorkers don't go underground to eat, by which he meant going below ground level. Now, he was clearly thinking of his New Yorkers, but he had a point: When it comes to upscale dining, traditionally one enters at ground level. So The Hotel Detective was flummoxed by the entry to Sushi Azabu, which lies on a quiet stretch of Greenwich Street in Manhattan. There was a door slightly ajar that looked like the service entrance to the building. But it had to be the restaurant entrance because it stood between numbers 166 and 170. And then to the right there was that little frame with a bit of calligraphy. This is the portal to a one Michelin-star restaurant? Down a set of speakeasy steps, whisk aside a pair of hanging black cloth banners halfway along, at the bottom, open a substantial metal door and suddenly you're in a sort of Japanese den. The eight-seat sushi bar is to the right and the six tables to the left. All very cozy and almost coy—a club for people who wouldn't be a member of any club that would have them. Sushi Azabu is named for a district in Tokyo. This cobblestoned stretch of Greenwich Street reminded the company's CEO of a hill in Azabu, where he was born and raised, and there you have the origin story of Sushi Azabu. Here, you're in a strict-constructionist world of Tokyo cuisine. It's all about understatement.

"We stick to the basics, but with touches, accents," says general manager Kotomi Chikuse. "If you ask for jalapeno, then we say no," but she's happy to send you to a restaurant that will say yes, such as Sushi Zo.

Most of the fish is flown in from the sprawling Tsukiji Fish Market in Tokyo, although Azabu compromises when it makes sense. Thus the Grilled King Crab, just the far end of al dente and sweet with a long finish, is from Alaska. (Why blow against the wind?) If the wind is blowing, meaning a typhoon in the Pacific, Sushi Azabu goes local. The King Crab miso accompaniment, by the way, is made from the crab head--the brains, to be blunt--to add another dollop of sweetness. Don't think about it, just savor.

Chef Tomoyuki Hayashi is the virtuoso behind the eighth and sixteenth notes of flavor. The Simmered Duck (in a Japanese broth), a dish THD thought odd, turned out to be tangy and subtle. The Botan Ehi, large shrimp from Japan, first crunch and then turn creamy, like a luxury chocolate. The Smoked Salmon Sushi has just the faintest curl of smoke—and it comes with just one caper. When I mention that, Hayashi gravely nods 'of course,' as if two would be too many.

The Omakase menu offers two versions of Sea Urchin, one from Hokkaido and one from the Pacific—"usually the Pacific one is sweeter," says Hayashi. (True; it just trickles through the rice—let it happen, don't chew.) But, says the chef, start with the Hokkaido urchin.

The Nigiri is a parade, at the sushi bar served piece by piece so you can concentrate on the contrasts. (Sushi chefs apparently hate it when guests order a big platter and yak-yak instead of paying attention.) The Toro (pickled with radish) is a bit of origami, a nori wrapper open at the top and folded at the bottom. It has melt, salt, crunch, and remelt--my advice to Sushi Azabu is to serve it at a take-out window. There is an extensive sake list by the glass, and Chikuse is happy recommend pairings.

Jeff Herron Photography, Inc.

Starting in October, you won't have to travel to Tribeca to experience Sushi Azabu, as the restaurant is opening in the Marriott Stanton South Beach (above) in Miami Beach's South of Fifth neighborhood. The Miami restaurant will have a sushi den (an 11-seat sushi bar) à la New York, but it will also have a main dining room (80 seats) with a six-foot high bonsai fixture as the centerpiece. The menu will also be more extensive (yakitori, for instance), but the approach to sushi will be the same as that of Azabu New York.

As for the Stanton South Beach itself, the hotel faces Ocean Drive and has the Atlantic as its backyard. The hotel, according to GM Michael W. Manzari, is for adults who want to wade rather than dive into the South Beach scene. "It's not a party hotel by any means," he adds, "but more of a refuge. But the scene is just up the street."

Jeff Herron Photography, Inc.