A man in a blue Oxford shirt and khakis enters a trendy omakase restaurant in Toronto’s Yorkville neighbourhood, and perches on an empty stool beside four other men, two of whom are dressed identically to him. The staff at MSSM erupt in a hearty chorus of “Irasshaimase!” to welcome him.
“You guys get some sake?” he asks his companions. There’s lots of sake and many rounds of “cheers!” And then, for the next 75 minutes, the 16 diners seated at this long bar are treated to a parade of fish. Tender pieces of flounder, scallop and marinated salmon are draped over carefully moulded rafts of seasoned rice. Chunks of black sea bream and mackerel are dramatically charred with a butane torch. The chef instructs diners to consume each piece of nigiri within 10 seconds of its presentation.
After the 14th and final course, a server is ready with the bill, the card machine and coats, so that the next round of diners can promptly take their spots for an identical $98 session.
Reserved time slots, a set menu and a seat at the counter to watch the sushi chef in action – these are the trappings of the omakase (which translates to “I leave it to you”) trend that has swept across Canada this past decade, reaching new, frenzied heights in the past three years. Omakases have proliferated in Vancouver, Toronto, Montreal and other cities – several earning Michelin stars.
The highest of high-end omakase menus, costing north of $300 before drinks, tax and tip, are a fine-dining flex enjoyed especially by wealthy young men (inspiring the derisive moniker “bromakase”). But much like truffle oil on fast-food menus, frozen wagyu burgers at Loblaws or $20 jars of caviar you can buy on Amazon, what was once only a luxury is being democratized. Lower-priced experiences such as the one at MSSM are becoming the norm: The brand expanded to Toronto’s west end and Edmonton in 2024, and locations in Banff, Alta., and Halifax are in the works.
“Omakase sort of peaked and I think that we’re going to see that kind of decline into a relatively passé food fashion over time,” said James Farrer, a Tokyo-based sociologist and co-editor of the 2023 book The Global Japanese Restaurant.
In New York, it’s already happened.
Farrer traces the birth of the North American omakase craze to chef Masa Takayama, whose L.A. restaurant Ginza Sushiko gained popularity in the late eighties for serving sushi to patrons in a way most had never seen. French fine dining was all about separating the diner from what happened in the kitchen; Japanese fine dining made the kitchen the centrepiece of the room and the chef its star. Ginza Sushiko soon became the city’s most expensive and exclusive restaurant. Takayama replicated the model in Manhattan with his namesake restaurant, Masa, which earned its third Michelin star in 2008.
It wasn’t until the release of 2011′s Jiro Dreams of Sushi, a celebrated documentary about Japanese chef Jiro Ono, that omakase registered with a more mainstream audience. Restaurants offering diners a taste of the “Jiro” experience mushroomed in New York, Chicago, Philadelphia, San Francisco and Miami – and eventually in Toronto, Vancouver and Montreal.
Sushi Yugen – which opened in Toronto’s financial district in 2023 – is often playing host to business meetings. Some diners have become regulars, bringing through a rotating cast of clients they’re trying to impress. To help them in their mission, co-owner Kamen Sun will have the chef prepare a special piece that’s not on the set menu, or offer up some rare, seasonal Japanese fruits. Omakase is all about subtle hospitality, she says.
On a recent evening at Sushi Yugen (where, full disclosure, this writer was a guest of the restaurant), the mild burn of wasabi flooded diners’ nostrils early in the meal. As head chef Kyohei Igarashi stood behind the counter, a host pointed out that the rhizome he was grating was real wasabi in its freshest form. Guests bit into their saltwater eel – which Sun explained had been painstakingly deboned – and murmured about how different the texture was from its more common freshwater cousin (the one popular at strip-mall sushi joints).
Staff took every opportunity to mention the provenance and rarity of ingredients, and the time invested in preparing them, during the two-and-a-half-hour, 16-course, $275 dinner, which is part omakase and part kaiseki (another kind of Japanese haute cuisine characterized by a series of seasonally inspired dishes).
“The presentation looks great, but I think the finer appreciation has to come from us trying to tell the story,” Sun explained.
In Tokyo, that subtle hospitality might take the form of the chef noticing you enjoyed the mackerel and offering something similar later in the meal. But those sort of adjustments aren’t as present in most North American omakases, and much of that has to do with cost, Farrer says. If you’re flying in premium rockfish and sea urchin from Japan’s Tsukiji fish market, you want to make sure none of it goes to waste. Building a menu that is static – at least for the season – reduces that risk.
For novice sushi eaters, the set menu offers protection from ordering the wrong thing.
“People that go to those places are rich, powerful guys who want to show off their money and status,” Farrer said. “They don’t want to look stupid.”
Dashinaki Tamago (Japanese rolled omelet with dashi)
In North America, omakase has become much more about performance, he says. Sometimes that’s in the angle at which the chef effortlessly slices strips of buttery tuna belly, or the way they grill eel over charcoal.
At the Michelin-starred Okeya Kyujiro in Vancouver, which bills itself as offering a “theatrical omakase experience,” performance goes beyond culinary skills. Owner Takuya Matsuda sought to replicate the transcendence of language and culture he saw at a Cirque du Soleil show in Las Vegas.
“If alien coming from space, we need to find some show to invite them. Maybe they can come to Okeya Kyujiro,” he said with a laugh.
Josh O’Keefe, a lover of fine dining in Langley, B.C., tracks his experiences at Michelin-starred joints in elaborate spreadsheets. He estimates he’s been to 20 to 30 omakase restaurants in Vancouver and Japan. The best share an “obsession over the smallest of details, like the seasoning of the rice, the brewing of the soy sauce, the pickling of their ginger,” he said. Okeya Kyujiro was “exactly the opposite.”
He felt an uncomfortable expectation to take his phone out to record all the theatrics: “The fire, dimming the lights, shouting and stuff. There was a drum at some point in time.” (Matsuda said a sushi chef will play Happy Birthday on flute or violin if a guest requests it.)
The sushi itself was traditional and excellent, O’Keefe said, but he could have done without the entertainment and its accompanying markup. It was the most expensive omakase experience he’s ever had: After tax and tip for two people, he paid about $1,000.
Matsuda, who also opened locations in Montreal and Toronto, said he has no other plans to expand domestically; he doubts he could find the wealthy clientele to sustain his business model in other cities.
When chef Masaki Saito – whose eponymous two-Michelin-starred restaurant Sushi Masaki Saito in Toronto’s Yorkville neighbourhood offers Canada’s priciest omakase menu at $680 – thought about expansion, he looked to reach a new demographic by opening MSSM.
His first restaurant, Saito explained through a translator, is “more for people who love sushi or who want to enjoy a good quality, tasty sushi.” The level of service is high, all the fish is flown in from Japan, and the dining counter is made of 200-year-old Japanese wood.
If Sushi Masaki Saito is Armani, MSSM is its Armani Exchange diffusion line. MSSM, he said, “is for people who are not so familiar with sushi, or who may not even like sushi.” Only 40 per cent of the fish is from Japan; the rest is from elsewhere, mostly Europe. Saito wants people to come and enjoy the food, but also the hip hop and Japanese pop.
The night this writer visited, vintage Britney Spears and NSYNC played from the speakers. At the counter, the chief executive of a gaming company was trying to woo back a former employee and ordered an expensive bottle of sake. He bragged to her that he’s given one of his other employees 10 raises in two years, and stepped out for a minute to take a call.
The chef, preparing the eighth course, glanced nervously at the piece of bluefin tuna he’d set down several minutes earlier in front of one diner, who was celebrating her 40th birthday. She was so engrossed in conversation with a friend she hadn’t noticed it.
