Uta Sushi Bar

Uta Sushi Bar

Shop 16/210 Toorak Road
(31 Chambers St)
South Yarra VIC 3141
Telephone: 03 9804 7396

Opening Hours: Tue-Thu 10am-5pm; Fri-Sat 10am-7pm; Sun-Mon Closed

'To cook like a Masterchef cooks, shop where a Masterchef shops!'


Unfortunately for Curtis, this hardly means Coles to me - especially after this debacle - but it's obvious others don't agree. Personally, I prefer lovely little groceries manned by lovely owners (with love, of course!); preferably as nondescript as possible, would fit right in wherever they're from, and hidden down lonely lanes to add to the mystique.

Enter this street.

Clearly, I'm very socialised by the Melbourne doctrine that a place must be hidden to qualify a visit. And in my discoveries I've discovered that I'm usually the last to 'discover' anywhere. Such was the case with Suzuran, which on all accounts was a fantastic Japanese grocery with a thriving sushi/sashimi business on the side.

Walk down here.

Unfortunately, by the time I arrived at Suzuran I was a month too late. Website notwithstanding, Suzuran has left South Yarra and Uta Sushi Bar now stands in its place.


Fortunately, it appears the proprietors are doing their valiant best to fill the shoes they've been handed down. Japanese groceries remain, though the selection is not extensive, and the sushi and sashimi menu is exactly the same. It'd be churlish not to partake of both!

So this is what was browsed:

Saucy.

Snacky.

This is what was consumed:

23. Sushi and Sashimi ($17.50)

3. Nigiri Deluxe ($16.50)

And this is what was bought:

Yakisoba and Mirin

How do I know this grocery would 'fit right in where it came from'? Every label on every item is almost exclusively in Japanese.


Definitely not your ordinary take-away sushi place, the produce (you know you're addicted to Masterchef when you start referring to everything edible as produce) was of fantastic quality. Fresh and delicate slices of sashimi, sushi laced with authentic mayonnaise right off the shelves (sold in packs of 1kg each!) and placement (and service) so charming and cheerful you're apt to forget that you're one of about five dinky little tables (only two of which were occupied).


And once again, I have my doubts as to whether I've really 'discovered' anything; the doors are a revolving whirl of shoppers and office workers in the know grabbing boxes to take away.


What I am sure of however, is that Suzuran it may no longer be, but Uta is doing just fine for themselves. And more importantly - there's a lot of love in the room!

Apologies for the long breaks between posts as I've been enduring examinations and tailoring a twenty-first. But that's a story for another (very soon) day!

Q: When is Sushi Not Healthy?

New Zealand Natural
Everywhere

A: When it is Sooshi.

(Also perhaps, when it is slathered with mayonaise but that seems out-of-point at the moment.)

And yes, the joke's on me.

Tempted into trying out New Zealand Natural's latest gimmicky offering by another gimmicky offering brought to me today by the letter(s) o-z-b-a-r-g-a-i-n and the website www.sooshi.com.au in the form of a Buy-One-Get-One-Free voucher, I ventured into New Zealand Natural on Lygon St, which, given the gelati haven that is Lygon, was naturally empty.

Save, unfortunately, for its cashier who I am sure is a lovely lady off-duty when she is not biting customer's heads off and accusing them of falsifying vouchers that will save them a dollar on bite-size ice-creams.

Oh yes, I made this. I may be a student, but I'm not that free. I assure you my days are better spent discussing the vagaries of life, assignments and cheap-as dumplings. Or creating vouchers that will get me a free life, assignment, or cheap-as dumpling.

Anyway.
"I've never heard of this," says Lovely Lady. "And it has no expiry date."

"Well, really, it's not my fault you were asleep at your last staff meeting or that your employers are in the habit of issuing promotional vouchers without first informing you. And without putting expiry dates on them." Is what I should have said. I just blinked.

"Fine, then," says LL maganimously. "Just pick one."

I look at the posters everywhere around the shop, including a giant one hung directly behind LL, obviously meant to create a sooshi-filled atmosphere, whatever that may be.

"I'd like a lemon fruit filling one please."

"Did I SAY lemon? Where do you see lemon? What are you talking about?" LL throws her hands up in the air. I blink harder. "Pick one from those." She points at a frankly, quite unappetizing-looking disintegrating stack of pre-made 'sooshi' at the corner of the freezer. A pity that there aren't pictures, but I wasn't feeling particularly camera-happy at this point.

Perhaps imagine the ones in the poster above, but smaller and misshapen with the 'seaweed' wrap falling off.

Well I've come this far so I hand my $1 over and walk out. To be honest, for a dollar it's not terrible value. And the ice-cream is New Zealand Natural, which is not bad on all accounts. But the 'seaweed' wrap is liquorice, the experience has left me sulky and after finishing the lot in a few tiny bites (and trust me, my bites are tiny), I go to Seasalt across the road and buy an actual salmon sushi roll instead. Which comes in brown rice now, did you know, and that almost makes up for its huge mark-up over other sushi places, none of which are in the vicinity, unfortunately.

And it's lovely. Service too.

Tempura Hajime

60 Park St, South Melbourne
Telephone 03 9696 0051

I am an unashamed, absolute, stereotypical girl. I calorie-count, weight-watch, fast-fastidiously, snack-sparingly*, diet-desperately, and exercise-exhaustively.

(*Okay, this is a lie.)

So what could induce me to postpone my persistent and pestilent pursuit to purge pounds in a show of defiance not seen since I tearfully chomped cookie after cookie of Arnott's 40% Premuim Chocolate Chip to the tune of Katherine Heigl consuming an entire stick of buttter (and infinite trays of muffins) after the untimely death of her fiance (who has since returned to haunt her now that she's finally in a healthy (!) relationship with Karev)? What made me pick up the phone a month to the date to book us in for a deep-fried degustation so devillishly decadent it would cost me more than any singular dress I've ever bought in Melbourne at the expense of being able to fit into every other one already purchased?

Unadulterated, pure, unselfish love, that's what (and the Bible-wielding G would have you believe there's no other kind.) Exactly half a year's worth. And goaded by warnings of their imminent closure to return to Japan, we dive heedlessly into tempura wonderland - like Alice, recklessly consuming all and anything that remotely hints 'Eat Me'.


We begin with an enchanting appetizer of Kobachi and Sashimi - a cornucopia of fresh salmon, kingfish, and ocean trout accompanied by a small serving of the Japanese vegetabable 'Nanohana' and calamari drizzled with sesame seeds and sauce:



And then, almost immediately after, the Dream Master emerges from the kitchen and in less time than it takes G to crane his neck around the stove to salivate over the man's deft handling of delights disguised in batter, we are served our first tempura experience.

An achingly gorgeous king prawn. Adorn to your personal taste - pick from pink salt flakes with lemon juice freshly squeezed from the most darling bird-like juicer or a lovely tempura dipping sauce with white radish mixed in. "But not a combination of both - not good."

And then comes what I refer to as the M&M experience (though a comparison to the over-the-counter, artificially-coloured confectionary seems almost like an insult). Despite a quick swab of the pink salt (which G implored the waitress to reveal the source of - Murray River) and lemon juice, the batter remains light and crisp and its combination with the crunchy juiciness of the prawn tastes blasphemously unearthly. It literally melts in my mouth. And now I know what John Lethlean was on about (and I hardly ever do) when he said "you've never really tasted a prawn" until you've had this one.

And we're off.

Asparagus

Scallop with Sea Urchin - this was G's pick of the night for its briny freshness. I thought it was bit of an acquired taste, personally, and so he acquired my other half.

An interlude of seaweed salad - the seaweed is of what I can only describe as the jellyfish kind - all rubbery (in a good way!) and delicate. And the avocado made for a meltingly fine accompaniment.

Sweet Potato

Mushroom with Prawn Mince - big, bad, beautiful. One bite of this had me eyeing G's even before he'd touched his. Ridiculously juicy considering its crisp coat.

Whiting - and what a whiting wit was - sorry, couldn't resist the lure of alliteration. I ate the whole thing, down to the fins (and the one G discarded as well). Fresh, fried fish. How can you lose?

Eggplant with Chicken Mince - an excellent, temporary departure from seafood with a distinct onion flavour running through the meat. In a shamelessly pompous gesture, I closed my eyes to savour this one.

Eel with Teriyaki Sauce - G proclaimed this the best unagi he's ever had - and he's had plenty. And then proceeded to lament that no eel would ever taste the same again. So eat at the peril of your own future satisfaction.

And (regretfully), we conclude with a sushi roll of ___ fish with sour plum, and calamari with seaweed running through. The calamari had perfect texture - slightly resistant to the bite and then yielding with juicy contrition. G waxed lyrical about the perfect combination of the sour plum to the fish, so I gave him two-thirds of mine. Personally, I think the sour plum needs a bit of getting used to.

With the end in sight, we're served with a bowl of rice and tempura-d seafood and vegetable combination.

We spy corn in the mix, and are told that prawn, scallops and fish contribute to the seafood half of the donation. All very good but I'm very full, so G devoured most of two bowls (which we discreetly switched so as not to insult the chef).

And finally, just as I was thinking, Colonel Sanders-esquely, that perhaps deep-frying is the way in which all food should be served - and in the two decades I've lived so far, I've just been corrupted by other cooking styles, we float back to earth with a gentle, yoghurty flan, accompanied with a single mint leaf (which G unashamedly chewed up cow-style even before we'd received our spoons), and two bites of orange.
It's the perfect ending - the ubiquitous green tea ice cream other Japanese restaurants favour would have been too, too much.

And so we pay our compliments to the chef, settle the bill (unprecedentedly leaving a tip - hey we're students!) and step outside the hidden entrance (a wooden door in an office block with no signage whatsoever) and stroll to the tram stop, the frigid night air rousing us from the waking dream that is Tempura Hajime.


Revision 26.10.2009: Tempura Hajime never did end up closing because the owners couldn't afford to move back to Japan after the GFC hit. I'm not sure whether this is something to celebrate?