赤 Aka
A twelve-seat counter. One seasonal menu, served by hand — course after course, the moment each is ready.
We don’t print a menu. We serve what the morning market gave us, in the order it tastes best.
Sit at the cypress counter and let the chef lead. Each evening is built around the day’s catch — finished one piece at a time and passed to you directly across the wood, never plated and left to wait.
Twelve seats. Two seatings. One quiet room. The whole evening is roughly fifteen courses and ninety unhurried minutes — a single, deliberate arc from the first cool bite to the last whisk of tea.
A single, deliberate arc.
Cedar, stone, and quiet.
No music to speak over. A long slab of hinoki cypress, warm light pooled on the wood, and the chef an arm’s length away. It is meant to feel less like a restaurant and more like being cooked for, in someone’s home.
Two seatings.