I’m pondering getting myself banned from Sushi Row.
Nothing dramatic, like causing a scene. Just asking the owners to place me on an 86’d list, like how gambling addicts sign up for voluntary self-exclusion at casinos.
It’s that good. I live less than two miles away. I could spend all my money here. Seriously. All the money. It’s not cheap. That’s pretty much the first thing I hear out of anyone’s mouth that’s been. The next thing they say? Well — people whose opinions I trust — they say it’s worth it. (Sure, there are detractors elsewhere.)
Take it from me — someone who’s been tracking and writing about Smallorado Springs’ scene for nearing two decades — there’s nothing else like this in town. Sushi Row has elevated the game.
It’s like a drug. Fitting for a place that offers caviar bumps. You could chase the damn dragon all over the dining room here.
In case you missed it in early May when I previewed the spot before it opened, Sushi Row hails from Riley and Jason Wallenta, co-owners of Dos Santos, Dos Dos and White Pie. They’ve partnered here with with longtime friend and sushi chef Zaya Altbish, formerly of Denver’s Sushi Sasa. He and his team hold extensive sushi knowledge and experience. Altbish himself has been at it more than 20 years, since he was 17. His second-in-command holds just as many years, I’m told.
The vibe
Where else have you heard hip-hop playing at a sushi restaurant?
Continuing the style of Dos Santos, who brought us Wu-Tang Wednesdays, Sushi Row merges cultures inoffensively and creates cool mashups that somehow make sense. Everything’s better to a beat.
As pricey as it is, Sushi Row’s far from pretentious or unwelcoming. There’s no cloth napkins. You’re fine to dine in a T-shirt. The menu’s not intimidating.
We sit at a unique spot: two seats at the bar’s end and patio’s edge, facing the dining room and open kitchen. Cleary Akers, a known quantity from her years bartending at Supernova and Shame & Regret, gives us excellent service.
Her knowledge is strong on everything we inquire about as we initially study the menus. We ask her favorites and go with just about everything she suggests plus a couple personal choices. We don’t have regrets. (Yes my friends, a callback to one paragraph ago. Baller. I know.)
The Food
We start with the Toro Tartare and Jalapeño Sashimi with a caviar bump.
Toro’s the fatty belly part of bluefin tuna, a prized cut that justifies its price. It’s rightly described as rich and buttery because of its soft, melty texture. You could have convinced me this fish was caught just hours ago given how fresh and pure it tastes. The chive and daikon create a measured, sharp flavor pop against it and crisp, thin onion tuiles give a texture contrasts as scoopers.
Note the Jalapeño Sashimi’s elegant plating, with striking use of negative space drawing the eye toward one color-abundant part of the round plate; ponzu and shiso oil pooled in the center cavity. We’ve chosen hamachi (yellowtail tuna) over salmon as our protein, and the mild, delicate fish accepts the biting, spicy elements of the dish’s garnishes beautifully. The caviar’s burst of ocean brine rides atop the peppers’ earthy heat and tomato slivers punctuate with juicy acidity. A dip in the pool adds shiso astringency and citrus cleanness to the overall impact. Phenomenal bite.
Next up Uni nigiri and something unique called Crispy Rice on the menu.
Uni’s called the ocean’s foie gras for fair reason. It’s a textural treat that melts like ice cream over the tongue with creaminess and faint sweetness contrasting a pungent saltiness — all of which results in a one-stop umami punch. Well, two if you’re counting each piece at $11. (Read to the bottom to find out why I always order it when I see it, and what’s behind the “creamy” descriptor.)
Think of the Crispy Rice as rice’s equivalent to potato’s hash browns. The wad of rice underlying spicy tuna, spicy salmon and scallop gets caramelized to a superlative crispy/crunchy texture. Everything atop that’s a creamy delight of layered fish flavors with soft avocado slivers and shichimi-dusted cucumbers garnishing. Spice level: perfectly medium. Dopamine release: high.
The single best tip we get from our bartender/server Cleary is to order the Hamachi Kama. Why? Because we’re in close enough to opening hours for it to be in stock. She tells us they literally only get two or three orders a night of this dish to sell. Go early or it’s gone.
Hamachi Kama is tuna collar just below the fish’s head — like neck meat if fish had necks. (Man, would that be weird. I digress.) No surprise, it’s a coveted delicacy because it’s also higher in fat content. Are you seeing the trend, here?
Fat = fabulous flavor.
Sushi Row presents the dish with a Mexican-type treatment on a rough stone plate. A charred lemon half rests next to a saucer of ponzu with a pinch of grated daikon. The collar — with thick, pretty grill marks, its fins on, and ample sweet char flavor from the teriyaki glazing — zig zags across the plate’s center on top of a bamboo leaf.
My girlfriend says it reminds her of eating shark. I think of Northern Pike my buddy and I caught in Alaska on a canoe trip. We pick the fin area like a chicken wing and nibble cautiously around bones. The skin’s a particular treat. We taste some portions that remind us of unagi (eel). A tiny pocket of darker flesh evokes bone marrow’s richness. We’re all in, feeling like $22 is worth every penny on this one.
From a short list of sushi rolls, the Spicy Lucca Roll has my number. (Its number is 23, being the dollars it costs.) I wouldn’t rate it very spicy actually but it’s not without a little zing and sting from lemon zest and a dark pesto-looking Macho sauce. That’s composed with grilled jalapeños, shiso, cilantro, ponzu and salt, and adds ample brightness alone. The roll’s body consists of unctuous scallop segments with cucumber wrapped under hamachi and avocado slivers. I would skip any soy sauce dip on this one and enjoy the essence of each flavor, fresh and light, undisturbed.
The drinks
Okay, so you can trust that I’m not giving Sushi Row a total BJ, I’m happy to report I’ve found room for improvement on the cocktail list. The ideas are good on paper, the execution needs final tweaking.
The Pretty Boy evokes a Whiskey Smash with the interesting but subtle addition of Ume plum liqueur along with IWAI 45 Japanese whiskey. Its gold cup robs the potential impact of that liqueur’s butterfly pea-like color (in a way glass would highlight it). It’s fine, but doesn’t fully meet the $16 standard.
I would say the same about the Matcha-Rita, for which I had high hopes. When I see matcha on the menu I want to taste it more, if not prominently — not just view its color in the salted glass with a pretty blood orange garnish. I want to taste its astringent bitterness in contrast to a sweet mandarin flavor, both playing off Arette Tequila essence.
Cleary humors me with a side sipper of the matcha simple syrup they’ve made for the drink and that’s where I’d begin the adjustment toward more green tea taste. I pour it in my cocktail to see if it can get there without over-sweetening, but I break the balance. I think the drink can be brilliant, so I’d encourage the staff to revisit its mix.
Redemption and reassurance arrives with the Tokyo 23, though, an absolutely delightful blend of gin, yuzu extract and shiso simple syrup with a sparkling sake float. Highly botanical and citrusy with a touch of crisp effervescence, it sips in perfect harmony and acts in the most food-friendly manner with the sushi.
The cost of a good time (for two)
Yeah, I could have skipped the caviar bump and uni nigiri and limited us to a single cocktail each, and left a little less than a $50 tip without being insulting. That would have reduced my out-the-door bill by about $60.
But I credit Sushi Row with exciting me enough, casting a spell, such that I stopped counting in my head and decided this was a moment to enjoy being alive. Don’t come here to skimp. Skip it until you’re ready to drop some bills. Special occasion or not. Pay the credit card later.
On our way out the door at meal’s end, I ask my girlfriend: “Hey, do you know any rich people that want to take me to dinner?”
Maybe I can work that specific clause into my request for Sushi Row to ban me. Like: “Let me in so long as someone else promises to pick up the tab.”
We step out into the warm summer night and agree that yes, we still have room in our bellies to hit Josh & John’s across the street. The ice cream is cold, and good.
Random, related throwback
The reason I always tend to order Uni (sea urchin) on any sushi menu on which I see it is because of a very fond memory of visiting Santiago, Chile’s Central Market in 2011.
My friend, and former CS Indy food writer from the early aughts, David Torres-Rouff, took me there during my visit; he and his wife were in-country teaching at the time.
There was a fish stand inside the market selling fresh-caught sea urchin. We bought some and ate the gooey goodness right out of the spiky shell. Heavenly.
Then, I came to learn that there’s a parasitic crab (named Echinoecus pentagonus) that lives inside the urchin’s rectum. (You can see it in the below photo.) David and the kiosk vendor told me that the crab’s a delicacy of sort, but one that you don’t swallow — you just chew and suck on it and get this juicy, one-of-a-kind flavor. At first, I thought they were fucking with me and about to play dupe-the-dumbass-tourist (get your cameras ready). But they weren’t. I went for it. It was weirdly epic. It kinda had a dill aftertaste. I can’t explain it.
Anyway, if you’re at all grossed out by the description of eating a crab out of a sea urchin’s butt, just know that the fabulous yum-yum you’re eating on top of that rice and seaweed wrap is actually the urchin’s gonads. That should give a new appreciation for the flavor descriptors of it being “creamy” and “custardy.” You’re welcome.
Makes me want to hop a plane to the Springs to taste these beautifully described dishes.
Brilliant. If I were your wealthy friend, I’d take you there. You certainly nail the review and make me want to think of a special occasion.