There are meals where every bite is a revelation, old world views crumble, and life takes on new meaning – the pursuit is pushed forward and there are new realms to explore. It is magical when it happens, smiles everywhere, but time, and continued avocation, often cruelly reveal the legitimacy of those epiphanies – there are few – and what was once the culminate becomes the stepping stone – local maxima. Sushi was one of those first gateways for me – I thought I knew sushi – I still don’t – but nothing I’ve had¹ compares to the Sawada meal below.

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A meal at Koju does not surprise as much as it lingers – a slow burning memory that simmers for days, or weeks. Where restaurants like noma and Manresa tell a story through their use of local & timely ingredients, Koju bridges a gap between story-teller and eater – it is not a meal as much as it is an immersive experience. And it just may be my favorite restaurant in the world.¹

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If someone were to tell you there was a pub, sitting on the mouth of the Thames, with a self-taught chef, serving some of the best food in England (if not Europe), you might respond you’ve heard this song and dance before. Media empires, both large and small, have been made out of trafficking these self-proclaimed hidden gems. Foodies (yes, it’s a terrible word) use them as a social currency to trade and barter; but they often only buy disappointment. So bear with this story when I say, after one visit, The Sportsman, a pub in the middle of nowhere, might be “one of my favorite restaurants in the world.”

Carrots (from the garden)

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Once upon a time, before all of the fancy food blogs, I stumbled upon verygoodfood and one of Trine’s many lunches at noma. It was just a one-star Michelin restaurant then but Trine’s captivating posts made it quite clear that this restaurant was worth more. With each successive post, noma bubbled further up my “to do” list. The timing never worked but I was fortunate enough to eat Redzepi’s food at Manresa last year – an experience that only solidified the need to travel to Denmark. This year’s early Summer vacation was Copenhagen or bust and I was quite fortunate to have Trine as my host¹ for this special noma lunch.

Smoked quail egg

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Sawa – it is one of the most incongruous high-end dining experiences in America – located in Sunnyvale (re: nowhere) in a strip mall (re: next to Subway.) Menus and prices are not offered, merely discovered. The place settings, irony at its finest, depict the typical pieces of nigiri – none of which will be served. The fish, of the highest quality available in America, can come in such large quantities that one wonders if the ocean might just quit after the meal. The naysayers decry that Sawa strokes its customers’ unchecked egos but, masters of the universe or not, the regular patrons merely celebrate the brilliant seafood hidden beyond that neon Sawa sign.

Raw Scottish lobster, killed seconds before serving

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