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Izakaya
By Craig LaBan
Inquirer Restaurant Critic
Dec 07, 2008
A glittering snow of confetti fluttered onto my lap at Izakaya as I opened the menu - when suddenly the waitress snatched it away. Too late. A closer look at the confetti (and its very naughty X-rated theme) made me realize why she was blushing red.
"Bachelorette party last night," she sighed sheepishly, meticulously checking a new batch of menus before handing them over. As I settled into a sparkly banquette in the Borgata's sultry new Japanese gastropub, I poured myself a cold junmai ginjo shot of "Root of Innocence" sake and shrugged: What happens in Atlantic City stays in Atlantic City .
That old Vegas slogan certainly applies to our own gaming playland, where the anything-goes celebration dinner has helped fuel the growing restaurant scene. That evolution has certainly made a night out in A.C. a tastier gambit. But little of what actually happens on the plates in those new casino dining rooms - mostly branches of branded restaurant names - has been truly distinctive enough to be worth taking special notice of from afar.
Savvy Phila-vores, however, might want to pay attention to Izakaya. It caught my eye the moment I found myself suddenly suspended over riverstones on a glass bridge at the entrance. The sweet smell of hickory and cherry wood roasting miso-glazed skewers of lobster and lamb chops on the robatayaki grill drew me in, and never quite let go.
With its casually stylish ambience and ambitious small-plate take on Japanese pub fare, this is a departure from traditional casino fine-dining. And, judging from the stunning parade of dishes, from the crispy nori-rice cracker topped with spicy tuna to the silky kabocha cheesecake, Izakaya is also a smashing debut for a familiar name we're likely to be hearing more from.
Michael Schulson, 35, a longtime Stephen Starr hand who opened the original Buddakan (as chef de cuisine) and Pod (as chef), has reentered Philly's gravitational pull after rocketing to national notoriety as the chef of Manhattan's (far more interesting) Buddakan.
Eminently photogenic, he's been steeped in a heady celebrity-chef brew of appearances alongside Martha Stewart and Matt Lauer, his own TV show ( Pantry Raid ), a line of frozen dumplings, and a spice-company endorsement deal. He's even got big plans to open another place in Center City next year.
If this first solo venture - the four-month-old Izakaya - is any preview, Morimoto, at long last, will have some contemporary Japanese competition when Schulson eventually comes to town.
The Borgata has spent millions to renovate the former Suilan into Schulson's launching pad, bringing a more casual feel to the previously cavernous white space with dark chocolate browns and flaring gold accents, and giant geisha photos that add sensuality to the mood. That Susanna Foo once ruled the kitchen here isn't without irony: Schulson spent one of his formative years as a $9-an-hour sous-chef at her flagship Walnut Street restaurant, following his year at Le Bec-Fin.
It's a reminder that the C.I.A.-trained Schulson, who still cites Foo as a major influence, serves kitchen cred as well as media savvy. And this concept, inspired by his eight-month cooking stint at the Tokyo Four Seasons, reveals a polished vision for contemporized Asian flavors that was no doubt honed during his years of service for Starr.
Executed with the help of another Starr alumnus, former Morimoto sushi chef Yasuhiro Nakai, nearly every dish (save for the doughy tempura) was picture-perfect.
Nakai's raw fish was especially pristine, from the thick pads of tai snapper sashimi to the sublime sweetness of raw scallop, the smoky savor of lightly torched jack fish, and the fleshy crunch of giant clam cut into the frilly silhouette of a flower. The rice is toothsome, tart and lightly salty. The wasabi is grated fresh. The soy sauce is mellowed with sake and kombu (dried kelp). And Izakaya's various rolls are craftily built, every bite a delicate balance of vivid ingredients - hamachi and jalapeno; buttery toro and scallion; crispy lobster rolled into a lettuce, avocado and tomato picnic crunch.
The robatayaki grill, though, is the real centerpiece of Izakaya's small-plate theme, its low-temperature wood-fired heat coaxing succulence from skewered meats. One odd choice, the bland duck meatballs stuffed with a microscopic kernel of foie gras, wasn't as intriguing as it sounded. But every other skewer - incredibly moist nuggets of miso-glazed lobster, pink lamb chops, sage-marinated chicken, roasty sweet prawns, and meaty batons of spice-dusted king oyster mushrooms glazed in yakitori sauce - crackled with flavor.
The higher heat of Japanese binchotan charcoal is used to sear cuts of Australian Tajima kobe beef. They're extraordinarily expensive, from $36 (for an 8-ounce skirt) to $105 (for one pound of ribeye), but judging from our succulent skirt steak, a worthy nod to the casino's requisite steak culture.
The rest of Izakaya's menu, meanwhile, is a familiar repertoire of contemporary Asian standbys, but Schulson-ized to be as handsome as they can be. Tuna tartare studded with crispy shallots gets dolloped with hackleback caviar and a pouf of soy foam. Miso-glazed black cod benefits from the spicy tang of a pickled cucumber salad that cuts through the charred sweetness of the marinade. Fried rice goes deluxe with buttery morsels of kobe beef. Italian risotto veers Asian with a creamy orange broth of dashi, ginger and sea urchin.
There are some surprising riffs on pub favorites, like a spectacular whole flounder that literally turns fish-and-chips inside out. The crisped fillets come tucked inside a barrel-shaped basket made from the skeleton, which is air-dried, sake-poached, and fried into an edible tube of fish-bone "chips." Tender slices of braised pork belly wrapped in the tacolike folds of puffy bao buns (all the rage in Manhattan) were decadently good. Unfortunately, they were too daring to last on an Atlantic City menu past my first visit.
I predict, however, that Schulson's "Kinki" chicken wings will become an Izakaya instant classic. Served in a steel cauldron alongside tart house-made pickles, these were among the best chicken wings I've ever eaten. Stewed for hours in duck fat scented with five-spice, they're crisped beneath a dark slick of chili sauce that tingles with sour, heat, fish-sauce funk and mint. And then, of course, there is that catchy name, which, it turns out, is an homage to the Kinki region just south of Tokyo rather than a wink to diners' naughty side.
I'm guessing no one told those bachelorettes.
Next Sunday, restaurant critic Craig LaBan reviews Northbrook Marketplace in West Chester. Contact him at 215-854-2682 or claban@phillynews.com .
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