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    • Hey,

    I’m Cher. I started this space to trace the way cities speak through food and drink—and to share my reflections on sake, culture, and the stories behind the table.

    I’m originally from Beijing. I completed my undergraduate studies at Purdue, earned my first master’s degree at NYU, and I’m now beginning a new chapter at Keio University. I believe every city has its own cultural rhythm, and the dining table is one of the most expressive and intimate ways to understand a place.

    I love visiting fine dining restaurants for their craft and imagination, but I’m just as interested in the stories behind small, humble spots—the devotion, the choices, and the people who make them special. Through words and photographs, I hope to share these experiences with you.

    I’m also an SSI-certified International Kikisake-shi, Shochu Kikisake-shi, and a sake instructor, and I continue to contribute in my own way to promoting sake culture.

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    • Tokyo’s Top Strawberry Cake & an Immersive Japanese-French Dining Experience | Naoto.K

      With so many restaurants in Tokyo, Naoto.K may not be the single jewel at the very tip of the pyramid, but it’s definitely one of those places that feel special, stay on your mind, and make you want to go back again and again. And the best part: it’s actually bookable—you can often get a seat just a week in advance.

      Dining at Naoto.K feels like watching a live show. It’s been a long time since I’ve sat at a counter and watched a chef personally sauté every sauce from start to finish. And the presence of a top-tier pastry chef pretty much holds up the “soul” of the restaurant as a French kitchen.

      Unlike many chefs who come to Tokyo to chase their dreams, Chef Naoto Kishimoto is actually from Tokyo. He fell in love with French cuisine through TV dramas, then went to train in Paris, the Loire Valley, and Burgundy before returning to Tokyo to build his own path.

      From Ostral in Ginza, to L’Embellir in Minami-Aoyama, to his current restaurant Naoto.K, this is already his third place as head chef. Rather than just a job, it feels more like the culmination of his 40-year career—a personal “greatest hits” in restaurant form.

      Reading past interviews with Kishimoto-san, you can tell his brain works a bit differently. At L’Embellir in Minami-Aoyama, he realized his dream of running a grand maison—but gradually felt out of sync with the layers of formality and distance created by the space and service.

      So in Kanda, the new restaurant was completely reimagined. Everything was stripped back to counter seats and an open kitchen, putting all the heat, smoke, and ingredient transformations right in front of the guests.

      Naoto.K doesn’t open with a flashy, show-stopping beginning (though thankfully, as the meal proves, this is very much a slow-burn, rising curve).

      The oyster with white truffle arrived first. The oyster was cooked to not even a third done—bright, tender, with a sharp freshness and acidity that really stood out. The truffle, however, despite being a seasonal luxury, showed mostly looks and almost no aroma.

      The lobster soufflé was baked to incredible volume and softness, carrying just the right amount of sweetness and umami. The potato beneath was crisp on the outside and fluffy inside, aromatic and comforting. The only misstep was the lobster itself, which was a bit too salty.

      You could feel the quality of the ingredients and the skill—but it still felt like the kitchen hadn’t fully settled into its stride yet.

      The wagyu came from Nakasei in Kyoto, Tajima beef aged for 45 days, lightly seared and then turned into a tartare—tender with a slight crunch.

      From the moment the beef hit the pan, every step was done directly by the chef: seasoning, adding each ingredient, mixing again and again. Even the fries on the side felt like they had a clear idea behind them.

      Before this dish, I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen a head chef in a well-staffed kitchen keep this much of the work in his own hands.

      Winter is unmistakably shirako season, but this was my first time having shirako meunière.

      Large, snow-white lobes of shirako were pan-fried until golden. The acidity and fragrance from herbs and lemon balanced the richness perfectly. Cutting through the layered green onion and crisp tart shell was a bit messy, but the satisfaction on the palate made it easy to forget everything else.

      Rich yet fresh, assertive acidity, beautiful balance.

      I’d already heard from several friends that Naoto.K has a seriously talented pastry chef, and sure enough, the bread course already made that clear.

      Baked in a large cast-iron pot, the bread wasn’t trying to be a pure, aggressive sourdough like many restaurants aim for. Instead, some butter is worked into the dough, giving it a softer, more delicate texture that fits much better with Kishimoto-san’s high-satisfaction style of cooking.

      The buri that followed was a touch overcooked, and the black truffle on top again didn’t really show much character.

      Kobako crab is one of those non-negotiable ingredients in a Japanese autumn–winter season. In more traditional settings, you usually see every part of the crab carefully picked and arranged so you can enjoy both meat and roe without lifting a finger.

      Kishimoto-san, however, turned it into a kobako crab risotto. Every bite was packed with deep umami, dairy richness, and a lingering sweetness. Soft crab meat, crunchy roe, rice that was firm outside and tender within—it was a full-on happiness combo.

      The only caveat: the seasoning leaned quite heavy.

      The true main course of this seasonal menu was a veal T-bone from Brittany. From the very beginning of service, it had been going in and out of the oven three times. Every step—from seasoning to carving—was done personally by Kishimoto-san. Even when he introduced the dish at the counter, his explanation came with animated gestures.

      Super classic. Super tender.

      The extra course that followed was something I didn’t expect to see at Naoto.K: a very plant-forward burdock noodle dish. It wasn’t out of place, but it didn’t leave a particularly strong impression either.

      Dessert came with more than ten different pairing options, and this was when Kishimoto-san finally seemed to relax, going around the counter to introduce each one.

      If using Château d’Yquem-style sweet wine to shave fresh white truffle was the surprise move in the dessert lineup, then the seemingly simple strawberry cake was what truly blew the night open.

      The pink slice on top used award-winning strawberries from Iwasaki Farm in Sano, Tochigi—bright, sweet-tart, and somehow “cute” in personality, making the first impression especially light and charming. The mascarpone in the middle was close to ice cream temperature: silky, but not insubstantial—it brought a grounded richness and depth of dairy. The base was almost brownie-like: dense, high in cocoa, with a faint bitterness on the finish.

      The satisfaction from that slice of strawberry cake felt “just right”—sweetness, acidity, creaminess, and bitterness all held in a perfectly balanced line.

      Honestly? Absolutely brilliant.

      Looking back on the meal, I realized I was genuinely moved. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a chef at a counter be this hands-on: making sauces, checking temperatures before sending plates, carving, sometimes even stepping in to mix drinks. In a big-city French restaurant, this kind of experience is still surprisingly rare.

      Beyond his interaction with ingredients at the counter, there was also a strong sense of care in how he spoke with foreign guests. You felt looked after, in a very real way.

      Compared to very modern French restaurants in Tokyo—like Sézanne—Naoto.K feels closer to “traditional × pure”, with a more immersive experience.

      From the food side, the techniques are rooted in classic French cuisine, but the flavors and composition feel distinctly Japanese—layered in texture and taste, with a strong emphasis on the character of the ingredients themselves. The one thing that occasionally nudges the balance is the tendency toward heavier seasoning.

      Another thing that’s impossible to ignore is the exceptional baking and pastry program. This part of the menu is led by Natsuko Takahashi, former head pastry chef at Pierre Gagnaire Tokyo. The desserts and cakes currently on the menu would stand out even among Tokyo’s top restaurants. Their cakes alone are reason enough to come back for the next seasonal menu.

      Naoto.K

      東京都千代田区神田錦町2-1-1

      Irregular rest | 18:30 Cooking starts simultaneously 

      Chef’s Menu  ¥38,500++

      As I was leaving, Kishimoto-san handed me a business card—with a small note scribbled on it, marking the date of the next menu change.

      So now I’m just counting down to seeing him again in two months.

    • Sushi Yasumitsu（鮨 やすみつ）｜An Irreplaceable Sushi Counter

      Tokyo has no shortage of excellent sushi. The baseline is high, and once you start grouping shops by style and lineage, you begin to notice shared logic across many of them. So even if you can’t get into one place, you can usually find another that feels “close enough.”

      But if we’re talking about something truly special—somewhere you visit once and immediately start craving a return—Sushi Yasumitsu is one of those rare exceptions.

      This is a real-deal, extremely difficult reservation in Tokyo. They’ve basically stopped taking new bookings, and even trying to reserve on-site now can mean waiting a year or more.

      Their weekday course is usually around ¥20,000–¥30,000, but depending on the season, they also offer limited-time special menus just over ¥40,000—winter matsuba crab, summer shellfish, autumn matsutake. At that price point in Tokyo, it almost feels like charity.

      Don’t be fooled by Chef Watanuki-san’s modest, friendly presence—he’s something of a minor celebrity. In recent years, he has appeared as a judge on the well-known Japanese variety show Job Tune (there are even Chinese-subtitled clips floating around online).

      Unlike many Tokyo sushi chefs who emphasize hierarchy and lineage—where the shop you trained at becomes a cornerstone of your independent reputation—Watanuki-san originally stepped in simply to inherit the family business and continue his father’s sushi restaurant. But through years of traveling and researching catches across regions, he gradually built a style that’s unmistakably his own.

      November is peak crab season. The very first dish was an umami bomb from “Kōkō crab”—crispy crab roe paired with high-acidity vinegared rice. Pure crunch, pure satisfaction.

      Two white fish were presented in contrast, with different aging times to sharpen the textural difference. The oyster, meanwhile, won you over instantly with its fullness and presence.

      It was a straightforward opening: no excessive decoration, just clean, honest deliciousness—with impeccable control over texture and balance.

      The winter buri had just come into season. Instead of serving it as sashimi, it was lightly seared to about three-tenths doneness. You got that gorgeous fat aroma, plus a faint crispness in the bite. The seasoning was restrained but sharply acidic—simple, pure, deeply satisfying.

      The ankimo was mashed into a paste with zero graininess, landing somewhere between foie gras and thick cream. Like Sugita, Yasumitsu also proactively paired this with a glass of Aramasa “Hinotori”—a perfect match for the rich, rounded liver.

      For an eight-seat counter, they prepared two 1.1kg matsuba crabs from Hamaizumi Fishing Port in Hyogo. Once boiled and brought out, the crab fragrance practically overflowed the counter. Watanuki-san dismantled the crab with stunning efficiency, narrating as he worked:

      On a winter menu, the most heavyweight ingredient is of course crab.

      “In Fukui it’s called Echizen crab; in Kyoto it’s Taiza crab… and if it lands in Toyama, it’s Kano crab.”

      Suddenly, the counter gained an extra layer of performance charm.

      Each guest received a quarter of a large crab, served in three ways.

      The legs and body were cooked in crab dashi and eaten with no extra seasoning. The legs were tender; the body more firm and dense. As simple as it was, the layered sweetness and umami were incredibly seductive.

      The okami carefully picked the remaining meat from the edges and combined it with crab miso into a generous, overflowing crab-meat sushi. It was jelly-like in texture yet packed with umami, richness, and delicate fibers—pure happiness.

      Finally came a cup of crab sake, where bold umami and savory depth were softened into a gentle sweetness.

      The sakana course ended with a whole grilled shishamo. Its season is extremely short—starting around mid-October and lasting less than a month. It’s a niche indulgence, and getting to eat it is partly luck.

      It shares the same grilled + faintly bitter charm as summer ayu, but with slightly more fat. The fish is smaller, the skin thinner, and the experience is more about quick, explosive aroma and a soft, compact richness in the flesh.

      Then came a three-hit tuna sequence:

      • Akami emphasized softness.
      • Chūtoro balanced fat and structure.
      • Ōtoro was served with cooler shari, boosting the lingering sweetness and aftertaste of the fat.

      Yasumitsu’s sushi progression also breaks convention. Kawahagi and squid had already appeared in the earlier sakana segment, but only as light, elegant punctuation—showing off texture more than anything.

      The shrimp sequence moved from cooked to raw. The kuruma ebi looked ordinary at first glance, but surprised with shrimp roe tucked into its soft tenderness. The glass shrimp, aged for a day, arrived in a milky white tone with a faint translucence—super crunchy.

      It was surprising to find such satisfying uni even in November. A full row of sea urchin was scooped generously over the rice—an explosion of sweetness and fresh umami.

      However, the restaurant’s famous otoro futomaki was a slight disappointment this time. Watanuki-san added sea grapes for a salty crunch, but paired with the stronger-aged tuna they currently use, it didn’t quite deliver the bright, fragrant freshness I was hoping for.

      The final tamagoyaki was unexpectedly Basque-cheesecake-like: a caramelized crisp exterior with a cool, molten center. This might be the softest, most harmoniously balanced tamago I’ve had in Tokyo—where texture, sweetness, and freshness all meet in perfect unity.

      If I were sitting even closer to the counter, I might have been tempted to steal the whole thing.

      Watanuki-san’s expression is distinctive. Every dish—whether sakana, cooked items, or sushi—seems to carry two contrasting textures and two to three layers of flavor. Not too much, not too little—just enough to exceed expectations and leave you quietly thrilled.

      The comfort of the hospitality is another powerful point. Unlike the more stern, traditional style of many Japanese sushi counters, Watanuki-san openly thanks his kitchen staff aloud. You often see gestures at the counter, but here I heard clear, spoken gratitude directed to the back of house—an unusually sincere, modern kind of authenticity. And of course, he’s equally polite and attentive to guests at the counter.

      A self-effacing chef like this is always moving.

      鮨 やすみつ (Sushi Yasumitsu)

      東京都新宿区四谷三栄町5-2

      Monday – Saturday
      17:30 – 20:00 / 20:30 – 23:00

      Chef’s Menu ¥31,900++
      Seasonal Menu ¥51,900++

      When I asked about reservations at the end, the earliest availability was already next September. So all I can do is wish the chef great health—and hope I might get lucky with a cancellation before then.

      Because honestly?
      If I could, I’d come every month.