Chicago Tribune Staff - Good Eatings Global Dining in Chicago: Where to Find the Citys Best International, Ethnic, and Exotic Restaurants

Kevin Pang reviewed Katsu in 2012.

Of the few remaining ways to get your mind blown nowadays, my preferred manner of inserting the TNT is to sit three feet away from Katsu Imamura.

The fuse lit once appetizer plates were cleared, when Katsu asked: Are you ready for sushi now?

And thus began one of my most memorable dining-out experiences of 2012. Five nights a week at Katsus eponymous West Ridge restaurant, the eight sushi-counter seats play front row to some of our citys most compelling theater. With his omakase (chefs choice), Katsu might not decide which fish to use until he picks up the knife. To further the theater analogy, a night at Katsu can be like long-form improv the performer takes a suggestion from his audience, riffs on a theme, weaving disparate elements into a cohesive narrative, and by the time the stage lights go dark, you want to jump on your feet and applaud wildly. Sushi at Katsu ruins sushi everywhere else.

Two things prompted my visit:

1. Through whatever algorithm employed, Zagats 2013 Chicago guide ranked Katsu as the second best restaurant in Chicago, behind obligatory Alinea. Katsu, Alinea and Next were the only restaurants in town to receive a 29 out of 30 food score. (Whats notable isnt Zagats opaque ranking process, but the company that Katsu shares.)

2. I finished watching Jiro Dreams of Sushi 81 minutes of food pornography weaved into the life story of Japanese chef Jiro Ono, recipient of three Michelin stars. Reports of a pandemic abound among viewers of the documentary: It induces the shakes and a facial tic that wont abate until you run to your nearest sushi parlor.

If the film has one take-away, its that the interactivity between chef and diner has become an endangered art. The American relationship with those who create our food is often an anonymous one, separated by kitchen doors. Whats commendable about folks like Doug Sohn (Hot Dougs), Burt Katz (Burts Place) and Katsu Imamura is that because their names are attached to their businesses, they wont compromise quality by not showing up to work. They are the faces of their restaurants. Their aspirations are fulfilled by running one happy business, and if this means theyre not open from sunrise to sundown or they take a few days off now and then, so be it.

Katsu used to open six nights a week until 2 a.m., catering to the Japanese downtown businessmen who dined here on their commute home to the suburbs. But the man is 69 now. His stamina is not the same as it was in his 30s. Back then, he was a womens fashion designer in Japan with no culinary training. But he had a discriminating taste for food, a knack for re-creating his mothers dishes and a designers eye for plating aesthetics. When Katsu came to Chicago in 1979 a city with a small Japanese population he approached a restaurant in River North called Yanase. It didnt matter that he had no kitchen experience; knowing how Japanese food should taste got him the job.

In 1988, Katsu and his wife, Haruko, found a restaurant space on Peterson Avenue, the only place they could afford. Theyve kept it open for 24 years with no advertising or public relations push; their secret is to not cower to passing trends. They present sushi without spicy mayo or cream cheese and wont satisfy requests for them. This has cost them customers through the years. One brazen diner lectured Katsu, Let me tell you how to make a spicy tuna roll. But their devotion has kept many more customers who become evangelists and insist there is Katsu Imamura, and then there is everyone else.

Im leery with such hyperbolic proclamations, but after sitting three feet from Katsu, I joined the ministry. The prelude came as a palm-size clay teapot so unassuming youd figure it contained green tea. Inside was the steeped broth of the prized matsutake mushroom, poured into tablespoon-size tea cups. I pinched the cups edge with two thumbs and two index fingers, and lifted it to the nose as the heady steam wafted scenes of autumn. The broth was profound in its delicateness, with sweetness from a single shrimp and ethereal mushroom earthiness enveloping you like the warm facial towel that began the meal. Rare is the legal soup that alters moods and clears the mind.

Throughout the course of this broth, Katsu kept his gaze rapt at the working surface behind the counter. The surface was below eye level, so one couldnt tell what the chef was doing. The masters actions remained remarkably silent. The wrist turn of hand forming rice into nigiri. Gleaming slabs of fish came in and out of the glass case. Occasionally a knifes handle poked into view.

When finally we said, Yes chef, were ready, Katsu hoisted up a long glass plate containing 12 pieces, designed to be consumed from left to right. This was a stunning view. He is the artist who sees food as a beginning-to-end LP record experience.

The overture: Hamachi yellowtail flown in from Tokyos Tsukiji fish market, followed by a marbled segment of salmon topped with ikura roe that detonated briny mini-explosions.

The third piece of nigiri sushi was the most delicious one-bite Ive experienced in recent memory: escolar (advertised here as super white toro), a butter-unctuous fish augmented with Australian truffle, its richness balanced with vinegared sushi rice, together a decadent evocation of the matsutake broth minutes earlier. I slouched down in my chair, whipped my head backward and uttered two words, the first of which was holy.

This improv, this album, this sermon, this gratuitous mixing of metaphors it continued with rising action (the creamiest botan sweet shrimp with Osetra caviar), sharp left turns (fried prawns head, eaten whole) and a rousing one-two finale (king crab, then marinated mackerel and pickled battera kombu kelp).