Nikki & Ryan Dream of Sushi

It all started with a documentary.

Years ago, I suggested to my now husband that we watch Jiro Dreams of Sushi, the documentary about Jiro Ono, the legendary sushi chef behind a tiny, incredibly exclusive restaurant tucked inside a Ginza subway station in Tokyo.

By the end of it, we had both reached the same completely reasonable conclusion: We needed to eat there. Someday. Somehow.

Jiro Dreams of Sushi quickly became Nikki & Ryan Dream of Sushi.

Fast Forward to 2023

One of Ryan's good friends from Seoul was getting married in Korea, which obviously meant one thing: if we were flying all the way to Seoul, we were adding Tokyo.

And if we were going to Tokyo, it was finally time to attempt Jiro.

There was just one tiny problem. You can't book it. You can't call. You can't casually hop online and snag a reservation. In fact, Sukiyabashi Jiro no longer accepts reservations directly from the general public.

What the heck?

So, really, we had no choice. We had to stay at Aman. I know. Devastating.

Enter: Aman Tokyo

Aman Tokyo is one of those hotels that almost doesn't feel real. It's extraordinarily luxurious, extraordinarily beautiful and, yes, extraordinarily expensive.

Would it be worth it? Yes. Yes. And yes.

We booked four nights for September, and I decided I was going to shoot my shot early. In June, about four months before our stay, I emailed the concierge with a list of our dream restaurant reservations.

My request was basically: Here are our top choices. Any day. Any time. We will rearrange our lives accordingly.

To be fair, we weren't exactly low maintenance Aman guests.

We arranged airport transportation. We booked restaurants. We made hotel requests. We asked about upgrades. We used the concierge for essentially everything we possibly could.

And little did I know, my then boyfriend was also secretly working with Aman to plan something slightly more important than dinner.

A proposal.

Ryan chartered Aman's boat, arranged photographers and took me out onto the Sumida River at sunset, where he proposed.

Casual.

That story deserves an entire post of its own because I could genuinely write a small book about it. Actually, I could write about Seoul and Tokyo for weeks.

But we are here for sushi.

Back to Jiro.

The Rules

The Aman concierge came through on essentially every restaurant reservation we requested. It felt like magic.

Except Jiro.

For Jiro, instead of simply confirming a reservation, Aman sent us what can only be described as a very polite warning.

They wanted to make absolutely sure we understood what we were signing up for.

There would be no photography. Very little talking. The entire meal would last roughly 30 minutes.

We would be served approximately 18 to 20 pieces of sushi, one after another, with only about 90 seconds to two minutes allotted to each piece.

And you do not let the sushi sit there while you admire it.

The reasoning, as it was explained to us, is that sushi begins losing the delicate air between the grains of rice, essentially undoing that final magic touch from Jiro san.

So when the sushi arrives? You eat the sushi.

Preferably with your hands. In one bite.

And then there were the rules.

You must arrive on time. There is no à la carte menu before completing the chef's menu. Cancellations or no shows can mean being charged the full menu price. No perfume, cologne or strongly scented products. Semi formal dress is expected. Don't separate the fish from the rice. Don't bite your sushi in half.

Essentially, the message was: Please understand what you are getting yourself into.

Apparently, some guests find the experience intimidating or even uncomfortable.

Naturally, this made us want to go even more.

At least now we knew what to expect. This wasn't going to be a leisurely three hour lunch with cocktails, conversation and 47 photos of every plate.

We were going to sit down, behave ourselves and eat the sushi when we were told to eat the sushi.

And Then the Email Came

We got the reservation. Lunch at Sukiyabashi Jiro.

The Day Had Arrived

Aman arranged a car to take us to Ginza. And because apparently simply dropping us off would have been far too ordinary, our driver parked, got out of the car and personally walked us through the Ginza station until he was satisfied that we had actually found the restaurant.

Which, honestly, was helpful.

Because for one of the most famous restaurants in the world, Sukiyabashi Jiro is almost comically discreet.

It is tiny. It is tucked away. There is no grand entrance announcing that you've arrived at one of the world's most legendary sushi counters.

We stood outside the incredibly discreet door and waited.

Another couple was waiting too.

Nobody spoke.

We just sort of looked at each other with the mutual understanding that we were all about to experience something potentially life changing. We were simultaneously slightly terrified that one of us was going to accidentally violate a house rule before we even got inside.

So we waited.

Silently.

The doors opened.

It was time.

The Omakase

We were seated at the counter and, to our surprise, there were only a handful of us: Ryan and me, another couple and one solo diner.

And there he was. Not Jiro himself, but his son, Yoshikazu, behind the counter preparing everything.

We ordered green tea.

Why? Because the other couple ordered green tea.

Apparently we had thoroughly researched the sushi etiquette but had failed to investigate what one drinks at Jiro. At this point, copying the people next to us seemed like the safest strategy.

And then it began.

Piece after piece after piece.

Around 18 to 20 pieces of assorted fish, handed to you exactly as intended and eaten exactly as presented.

You don't announce that you “don't really eat” something. You don't start making substitutions. You don't dissect it.

You eat what you're given.

And thank God we did.

Everything melted in your mouth.

The sushi was delicate and creamy, incredibly flavorful yet somehow light and airy at the same time. It was decadent without ever feeling heavy.

And yes, it was fast. Really fast.

But strangely, it didn't feel rushed.

We were prepared for the pace, we knew what the experience was supposed to be, and once it started, you almost fell into the rhythm of it.

Sushi arrives. Eat. Next piece. Eat. Repeat.

And by the end, despite thinking there was absolutely no way 18 to 20 pieces of sushi could possibly fill me up, I couldn't have eaten another bite.

Then came dessert.

We were moved away from the sushi counter and over to a table.

At first, I was confused.

Why are we moving?

And then the melon arrived.

Of course.

The sushi counter is for sushi.

Why would you eat melon there?

Honestly, after everything we had learned about Jiro by that point, this made perfect sense.

Was Jiro Worth It?

We left completely satisfied.

But more than that, we left feeling like we had just been allowed into something very few people ever get to experience.

At the end of the meal, we received signed menus and were able to take a photo with Yoshikazu.

And then we walked back out into Tokyo feeling slightly stunned by what had just happened.

Because if you've watched Jiro Dreams of Sushi, you know this isn't simply about someone buying beautiful fish and serving it over rice.

There is an entire philosophy behind it, from the relationships and strategy at the fish market to the rice, the preparation, the temperature, the timing and the almost obsessive attention paid to details most of us would never even think about.

I could attempt to explain all of it here.

But honestly?

Watch the documentary.

And then you'll understand why two people watched it years ago and decided that someday, somehow, they were going to sit at that counter.

So, was it worth staying at Aman, emailing months in advance, signing paperwork, following the rules, skipping the perfume, dressing appropriately, eating on command and being escorted through a train station by our hotel driver just to have approximately 30 minutes of sushi?

Yes.

Unfortunately, there has been one lasting consequence.

Sushi in New York and Connecticut just doesn't hit quite the same anymore.

I know how obnoxious that sounds.

But Jiro ruined us.

It really was that good.

Maybe Jiro Dreams of Sushi was right.

We dreamed about it.

We got there.

And, unfortunately for every sushi reservation we've made since, it was kind of life changing.