The chef and his crew are studies in motion as they assemble rolls and sushi. I wish they would take time to cut the fish in trimmer portions and season the rice so that its vinegar were more evident. No one will mistake this for Sushi Taro. Freshwater eel is glazed as if by a pastry chef with a heavy hand. Better: salmon belly, its lushness visible in its white veins of fat. The best-selling Dream roll is a cluster of soy paperbound bites of shrimp and avocado supporting a dollop of fiery minced tuna. If the combination doesn’t live up to its name, it’s at least acceptable.

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A few days later, I’m back to try the omakase, a tasting of seven dishes chosen by the chef. The night begins oddly. My companion has beaten me to the restaurant, where a server brings out two bowls of miso soup even though she’s been told I’m still en route.

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Much of what follows involves fancy ingredients foisted on one another, as in monkfish liver topped with sea urchin topped with salmon roe, a blandly rich-on-rich-on-rich little tower rising from a pool of chile yuzu sauce thickened with (too much) quail egg. Kannasute cold-smokes salmon with lavender flowers; the first slice is intriguing, while more just brings to mind potpourri. Shaved wagyu beef with the texture of raw bacon is draped on a round of rice encircled with what looks like chocolate sauce but turns out to be black pepper mixed with balsamic vinegar, Japanese soy sauce and truffle oil, an ingredient used with abandon here. No thanks.