Victor C.
Google
Expired Spectacle: Gonpachi Nishi Azabu
Let us be frank: Gonpachi is not a restaurant; it is a museum of early-2000s expatriate nostalgia that serves food. It is a single film Planet Hollywood that managed to survive 22 years. It is indeed a stunning room, a vast, timbered cavern that promises a raucous Edo-era experience slathered up with American Top 40 and waist high advertisements for shots. For the uninitiated traveler, terrified at the silence in a high-end sushi bar or the smoke of a legitimate yakitori alley, this is an easy-mode safety blanket. It is approachable, English-friendly, and visually arresting. However, one does not eat architecture.
The service operates with the efficiency of a pit crew. Our server was bilingual and prompt, but the pacing was breakneck. Dishes were cleared with a frantic urgency that suggested they needed the table for the next busload before we had even swallowed. We could have cycled through our five courses in thirty minutes, a speed that betrays the kitchen's dirty secret: nothing is being cooked to order.
The culinary experience is indistinguishable from a Japanese business class in-flight meal —pre-made, visually "gussied up," and reheated with indifference. The fundamentals of heat and moisture control were absent. The fried shrimp dumpling offered a pleasant exterior crunch, but the center was lukewarm, a cardinal sin of frying that suggests it sat on a pass for far too long. The sushi was tasteless and stale. The grilled fish was desiccated, a tragic, overcooked victim of neglect, while the unagi was buried under a cloying, oversauced glaze designed to mask the lack of quality. The dominant flavor profile is simply "soy sauce," applied with a heavy hand to everything. The final insult was the dessert: a yukimi daifuku—the standard mochi ice cream available at any Family Mart for fifty cents—dressed up in powders and syrups to justify the markup.
If you possess the courage to endure a few moments of awkwardness, there are alleyways in this city hiding affordable culinary sensations that will bring you to your knees. Gonpachi is not one of them. If you must go, avoid the bench booths; they offer privacy but rob you of the view, which is the only thing here worth paying for. Fight for a table in the center. Reservations are strictly recommended if you insist on going, but my advice is this: Walk in, wave hello to the nice soba man, head upstairs, admire the interior design, take your free selfie, and then leave. Do not let the nostalgia for a twenty-year-old film trick you into settling for a mediocre, overpriced meal.