Judging from the popularity of a recent Southern Living poll, Lafayette is quite the town for foodies. It may even be the case that the countless new homes being built in the area actually have no kitchens at all, their practicality out-weighted by the overabundance of good restaurants here. Apart from Libellus' frequent solo outings to eating establishments, once a month or so he teams up with a squad of good friends to experience a group dine-out event. This is the Supper Club. Depending upon everyone's availability, the group numbers 7-10, and is comprised chiefly of bachelor uncles enjoying various degrees of attachment -- some single, some partnered -- and one fashionably adroit straight couple. This past Saturday evening was a designated club night, and the venue: Tokyo Hibachi Grill on Ambassador in Lafayette.
The Japanese hibachi experience is wildly popular in these parts. Several such establishments exist here, no doubt due to the entertaining food play involved in the preparation. Typically when the geisha envie strikes, the Club has frequented the Lafayette hibachi standard: Shangri-la, a rather dark 1970's-inspired sushi joint with decent service and adequate fare. In search of a new hibachi experience, and Shangri-la's mysterious sister restaurant "Dozo" never having answered her telephone to take reservations, Tokyo jumped to the head of the list.
The location's first incarnation was as a landmark Benegan's restaurant. When the Irish clover wilted a few years ago, it gave rise to a risque burger outfit, where, as word had it, the food was as tasteless as the servers' uniforms. The property was then acquired by the Tokyo restaurant and completely gutted and transformed from working class Irish-pub-slash-peep-show to high end Japanese hibachi grill, replete with a prayer gate through which patrons enter. Nice touch.
Libellus was the first to arrive, and the pagoda was packed. One half of the restaurant consists of hibachi tables, while the other half is dedicated to sushi. Reservations are a must. The bar was standing room, and the 21st century soft-spoken Japponaise bar tender was overwhelmed, both by drink orders and by her own state-of-the-art computer register, doubtless made in Japan. A 30 minute wait for a double Crown and Coke seemed a bit excessive, and indicated Lady Mariko could benefit from a colleague whose sole job it should be to prepare cocktails destined for patrons seated in the dining areas. Screaming infants, rude mothers with child carriers, and cocky fraternity dads blocked the service lane. When my order was finally delivered, the over-worked Mariko had made it worth my while: a hulking quadruple Crown with a splash of coke served up in a high ball glass with a slice of lime and a giggle. A double-fisted sipping drink fit for Osaka royalty: me love you long time.
By then, the Club had arrived. What we were experiencing in the lobby/bar was a whopping party of 20 plus walk-in's willing to endure a 2-hour wait. Word was, as soon as the 20 were seated, we'd be next. We stepped away from the rush hour bullet train platform, retreating outside near the prayer gate in hopes of a timely seating. Thirty minutes past our reservation time, we were called and guided through the boisterous hibachi zone to our corner grill. We were 7 at the table of 9.
As is customary at hibachi places, all the seats are filled, regardless whether or not everyone is of the same party. A middle-aged married couple already occupied two seats at our grill. Judging from their demeanor and dress, they were consummate conservatives: proper insertion of common charcoal could potentially produce the finest industrial grade diamond in seconds. One assumes they're pulling for Santorum. Here, we had the makings for a classic diner de cons, a ready-made French-style game of social torture at the expense of a random victim invited to a dinner party at which he/they know no one else. Club conversation is generally always unabashedly candid, witty, and upbeat. June and Ward, having just sucked the juice of two lemons, had no idea what they were in for.
We all marveled at the complete redo that had taken place to make Tokyo what it now was. Stone tile and Japanese Zen garden styling created a comfortable, upscale Asian atmosphere. A look at the menu previewed a culinary experience that proved a tough rival for Lafayette's long-lived (complacent?) hibachi standard. The grill choices were more plentiful, as were the sides -- salad, rice, and noodles are extra across town, but are all included here. Although the menu was heavy on selection, it was noticeably lighter on price.
Orders placed, soup and salad consumed (although from plastic versions of the traditional porcelain bowl and spoon), our hibachi chef arrived with his cart and started the show. We could tell from his timely addition of seasonings and sauces that we would be guaranteed flavor past the gratuitous use of salt and pepper and mounds of butter. The first taste of combination rice confirmed what we had suspected simply from reading the menu. Added to that, we had the pleasure of being served by a chef who had a concept of cooking times. We had grown accustomed to Hispanic chefs more used to cooking fajitas than Asian cuisine. The result: everything lumped at once onto the grill and everything mercilessly over-cooked. Pass the tortillas, Pablo. Here, meat and seafood landed on the grill in shifts. Rare was rare, medium was medium. Scallops and shrimp were done properly, not blackened. Flavorfully prepared plentiful portions for almost half the price.
And what of our dinner guests? They barely said a word the entire evening -- perhaps poignantly aware that karma had elected them the evening's mystery guests -- yet now and then they cracked their Rushmores to sneak smiles in reaction to us and in reaction to our reactions to the hibachi chef's corny jokes and campy Asian humor. It was brutally obvious that interaction with us required razor sharp wit. Anything less would be tantamount to laying a bare hand atop the hibachi. After the checks were collected, the pair vanished into the crowd, duly sated, yet deliciously scandalized.
We learned toward the close of the evening, that word of our presence had quickly spread among the wait staff who favored the computer terminal adjacent to our table in order to overhear our colorful table talk. The verdict on the evening: for Japanese-style hibachi grill, Tokyo is the place to go in Lafayette. A generous, most flavorful and properly prepared meal in a beautifully appointed, yet easy atmosphere. Libellus' advice: assemble a group of 7 or so, leaving room for extras. Visit the website for a complete menu listing, directions, and general information prepared for you in a delightful, Asian-accented Engrish.
No comments:
Post a Comment