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Searching for Ishizuka feels a bit like geocaching. On a stroll up Bourke Street, you take a sharp right into a nondescript apartment building and then punch a code into a lift before being buzzed in. Down you plummet into a subterranean foyer and even then, the restaurant is still concealed behind an ethereal white dome that’s like a giant Japanese lantern. It’s otherworldly down here. But once your host checks your reservation and lets you in, you’re met with a familiar sight: a long wooden counter behind which chefs busily prepare food and serve just 16 customers at a time. At each setting, I note beautiful bonsai structures releasing scented vapours. My senses are already being charmed, though nothing yet has met my lips.
The restaurant’s offering is a hyper-seasonal, degustation-style kaiseki menu. Sometimes referred to as ‘Japanese haute cuisine’, kaiseki is a centuries-old Japanese culinary art designed to celebrate the purity of fresh ingredients through a meticulously prepared sequence of dishes. Having trained at several of France’s Michelin-starred restaurants, executive chef Katsuji Yoshino comes highly equipped with skills in both innovative European and time-honoured Japanese techniques.
The journey begins with ‘zensai’, a flower-painted, multi-dish stack of delicate appetisers that are almost too pretty to eat. One carries a ball of ume-sesame temari sushi and a sweet oyster in aosa-dashi jelly (‘aosa’ is sea lettuce), its shell artfully sprayed with a splash of gold. Another contains a gold-rimmed glass of Tasmanian lobster with fresh uni; a pink scroll of rich duck with a dot of plum paste; and awa-fu (a springy millet snack) with watercress miso and a kinome leaf garnish. The third comprises morsels of Western Australia octopus and firefly squid with bottarga miso. Every bite is incredible, but the pacing is faster than I expected; I must keep up.
A very elegantly dressed Japanese couple chuckles at my nervousness, and given how clumsy I am with a pair of chopsticks, I probably deserve it. A single ornate glass of alfonsino fish soup (the ‘sakisui’ course) is a comforting breather, its homey dashi fragrance the familiar thread that weaves all strata of Japanese diners together.
The following courses comprise several delights delivered with technical precision: heavenly snapper, kingfish and paradise prawn otsukuri; Tasmanian tiger prawn and asparagus tempura flecked with verdant salt; and a wonderfully tender piece of chargrilled hapuka fish with sugarloaf cabbage and black pearls of caviar. The latter’s emulsified coating incorporates hapuka broth and shiso vinegar, and it’s like the best white sauce you’ve ever tasted on steroids. Woah.
A highlight for me is yet another soup course, a dish Yoshino has revealed he was particularly excited to feature in the spring menu. Ishizuka’s signature clear soup of crab dashi and kunzu powder features a snow crab parcel wrapped in a vivid rainbow spectrum of spring vegetables. I’m particularly taken with the junsai (pond vegetables) that lend gelatinous pops of texture to the dish.
Every dish is expertly matched with alcoholic pairings that the sommelier talks through with me patiently. He doesn’t miss a beat, answering all my questions with passion; every Japanese tea, sake and wine has a story and I’m eager to hear it.
Shabu-shabu (Japanese hot pot) is a self-guided ritual; a bowl of seasoning liquid flecked with mitsuba sits atop a boiler and I’m instructed to cook strips of A5 Yamagata Wagyu to my desired level. It’s dreamily luxurious, of course – even more saucily seductive with its sancho pepper and chervil accompaniments. “Do you want to try some truffle rice?” a waitress asks me, her convivial manner a pleasant contrast to the serious formality behind the bar. It’s the perfect way to soak up the remainder of the juices.
The final savoury course is toro (fatty tuna) and anago (cooked saltwater eel) sushi, served alongside a knock-out lobster miso soup. I use the lone lobster limb as a straw to suck out the meat and soup together, and admittedly, sneak a peek at the couple to make sure this isn’t in serious breach of etiquette.
Yoshino’s European influence comes through in floral moulds of mascarpone cheese that hold their shape atop a stunning peach granita, castella and berry dessert, yet its presentation is reminiscent of a Japanese cherry blossom tree in full bloom.
I’ve always felt terribly impressed – even somewhat intimidated – by the fastidious attention to detail and quality associated with Japanese culture. It’s not just present in the realm of food; it’s in theatre, literature, music, even cleanliness (shout out to Marie Kondo). It can seem that there is no room for imperfection, that not yet knowing the exact shape of my ‘ikigai’ (life purpose) or how to fold my socks in an aesthetically pleasing way might be unforgivably egregious in the eyes of a stoic Kyoto-dwelling elder.
And yet the Japanese are known to revere nature, that wild and un-curated cycle of life and death, and an eternal force of change that’s unpredictable, and ultimately, undefeatable. There’s also ‘kintsugi’, the traditional philosophy-based art of repairing broken objects with gold to highlight their wounded history rather than disguise it.
This contradiction between surrender and control is not jarring at Ishizuka. Instead, it’s a harmonious marriage. The fruits of nature are curated into a sequence driven by man’s necessity to derive meaning and pleasure from them. Technique, the elements, rich symbolism and the desire to nourish swim together in synchronicity. Here, the result is as beautiful as poetry.