MASA - April 2009

We'd decided on our next venue almost 12 months in advance but Dimitris and I were a little skeptical of the choice considering, at the time, we were not what one would describe as lovers of sushi. Anyway, the rest of our group approved of the restaurant and we had little choice than to go with it. Dimitris and I were discussing this as we left our hotel, The Dylan, in midtown Manhattan. Masa, the chosen venue, was a short taxi ride away to Columbus Circle.

On arrival, the host guided us to the chef’s table which we had pre-booked. I don’t suppose any of us considered the dynamics beforehand- we usually sit around a circular or rectangular table so we can see each other easily, choose to listen to whatever conversation sparks our interest and throw friendly insults at each other as we eat. On this occasion, we were presented with what looked like a long, wooden, antiseptic, butcher’s block, with high chairs at attention on which we sat.

The seating arrangement certainly did change the verbal interaction between us at first and our attention was on the chef preparing the sushi; his slight of hand was mesmerizing and his broken English forced us to listen intently to what he was describing as he delivered individual bowls of skillfully prepared dishes to the table. Some of us, mainly Dimitris and myself, sought further clarification as to what we were about to put in our mouths.

As we settled into our environment and adapted to the seating arrangements, some of us adopted a nomadic approach between courses. We'd leave our stools to find another conversation further down the butcher block and return to our rightful place when another creation was placed at our setting.

Whilst all this was going on, waiters moved behind the scenes, removing plates and bowls, and keeping our wine glasses filled. It was almost as if they were not there, gliding silently like small sail boats on a calm pond; making eye contact to obtain approval and smiling with a small bow as they retreated back into the mist.

As a former non-sushi advocate, I find it hard to choose the right words to explain the different flavours that exploded in my mouth and then travelled through my nasal passages, setting off pleasure sensors in my brain, but it was all very exciting. I have rarely experienced such an emotional relationship with the texture and flavours of food before.

It has to be said that, reserving the chef’s table and giving them a free hand was not an inexpensive experience, and, if you decided to have a similar event, be thoughtful as to how much credit you have remaining on your card before handing it over to settle the bill.