Weekend Argus (Saturday Edition)
It’s Sushi, but with a difference
Wise-cracking chef courts controversy, but that’s not what people come for – it’s the food
HELENE STAPINSKI
THEY come two by two, sometimes solo, or in fours, key card in hand, to the small room on the 10th floor of Hotel 3232. Some know what to expect, others are in for a surprise.
One couple came on their anniversary – a gift from husband to wife – and riding up in the lift she wondered if he was taking her to a sex party. She was relieved to find that where the bed would normally be was a sushi bar – and behind it the exuberant, wisecracking chef David Bouhadana.
Sushi by Bou Suite 1001 – Bouhadana’s latest project and part of his growing line of dining experiences – opened in December. It is a speakeasy like no other. New Yorkers love a hideaway or secret place, and this one the NoMad neighbourhood has never quite been done before.
Bouhadana, with the help of investors Michael Sinensky and
Erika London, has partnered with the 32nd Street hotel to install a four-person sushi counter in one of its rooms. He is there every night, making his creations, from 5pm to midnight, bouncing to disco music and encouraging diners to drink deeply from the Sake machine. Each 17-course meal lasts 60 minutes and costs $125 (not including the sake), which is reasonably cheap by New York standards.
His constant physical motion, jokes and lessons on fresh fish and its preparation come in rapid-fire delivery, some words in Japanese, but most in English. There’s the lesson on Tokyo Bay and what lives there, the talk on how to prepare salmon roe properly and the riff on giant clams, smacking one with his knife and making it dance ever so slightly for
omakase his small audience.
“In New York, the best sushi chefs generally don’t speak much, or don’t speak English,” said one visitor.
“You can’t talk to them. So this is a different experience. He doesn’t stop talking.”
Because of his big mouth, Bouhadana has experienced controversy the past few years. He openly boasted to the Department of Health that he doesn’t wear gloves. Even though most sushi chefs don’t, they generally do not advertise it.
His restaurant at the time, Dojo, was closed and he was fired, even though the Times review gave it two stars.
His next venture was Sushi on Jones, where he served a 30-minute, 12-piece menu in an al fresco box which drew long lines and serious buzz. Then two years ago, Eater – previously a big fan of his – criticised him for talking in a fake Japanese accent while serving diners at the Gansevoort Market. The piece went viral. Followups called him a racist. Death threats were made. His Jewish
omakase background was attacked. His mother got very upset.
Bouhadana said he sometimes used a Japanese inflection when placing the sushi on the plate, just as he was taught by his Japanese teachers.
“If I did offend somebody, I absolutely do owe them an apology,” Bouhadana said. “Maybe somebody walked by and was offended, but I want that person to sit down and eat with me.”
That person would have been lucky to get a seat at the sushi bar because Suite 1001 was fully booked until early this month.
“The controversy is the reason I know the name,” said a diner who remained anonymous for fear of being pulled into the conflict. “But his reputation is good sushi. That’s really why I’m here.”
Sushi by Bou has three locations and is opening two more this month – one in the lobby of Hotel 3232 and one in Miami at the Versace mansion. Another will open on Union Square next month.
As a Jewish sushi chef, Bouhadana is the odd man out, but at the same time, stands out from the crowd. He constantly refers to his “sensei”, Andy Matsuda, the chef and teacher who sent him to live with the Matsuda family in Japan for six weeks. He stayed for three years. And the results can be seen in his creations.
Silky sea scallops with charcoal salt, hamachi belly lightly charred with a blow torch and his egg custard, which one woman compared to flan, both beautiful and delicious, are a few of the courses he serves five times a night, seven nights a week.
All the while, the chatter and jokes keep coming. He congratulates a woman for buying her first apartment in Alphabet City – the neighbourhood where he lives. They discuss the L train. He talks about growing up with a Moroccan father and a French mother in Florida – “the sushi capital of America,” he jokes. “Every hour, same joke. Different customers.” They all laugh.