I don’t really assign the restaurants I review a rating, at least not publicly beyond a circle of close friends or family. It’s a habit I developed from my days as a film critic. How could I fairly rate a Marvel movie on the same scale as The Godfather or any other classic or groundbreaking modern film you would put in the top echelon of cinema?
Even then, nothing is truly perfect. So if I gave two films a perfect score, yet one was better than the other, then that scale would resultantly be off. All of that is to say, I don’t assign ratings on principle, but I really want to say that I’d give Restaurant Yuu a perfect score as it was a truly a flawless dining experience.
The evening began with a sense of anticipation. You see, Restaurant Yuu isn’t a conventional French restaurant. It’s not truly an Omakase either. It’s a combination of the two and something entirely its own. This restaurant only offers two seatings, each accommodating up to 18 people at a time and making it an incredibly special and intimate setting. From the moment I entered, I was seated not at a table, but at a large counter. That’s where all the patrons ate, much like an omakase. However, before us wasn’t a station for the chef to prepare each plate, nor was there a kitchen. There was simply a thick black curtain. A piece of cloth that signaled to me and the other diners that evening that we weren’t really there for a meal, we were there for an experience, and truly, that was what we got.
After a little while, a head playfully peaked through the shrouded area in front of us before quickly disappeared back behind the curtain. A few moments later and the curtain was peeled back revealing that foreshadowed figure peeking through the curtains was actually Chef Yuu and the three other chefs who would be preparing our dinner that evening. It was something like out of The Menu, except the ominous energy was exchanged for utter excitement and joy. I couldn’t remember a time when a meal proved to be this interesting.
The meal began with a bottle of sake, which was light and astonishingly floral, the kind of pour that perfumes the glass before it even reaches your lips. It was one of the best bottles I’ve ever tasted. This was followed by a trio of amuse-bouche, each more revealing than the last.
The fluke tartare, nestled in Japanese seaweed, was elegant and whisper-soft, with the barest edge of smoke and umami drawing out its sweetness, only hitting you several moments after the initial bite. Then came the foie gras tartare topped with raspberry—a dish that defied critique. Rich, fatty, sharply offset by the berry’s acidity, it was both decadent and precise. A masterstroke that oddly reminded me of that one scene from Ratatouille where Remy explains flavors. This was followed by a potato soup that was chilled and impossibly creamy. It followed like a palate poem—its flavor somewhere between the earthiness of root vegetables and the delicate indulgence of vanilla ice cream.
And that was just the start. Now, if you’ve read this far, perhaps the niggling though lingers in your mind as to why go through the theatrics of the curtain? Was it just for a big reveal, or was there more to come? I can confirm it was certainly the latter. Before each plate was brought out, our incredibly talented server brought out the ingredients they used prior, so we knew exactly what we were going to be eating.
With that said, the first plate was the red snapper, which was presented whole before we were served our plates. The fish was cut razor thin and was uniquely topped with dried, aged sakura blossoms, which carried a gentle, fragrant depth, like the quiet note of plum perfuming the air. Then came a dish I will think about for the rest of the year (or longer): wagyu beef, oyster, and egg yolk, served with a singular stick of potato like an aristocratic French fry. It was savory, tender, oceanic, and luxurious—each component fusing into something utterly transcendent. I loved the snapper as a subtle start, but here I was biting into perfection.
From there, the sake gave way to a white wine, and the wine pairings were thoughtful without ever feeling rigid. A Chardonnay, round and oaky, arrived just in time for the lobster and uni risotto—a dish you could smell before the spoon touched it, so rich with marine sweetness it seemed to glow. The only way I can ground this heavenly experience is to call it the best lobster bisque humanity could produce. The Spanish mackerel was similarly smooth to the red snapper, layered with sauces so complex and ephemeral that words wouldn’t do it proper justice.
Next, surprisingly, was the bread course. Interestingly, at least to a Western pallete, was that it was served with a green-hued butter that had an earthy dimension to it. There was nuance in the taste that I wasn’t quite expecting but fully welcomed. Nuanced bread—it almost sounds absurd, but here, it made perfect sense.
A glass of Cabernet Sauvignon brought us into the final meat courses: squab with cacao and white sauce, reminiscent of the duck at Gabriel Kreuther but with its own smoky, sensual identity. I never thought a cacao sauce would produce such a unique flavor, like an even more elegant red wine reduction, but here we are. And just when I thought nothing could surpass that, out came the Canard Wellington: dry-aged duck breast, foie gras, and duck leg, all in one extraordinary bite. The one thing I’ll never get over about this meal is how every step in this is a rise. There is no decline, only a gradual increase and a new culinary height.
Dessert was no different as it was its own dreamlike sequence. A pineapple foam with sorbet and cream—like an elegant slushie, if a slushie were allowed to break your heart and boggle your mind. I recall during this dish that my friend remarked that in a million years he could never recreate this dish. Not just because he lacked the skills, but because he couldn’t even figure out how the chefs could come up with such a unique texture. I joked that I agree with this and most other plates served to us, which was especially funny as they prepared everything out in the open for us to see. Then, came an almond ice cream with floral jelly peaches, tasting almost like canned peaches, but even then elevated to taste as if they were kissed with summer and patience. And that was the end of the menu, which I figured meant the end of an amazing meal. Thank God I was wrong.
After our last dish was cleared off, we were beckoned from the bar to the large chairs behind us, covered in a long but silky type of hair that felt incredibly comfortable. Now we were in for the final stretch: tea. The perfect finale to a luxuriously rich meal. Of course, they didn’t serve us Lipton tea bags. Surprisingly, it wasn’t even loose leaf or tea blocks. Rather, they had an assortment of fresh herbs bought that morning that would brew a tea with, and I will tell you, it was truly a one-of-a-kind experience, at least to me. Upon our direction, our waiter brewed and steeped the perfect cup of tea before brining out a trio of sweets: a matcha macaron that was so subtle yet sweet it wasn’t quite like any macaroon I’ve ever had flavor or texture wise, a raspberry tart so precise and bright it nearly stunned me, and a marshmallow that somehow—somehow—tasted like fresh strawberries. A lot of nicer restaurants want to give you the feeling that when you eat there, you’re at home. At Restaurant Yuu, we were there for about 2.5 hours, and at no point did we ever feel rushed, even as the tea portion extended well past thirty minutes. To top it all off, they sent us home with a goodie bag with an almond and a fruit pastry, almost like a madeleine. Lastly, I must make note of the incredible staff. The wait staff, sommelier, and chefs were utterly consummate professionals, the likes of which you rarely get to see. Talents at the top of their game made the meal even more special.
Restaurant Yuu doesn’t just offer a meal—it offers an unforgettable memory. It’s the kind of place where every gesture, every pairing, every flavor has been considered, then re-considered, until nothing less than excellence remains. Omakases, tasting menus, and any other configuration of a multicourse meal always suffers from one or two plates that really don’t match the high notes of the meal. At least that’s been true in the dozens I’ve experienced in my lifetime. Restaurant Yuu’s menu is effectively flawless and as close to perfect as I think one can achieve. I wholeheartedly believe it is the best restaurant I’ve experienced in New York City and will easily take the number one spot of my best dining experience of the year.
I don’t know many things for certain, but I do know I will be back here again soon because I cannot stop thinking about this meal. If you haven’t tried Restaurant Yuu and you are looking for a truly exceptional dining experience, this should absolutely be number one on your list.
