Among Tokyo’s most quietly revered culinary dynasties stands the Ishikawa Group—a family of restaurants built not on expansionist branding, but on deeply held principles. At its center is Chef Hideki Ishikawa, whose eponymous three-star restaurant remains a model of modern kaiseki excellence. His protégés helm sister establishments like Kohaku and, most recently, NK, where culinary boundaries are gently but deliberately pushed outward.

Yet Ishikawa’s legacy extends far beyond cuisine. The group is known for its radically democratic approach to service: there are no assigned tasks. Whether it’s removing the banderole from your chopsticks or refilling your water glass, the rule is simple—whoever sees it, does it. Even Ishikawa-san himself can be seen quietly wiping a tray or resetting a napkin. This culture of collective attentiveness permeates NK as well, making the experience feel less like a performance and more like being hosted by a tightly knit family.

Located just steps from its parent house, NK is a warm, eight-seat counter designed with intimacy in mind. It is also the creative playground of Chef Kento Kakutani, affectionately nicknamed Kakuland by his peers. A longtime Ishikawa disciple, Kakutani trained across the group’s restaurants and undertook the traditional solo sabbatical abroad before returning to Tokyo. At NK, he now serves a cuisine that is deeply Japanese in soul but fearlessly open in execution—plating each course himself while chatting comfortably with guests.

The meal

Dinner opened with a chilled corn soup laced with Australian summer truffle. The intensity of the corn was deeply satisfying, and the truffle added aromatic lift, though the overall heat and temperature might have been better balanced.

The hamaguri was served in a gel made from sea cucumber ovary—an unusual and assertive expression of the sea. The briny intensity was captivating, but the dish might have reached even greater harmony with a brightening note of acidity.

Next came a dish of remarkable simplicity and depth: gourd simmered in a concentrated scampi broth, the shellfish sourced from New Zealand. The broth managed to be powerfully umami-rich without overwhelming, and the soft, supple gourd absorbed every nuance of flavor. It was a quiet triumph.

One of the most complete dishes of the evening was sōmen noodles served with Shiro-ebi, caviar, and thinly sliced cucumber. The interplay was beautifully judged—the sweetness of the shrimp, the salinity of the caviar, the cool acidity of the cucumber, and the slipperiness of the noodles made for a deeply satisfying texture and balance.

This was followed by a luxurious shark fin and shiitake dish, coated in a glossy sauce drawn from the shark’s own collagen and seasoned with fragrant Cambodian pepper. The pepper’s slow-building warmth carried the flavor long after the bite had passed.

Then came what might have been the meal’s most genius course: a salad of hairy crab, edamame, white peach, and junsai. The combination was totally unexpected and utterly harmonious—demonstrating the chef’s uncanny ability to map flavor in dimensions that feel both intuitive and surprising.

For the main meat course, Yamagata wagyū was slow-cooked for nearly an hour and paired with Kyoto eggplant. The beef was astonishingly soft, lightly smoked, and full of deep, lingering flavor. The eggplant, meaty and mellow, proved a perfect foil.

A bowl of ramen followed, featuring well-crafted noodles in a seafood broth that, while rich, may have leaned a touch too concentrated for balance.

The final savory was a stroke of brilliance: a risotto-style gohan cooked with ayu. Bits of ayu head added texture and bitterness, while the flesh infused the rice with subtle riverine umami. It was the best risotto-style rice I’ve had in years—deep, soulful, and technically flawless.

A small serving of fish curry came next—delicate, aromatic, and restrained. It served as a thoughtful bridge between savory and sweet.

Dessert began with a perfectly ripe slice of watermelon, pure and cooling, followed by a final course of real vanilla ice cream made with cacao from the Amazon. The vanilla was pronounced, the cacao earthy and exotic—simple, yet deeply satisfying.

The wine pairing

The wine pairing at NK deserves its own praise—not for showmanship, but for its clarity of purpose. Rather than chasing prestige labels or flashy vintages, the selections were made with remarkable sensitivity to balance and progression. A Maison Mumm RSRV 4.5 set a crisp, mineral tone early on. Later, a Rolly Gassmann Riesling 2011 wrapped around the somen and crab dishes with soft sweetness and acidity. The meal moved seamlessly through textural whites like François Villard’s Seul en Scène and finished with more contemplative pours including a 1989 Rivesaltes and Grappa SoloPerGian 2009—both reflective, gentle conclusions to a complex arc. It was a thoughtful, unfussy pairing that served the cuisine rather than upstaging it.

Some say that Chef Kakutani still feels uncertain about his style—that he hasn’t fully “found his voice.” I completely disagree. What he is doing at NK is not derivative or transitional; it is its own fully formed culinary genre. The food is thoughtful, highly personal, and rooted in both technical precision and emotional intuition. He need not look outward anymore. The map has already been drawn, and it’s entirely his.

NK is already fully booked until the end of 2026, and it deserves to be. This is a truly great restaurant—intimate, intelligent, and unmistakably Kakutani. Less