Restaurant Week at Rappongi

Roppongi Restaurant and Sushi Bar

The clock ticked its last second before 7:00. I clicked closed all of the windows on the computer and rolled the chair back away from the desk so that I had a clear view of my friend Shannon in her office across the hall. I shot out the words, "I'm done. Let's eat." The door to our employee entrance opened, and Felicia, dressed in a big shiny silvery blue vest, blew in with some of the wind. With scarves wrapped around our necks and jacket buttons done up, we skedaddled out the door and down the street to San Diego's Rappongi restaurant. After managing to find the door with our fine senses of direction, we entered the main room filled with light chatter. Desserts, main dishes and wine thrived in array across well-lit tables, with only dim light touching their owners' faces. After announcing our presence, we were escorted around one of the three rooms into a corner near a table of well-dressed gentlemen and another of well-to-do ladies. Our waiter offered us bottled water, and we wisely accepted the tap--with my addition of a glass of red wine. We divvied up the menu in an effort to have the opportunity to taste every meal offered. My bonito cauliflower soup arrived in a small, brown and black cauldron. When the lid was removed, steam crept out, slowly blowing past the flaky piece of the something floating on the top. As the steam rolled past it, the flakes fluttered like the legs of a crushed bug. And that is what I first thought this dried something to be. However, following dinner, my new awareness of the word "bonito" has pushed my ignorance away. Bonito is a kind of fish, and in Japanese cookery, it is often dried to the appearance of wood shavings. There is a second unkindlier use: it is marketed as cat treats in the United States. Disregarding the latter information and absorbing the former, I am happy with my decision to have drowned the fluttering fish in the soup and unmindfully assume its meaty taste to be similar to a very hearty onion. I dipped my spoon into the creamy concoction of cauliflower drizzled with cilantro oil. Underneath, I found angled chunks of burnt asparagus that had imbibed the oils that had first cooked it. It gave into my bite but held its crunch; it was accompanied well by the cozy cauliflower puree, and with the occasional bite came the surprising pop of edamame! The one moment of discomfort with the soup came when the bonito made its way onto my spoon in one whole piece. Its woody flavor was, at the time, unrecognizable, but I will be prepared with a label and description the next time my palette is hit with that. The seared salmon was the next dish. It came atop a curried cauliflower paste, drizzled with cilantro oil. Caramelized cashews toppled over its pink flesh, and some rested in the bright green oil that had come to a rest around it. The salmon's edges were crisp, well contrasted with its delicate, almost sheer, center. The curry was a bit sweet and would have been preferably more fiery with the addition of some red pepper. The cashews were a nice treat, but I enjoy dessert after, rather than during, my dinner. The waiter then brought out a freezing cold plate marked with two perfectly smooth scoops of a mango sorbet that carried in every bite the aromatic essence of jasmine--a background flavor that is comforting, yet somewhat acerbic in its after-taste. A translucent raspberry sauce had been lightly drizzled across each mound of sorbet. It was a pleasantly cool treat to end our dining experience. After mouthing down a few other dessert options, we paid our check, and packed up our things. With a final dose of nourishing conversation from good friends, we bid our adieus and traveled back to our own homes. It was an evening well-spent.