Elite Retreat

Elite Retreat in the news again
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Sushi Kaji
3.5 out of 4
by Amy Pataki, Toronto Star

May 11, 2007

There's a massage parlour beside one of Toronto's best restaurants.

Sushi Kaji is one of the top three Japanese restaurants in the region (the others being Hashimoto in Mississauga and Solo Sushi-ya in Newmarket). Its unlikely location along The Queensway makes for unsavoury neighbours. That would be the red neon sign of Elite Retreat, but the Tim Hortons across the street is equally incongruous.

For what is Kaji but a temple of purity and perfection? No mere sushi joint, Kaji offers menus that change nightly, with names translated from Japanese as "proficiency," "technique" and "chic."

These aptly described menus – priced $80, $100 and $120 a person – are built around the freshest fish and such sophisticated cooked dishes as chicken consommé with lime leaf or scallop tempura with seared foie gras and garlic sauce.

Chef/owner Mitsuhiro Kaji, 53, opened his eponymous restaurant six years ago, determined to win diners away from second-rate sushi with authentic, seasonal and sensuous offerings.

At one early meal, I remember him passing over a plate of broiled shrimp heads (the tails were served first as sushi) with a twinkle in this eyes, telling me to suck out the brains. I did. They were deliciously creamy. I also remember thinking if he could persuade me to do this, he'd have no problem getting people to eat next door to a place listed under "Adult Services."

And so it was. Diners have been filling the 30-seat restaurant ever since. There are couples smooching at the sushi bar and large tables of professional women discussing the esoterica of Japanese fine dining. ("Have you ever tried fugu?") The fact that the restaurant doesn't advertise and is hidden in Etobicoke means the clientele really, really wants to eat there.

Dinner at Kaji is not the place for a casual, "we've-got-nothing-in- the-fridge" dinner. It demands attention to multiple, elaborate courses (five for $80 is the most manageable; nine for $120 is overkill) served on beautiful dinnerware. Attention and trust: omakase or "chef's choice" means we take what we are served.

My cab driver, a Somali immigrant, is fascinated to learn that I will spend the equivalent of his afternoon's hard-earned wages on food I can't even choose.

"No menu?" he scoffs. "This guy sounds arrogant. It better be good."

Yes, no and yes. Better than good, actually. Excellent.

Take one night's opening course of buttery steamed daikon filled with chicken miso sauce, its earthiness sparked by aromatic freshly grated yuzu peel (Japan's iconic citrus fruit). There is barely cooked salmon confit with grainy mustard for pop and a dish of raw mountain potato with salmon roe. Morsels of lobster and imported pine mushrooms stud wobbly chawanmushi (egg custard) topped with a thin layer of smoky dashi broth. A sous chef broils Tokyo Bay sea eel in a countertop Black and Decker toaster oven, then glazes it with tart plum sauce. Only greasy octopus tempura disappoints. Every plate is as pretty as a picture.

Then we come to the sashimi and sushi, with nary a California roll to be found. The raw seafood is kept in steel basins covered with damp towels. It is impeccably fresh, delightfully varying in texture and often matched with sauces, such as the spicy green peppercorn oil squirted on glassy kampachi (amberjack) or the gutsy ginger sauce on bluefin tuna. Sweet king crab meat is wrapped in a banana leaf. All is served with purchased pickled ginger and homemade soy sauce tasting of salt and caramel. The wasabi is controlled by Kaji, who uses just enough to open the palate to receive the clean sea flavours.

There is one thing missing from the Kaji experience, though, and that is the man himself. Silent and stocky, Kaji-san stands every night behind the sushi bar with its rack of knives stacked like Hattori Hanzo swords. He peels the skin off a side of coral salmon as quickly as opening a can of Asahi. He carves richly marbled toro on the diagonal with surgical precision. He gracefully forms cooked rice into nigiri, his fingers dancing like a harpsichordist playing Bach. When he picks up the corresponding piece of fish, he flutters it like a magician's handkerchief before bringing it together. It's a magnificent performance.

But where's the interaction? I once ate sushi beside Tsukiji Market in Tokyo. The chef had great skill but little English. Still, he was a natural in front of his audience. Just before he handed over my clam sushi, he slapped the top to make it jiggle. "Alive," he joked. I shrieked dutifully.

This is the kind of banter Kaji-san used to engage in. Now, he puts a plate in front of me and grunts, "sashimi." No further explanation; the sous chef steps forward with the details. At one recent dinner, I watch him tease one customer and ignore the other seven seated at the bar.

"I am shy, so I have not talked to customers a lot," he says through a translator.

Far more engaging is kitchen chef Takeshi Okada, the voluble Penn to Kaji-san's quiet Teller. He comes out to carve daikon calla lilies for the ladies while chatting. Other staff cheerfully overfill sake glasses ($22) and helpfully suggest where to find Japanese foodstuffs.

One other quibble: A meal at Kaji can set a land-speed record. My last dinner there was served and consumed within an hour.

That said, if I'm spending $80 an hour for such quality, I'm getting a bigger bang for my buck than the patrons next door.
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Previously the Elite Retreat Massage parlour was in the news because the owner committed suicide somewhere near Caledon