There was a man. There was a Tsukiji fish market. And there was just perfect/pristine fish raced to a waiting plane so it would get to Market Street in time for your important dinner tonight...
Ginto Izakaya Japonaise.
That’s a place where important things now happen.
It’s a towering shrine to Japanese seafoodery and all the Japanese whiskey such evenings might require, and it’s now open. (Slideshow. Beauty.)
They’re part of a formidable global empire, the good kind—they’re at the front of the line for whiskey allocation. So that’s important: maybe start at that marble bar right at the entrance, can’t miss it, and get a couple fingers of something good.
Or a Matcha Russian. Yes, like a matcha version of a White Russian. Ah, there’s your date entering now, unless it’s really a burbling cadre of important clients.
And then a soaring opus of an evening unfolds, a symphony of navy leather and yakitori grill, of mask and temple bell, of Japanese charcoal and Mount Fujian lava rock.
You’ll eat sushi and soft-shell crab clay pots and chicken livers and stuff.
Took it down a notch at the end there.