This Ain’t No Benihana: Teppanyaki at Yamanami in Tokyo

The elegant setting at the start of a meal at Yamanami.

An amuse bouche, of sorts: Quiche with spring cabbage and shirasu (baby anchovies or sardines)

Suzuki no arai: The Japanese sea bass is cut like sashimi, then washed with ice water and lemon to tighten the fish. (Lemon takes out any smell and adds flavor). The plate has grapefruit pieces, grapefruit dressing, fava beans, and ribbons of Koshin daikon and beet.

Presentation of the seafood: Isaki (grunt) and Ise-ebi (spiny lobster). The female lobster has orange eggs, while the male has brown guts.

Ise-ebi on the grill with bamboo leaves.

The plated Ise-ebi, served with shiso salt.

Grilling the fish with the metal hera.

Perfectly plated isaki fish. There are two types of asparagus, masu salmon eggs (smaller and firmer than regular salmon eggs), and butter sauce (with white wine vinegar, white wine, shallots, lemon, and shiso).

Here’s the chef at work.

Vegetable course: Eggplant, shiitake, local green beans, Japanese mustard greens. Three choices for dipping: dai-dai (sour orange) ponzu, sea salt, and soy sauce.

Presentation of the meat: Look at that marbling!

Kobe beef course. Both pieces are technically medium rare, but the filet is closer to rare, and the sirloin closer to medium, by design. Both melt in the mouth. The garlic chips are the hardest thing for the chef to master, as the need to be evenly cut, then evenly cooking. The chef asked if I wanted the fat served with the meat…

…or used in preparing the garlic (fried) rice, which is served with akadashi miso soup (made from the lobster shells), and tsukemono (pickles).

Dessert 1: Biwa (loquat) mousse, with biwa slices, a cherry, and gyokuro (highest quality green tea) jelly.

Dessert 2: Orange tart with mocha ice cream, pineapple sauce, a biwa slice, and a cherry.

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From a splurge at an exclusive sushi bar to a kaiseki experience in a private dining room to a formal French dinner, I’ve had the fortune to enjoy a number of high-end meals in Japan. But, until recently, I’d never had teppanyaki.

I should have known better, upon being invited to a teppanyaki dinner at Yamanami in Tokyo’s Keio Plaza Hotel, than to (half-jokingly) ask, “Is it like eating at Benihana?”

Please pardon the American in me. Even I equated teppanyaki with performance dining you’ll find at places like Benihana. That’s the common perception. As one Tripadvisor reviewer wrote after visiting the national chain’s Seattle location: “The cook provides a great show, throwing things like onions, lemons, etc. and catching it with a fork without moving it.…All in one, the food is great and the show is fun.”

Comments are similar for Seattle’s own Mikado Teppanyaki Steak, Seafood, & Sushi Bar. (Too many things for one restaurant to do well.) One person on Urbanspoon, entitling the review “Good show, okay food,” explained: “I’d never experienced teppanyaki which among other things involved the chef’s lighting stacks of onions on fire, throwing knives up in the air and catching them, etc. Our group of around 30 people included a child, and the child was overjoyed by this performance. The chef got the kid involved by having him bang a gong during the birthday song and it was clear that he loved it.”

Meanwhile, a Yelp reviewer of Mikado wrote: “The chef put on a great performance and made lots of noise and fancy moves with his cooking utensils. Watching him made me feel like a little kid. I never knew how much fun it could be to let someone else play with your dinner.”

In America, teppanyaki is apparently a performance to make diners feel like children, with the show perhaps more important than the food. In Japan, teppanyaki is about dignified preparation and presentation that respects the food. Showmanship is understated. Diners will watch the chef at work, but ultimately the meal is about high quality ingredients cooked simply and deliciously. (All of the ingredients are carefully sourced to be as local and seasonal as possible. I got a Japan geography lesson throughout dinner.)

Talk with the chef and you’ll learn about the art of teppanyaki cooking. For example, the teppan (grill) at Yamanami is two centimeters thick, providing constant heat (170 degrees Celsius) so the food doesn’t stick. Mastering the teppan takes time, and becoming a teppanyaki chef is no easy feat. The apprenticeship is rigorous. The chef I met at Yamanami spent his first five years not cooking in front of customers, but simply prepping ingredients and cleaning grills. (Cleaning is quite the chore. It takes two people one hour to clean a grill.)

I’m glad he persevered so that he could tell me his story and help me understand and appreciate my meal. Check the gallery above for a walk through a wonderfully surprising and delicious teppanyaki experience at Yamanami.