"Mr. Moto was a gourmand and art connoisseur. In 1853, he accompanied Commodore Mathew Perry on a voyage to Japan. He took notes on gastronomy and collected artifacts. He also, definitely, did not exist. The Office of Mr. Moto provides that elaborate backstory, and we get it. Every restaurant has a gimmick. At , it’s chefs who tell you to “enjoy your fucking food,” and at , it’s agnolotti that occasionally sells out, despite no interruptions to the agnolotti supply chain. The gimmick at this -style East Village spot, hidden behind an unmarked entrance with a secret keypad, is more elaborate than most—but it doesn’t play a huge role in the actual dining experience. Once you settle in for your $195, 21-course meal, you’ll find that this is just a pleasant, friendly, upper-tier omakase place that provides good value and a few curveballs, the first of which is getting in the door. Due to Mr. Moto’s size—a few tables and a short chef’s counter—and dedication to the bit, reservations are claimed as soon as they're released online. If you manage to snag one (your best bet is the waitlist), you’ll then need to decipher a cryptic email with a hidden passcode. Depending on how many seasons of Sherlock you've finished, this could take between one and five minutes. The pageantry is fun, and it’s what sets this place apart, but once you listen to a host’s solemn recap of Mr. Moto’s life and achievements, the theater abruptly ends. After that, you’ll find yourself in a mellow little room with antique knickknacks and a twinkling soundtrack—compliments of a player piano hidden in a waiting room down below—as you begin a marathon of a meal with a few interesting highlights and enough sheer volume to guarantee a good time. Slightly undersized and lightly dressed nigiri account for 15 of the 21 courses, and they’re what you’ll remember best. The fish here changes frequently, but you can expect a few uncommon finds, in addition to plenty of usual suspects. You’ll get your uni, toro, and torched kinmedai, but also things like fatty blackthroat seaperch and baby cuttlefish with a bouncy, creamy texture that you’ll chase for days afterward, chewing on gummy sharks and hair ties to recapture the feeling. The staff will offer to add more rice to your pieces if you want more food, but that’s not how you want to fill up. Minimally seasoned and not quite warm, the rice is the weakest link of the meal. If you obsess over little details like that, take your $195 elsewhere. Mr. Moto is a special-occasion restaurant for people who like dragging their friends to escape rooms just as much as they enjoy consuming caviar-topped tuna. The gimmick wears off quick, but that's probably for the best. Thinly sliced cuttlefish is significantly more compelling than any fictional backstory. " - Bryan Kim
