Fast, noisy Wasabi more value than quality
All-you-can-eat sushi a deal for families, but taste and subtlety take hit
For 35 years, 195 Wolf Road was Real (and Reel) Seafood Co. Lately, it’s been transformed into Wasabi, an all-you-can-eat sushi restaurant and sibling to the Saratoga Springs original that’s an excellent way to stretch waistbands and not break the bank. Sushi, sashimi, maki rolls, noodles and apps are all there for the taking at $25 per head ($27 on weekends).
No matter how you slice it, Wasabi is a good value. Where you might typically pay $5 for two pieces of salmon sushi (fish over rice), here you can play indulgent parent to a squad of hungry teens or not dread splitting the bill with your office pod. Of course there are rules: a two-hour time limit and penalty for any sushi you don’t eat. While you’re charged only for uneaten sushi, you can’t order an excess and box it to go for an absent friend. A decibel-clanging roar means this is not the place for a business meeting or a date, but I’ll get to that. For now, the takeaway is largely good news: speed plus value, a combo that’s hard to beat.
Dining at Wasabi is an experience as calm as a Walmart superstore on Black Friday. Despite visible efforts at interior design, the wall of sound is one part of a coordinated assault with a jangly video game soundtrack. I struggled to pinpoint it at first, but the layout and densely packed dining room feel part cafeteria, part cruise ship bingo. Though the dangling silver balls and a blue strip light would fit a stylish hotel bar, the unforgiving white house lights have surgical wattage, and we cast envious looks at the dimly lit bar where, for now, without a liquor license, you could dine alone with your soda or hot tea.
We had our first inkling of the impending experience seconds after entering the restaurant, with the host coordinating new arrivals like an air traffic controller. Some had reservations, though staff could find no record of ours, and the stream of diners continuously exiting with flushed faces and clutched bellies is like the line disembarking from a fairground ride. One man stops to prod at our laminated menu with his “must try” picks and effusive praise. He fist-pumps the air in a display of all-you-can-eat happiness. Stuffed on a Tuesday. His second visit in a week.
Let’s stick for now with the positives. Service speed means our pen-marked menu is swished away from the table and tiny plates come flying in. I don’t mean it literally, though delivery by drone could only add to the sense of Disneyfication. Tiny plates of seaweed salad and dressed avocado hit the table followed by sashimi — buttery salmon, silver-striped bass, a
pale tuna waterlogged from an obvious thaw and octopus no chewier than most upstate. The seared pepper tuna in zingy ponzu glaze is plush; snapper with jalapeños is vibrant with yuzu citrus and sliced chile heat; our chosen sushi — mackerel, salmon, tamago and squid — is draped neatly over firm lobes of rice.
But speed is from a battery of staff ricocheting around tables, making snap decisions to pull plates or convey inquiries, fill water or snatch menus. Too often server hands hover over unfinished food, and we bat them away. I must have repeated 20 times that the glass staff endlessly tried to fill was not water but tonic from the bar. It’s a casualty of no assigned server to know what you have or need. Service is happening to you, not for you. You’re on the clock, but it’s their clock, timed to bring your ride to an end. Menus are returned to us wiped clean, triggering every passing waiter to press us to order more. Constant contact makes uninterrupted conversation impossible in an undulating sea of plates up and plates down, readiness assessments and invitations. More water, more tea? Ready for more? Finished or no? Stop and go. It’s an interactive game. Strap in. You’ve paid to play.
It takes a few goes to get the hang of ordering. With sushi, it’s a literal delivery of a piece at a time, while battered rock shrimp and bang pow scallops arrive in a fried trio — unfortunate for us, having ordered both but unable to savor either because of the mushy taste.
Before long, the list of less-enjoyed plates becomes clear as they sit on the table and we ask waiters to take them away. The seaweed wrap of cone-shaped temaki rolls is damp and tough, bites requiring an indelicate two-handed yank. Like the tuna tartare, a spicy tuna filling is minced to paste. The chopped scallops lack body, offering a texture that is soft in the extreme. A wedge of scallion pancake is a tasteless batter; skewered yakitori beef and chicken, though fine, are doused in viscous, sweet glaze; stir-fried noodles are overcooked; maki rolls are