Would be a great band name, but alas.
Our story starts in January, during my meal at Terra Cotta. I’m with a friend (occasionally referred to as a “dining companion” in my reports here, so let’s call him DC) and his friend (who I’m on friendly terms with as well - he’s from the SFV, so let’s call him Valley Guy, or VG).
Over the course of the meal it emerges that VG fancies himself quite a sushi connoisseur, having made nearly a dozen trips to Japan, and he claims that his local neighborhood spot (in Calabasas) is the best sushi restaurant in LA. It emerges that he hasn’t eaten at any of the top-tier sushi restaurants in LA to justify this comparison, but he claims it stacks up well to some better places in Japan. Skeptical but intrigued, I ask about the name of the place - if, after a few years of browsing Chowhound, FTC, other food blogs, doing my own research, and eating around, I still haven’t heard of such a high-quality sushi restaurant, it’d be pretty unusual. The name of the restaurant is Shibuya. (Indeed, I hadn’t heard of it.)
VG makes me a bet - we’ll eat at Shibuya, and then at any sushi restaurant in LA of my choice, and, according to my best judgment, the person with the worse restaurant pays for both meals. Even though I plan on judging honestly, this feels like a sure thing. The likelihood of such a good sushi restaurant going undiscovered and unmentioned in these environs seems extremely low.
Months pass, and VG keeps bailing on our trip to Shibuya - in addition to the problem of his busy schedule, Shibuya does not take reservations(!!), and he claims that it is so busy that he arrives at 5 just to get seated at 5:30, when they open.
Yesterday, on Tuesday, we finally agreed that it was an appropriate night for all three of us, though I wouldn’t be able to make it until 7:30, and resigned myself to waiting in line. I arrive at 8:00 because I get held up with some family issues (nothing serious), and find that DC and VG have been waiting since 7:20. They are not even close to being seated.
I glance around at the other people waiting, and find myself surrounded by every Valley stereotype you can think of. Enumerating them would, perhaps, be a little tacky. Your imagination will suffice.
It is 8:00 pm, and it is 97 degrees outside. Shibuya is a very small restaurant, with three or four small tables, and a bar. There is not much room to stand inside and enjoy the AC.
I haven’t eaten since lunch. The wait is interminable.
We are seated at 9:30 pm, which is when the restaurant normally closes. I order omakase, and VG orders all of his favorites, which include traditional items such as stuffed squid, spicy tuna on crispy rice, and a spider roll (he actually orders a bunch of nigiri as well, but I won’t be going over it, as I had my own to contend with).
The stuffed squid arrives first, and - surprise - it’s actually very good. The squid is tender and snappy, filled with crab, lightly dipped in eel sauce - it is as decadent as it looks, but not overwhelming. My omakase begins, and the nigiri is largely unremarkable - the fish quality is maybe a little above average for a decent neighborhood spot, but the cut is too thick, the drape is simply wrong, the rice is extremely sloppy - I could go on, but won’t. Suffice it to say I don’t have to try very hard to think of better sushi in LA. The trio of scallop nigiri with different dressings (one seared) are admittedly good, but not great. In between all this are bites of VG’s food:
Delicate sauteed mushrooms with thin shavings of scallop, nicely springy.
The best spicy tuna on crispy rice I’ve ever had - lush, creamy tuna with more bite than usual, on an enormous fried mound of rice, which almost seems to be tastier than their sushi rice.
An extremely good Spider roll, with very well-fried soft-shell crab and excellent proportions of vegetables.
And so on. After that kind of wait, the night is a bit of a blur.
My final impression is difficult to sum up in a few words. I would never come back - yes, pretty much every non-sushi item was best-in-class, but I still don’t like them enough to travel to Calabasas and wait in such a ridiculous line. It also reminded me why I’m happy to not live in the Valley anymore. If you are in the SFV and want a traditional sushi experience, I would recommend Sushi Yotsuya. If, on the other hand, you want to spend a few hours lost in a surreal daze without resorting to illicit substances, and have some admittedly good low-modernist interpretations of Japanese food, you could do worse than Shibuya. Come early, or bring water for the wait (though they’ll probably let you order some beers if you ask nicely).
Shibuya
4774 Park Granada, Calabasas, CA 91302
