Kenji Ember is the chef and owner of the eight-seat omakase counter Ember. Born in Kanazawa and trained in the basement sushi-yas of Ginza, he opened Ember as a place to translate the seasonal discipline of a Japanese tasting counter into the quieter rhythm of a small California room. Ember earned its first Michelin star within eleven months of opening, in the autumn of 2012. The following year it received a second, and in 2018 a third, making it the first counter-style omakase in the United States to hold three stars in the same year.
Each evening unfolds as a single quiet conversation between the eight guests at the counter and the two chefs behind it. Courses arrive one by one — a small bowl, a single slice of fish, a warm cup of broth — each one a breath between the last and the next. We work with a rotating group of Japanese fishermen and a farm north of Sonoma, letting what arrives in the morning decide what is served that night. Nothing is rushed. Nothing is written down until the last guest has left the counter.
A ten-course omakase rewritten each morning with the tide. Served nightly at the counter from five in the evening.
Pickled daikon, Persian cucumber and umeboshi ice — a small bright opening to the meal.
Warm dashi egg custard, a spoon of Hokkaido uni, a single blade of fresh wasabi root.
Kanpachi from Kyushu, shiso flower, yuzu kosho, a single drop of aged tamari soy.
Bluefin belly aged nine days, brushed with nikiri, hand-rolled at the counter on warm rice.
Needlefish squid scored by hand, sesame oil, a flake of smoked sea salt and sansho.
Sea eel steamed in its own broth, tsume glaze, toasted nori, green yuzu zest.
A5 tenderloin kissed over binchotan charcoal, snow salt, a brushstroke of aged shoyu.
Red miso broth, Manila clam, freshly pulled tofu, a leaf of wild trefoil from the farm.
Sweet dashi egg omelet folded eighteen times, rested overnight, cut at the counter.
Stone-ground Uji tea whisked to order, warabi mochi, a spoon of dark Okinawan sugar.