Narisawa Shanghai
I recently visited Narisawa Shanghai to sample their new early summer menu. To be fair, the menu isn't unpalatable, and the prices have nearly halved compared to the opening period. However, I won't be returning because the restaurant now exudes a gloomy and oppressive atmosphere, with every corner whispering "no one cares." This sense of decline made me uneasy throughout my visit.
Located on the seventh floor of a remote mall, whose major investor is Tian'an Qianchu itself, the restaurant features a concealed entrance. Upon entering, the low ceiling, massive load-bearing pillars, and dark color scheme create an oppressive feeling. Moreover, the soft furnishings and tableware convey a sense of cheapness, with no table flowers or decent cutlery – forks and knives that seem worth twenty yuan each and unsightly water jugs costing forty yuan apiece. It's not the affordability that's the issue, but rather the lack of care and attenton to detail.
The chefs are clumsily handling things; I've never encountered such a noisy open kitchen before. Throughout the evening, there were constant clattering sounds, with pots and pans crashing loudly to the floor, echoing throughout the entire restaurant. Maaemo in Oslo, another three-Michelin-starred restaurant without background music, boasts a cathedral-like ceiling height, and its open kitchen operates in almost silent harmony. I concur with Chef Alain Passard's view that the manner in which food is prepared matters greatly; the respect given to the ingredients determines the final outcome. If a service kitchen can be this chaotic, I can only imagine how roughly the ingredients are being treated.
Regarding the dishes, I believe the initial negative reviews for Narisawa Shanghai weren't due to a misinterpretation of Narisawa Tokyo's philosophy or a failure to reflect the Tokyo headquarter's standards. Instead, they accurately conveyed the reality beneath the seemingly glamorous and accolade-laden facade of mainstream Japanese French cuisine, which has stagnated and relies on pandering to Western tastes to remain relevant.
To be objective, this early summer menu shows some sincerity, catering to Chinese diners' preferences for ingredients and flavors. It adjusts traditional Japanese French cuisine significantly, becoming quite Sinicized, indicating considerable research and adaptation. However, in the aftermath of these changes, Narisawa loses its "concept." Eating through the menu leaves little impression, lacking a coherent central theme. The selection of ingredients, particularly vegetables, reveals a glaring lack of attentiveness, let alone embodying the "Satoyama" culture of gratitude for nature's gifts.
The 1430 RMB set menu is actually seven courses when counting the bread and post-dessert, despite being advertised as nine courses.
The meal begins with the signature Potted Forest Bread, emphasizing grandeur in presentation. After admiring it, the bread is moved to a hot stone for 15 minutes of fermentation, to be enjoyed during the second course. Its popularity likely stems from the fact that it resembles a citrus-filled steamed bun more than bread, with a deliberately charred bottom reminiscent of rice crust. Additionally, a spherical butter is provided to mimic forest soil moss in appearance, tasting simply of butter.
The second course features Akashi Lobster sashimi with scallop cream sauce, topped with caviar from Qiandao Lake and bitter herbs. This dish primarily aims to impress guests with the sincerity of the ingredients, while also showcasing a classic Japanese French culinary style.
The third course is Squid, where a hollowed-out East China Sea squid is filled with zucchini saffron risotto, served with red pepper sauce, jelly, and nitrogen-frozen red pepper powder to simulate smoky barbecue vapor. It's visually appealing but mostly theatrical, with the red pepper elements being inconsequential and the dish being simplistic.
The fourth course, Summer Gion, consists of a bland eggplant tempura topped with diced eggplant, mushrooms, and greens, covered in a tomato consommé gelée. Allegedly representing Kyoto's Gion Festival, it visually resembles a coffin more than anything else.
The fifth course, Spot Prawn, is a variation of chawanmushi, with a thin layer of steamed egg topped by layers of sweet peas, interspersed with bamboo shoots and water chestnuts, and garnished with slices of not-so-fresh Fujian spot prawn. Despite looking impressive, it lacks a dominant ingredient and feels weak.
The sixth course, Eel, comprises two flaccid sea eel tempuras emitting an unpleasant fishy odor, accompanied by inedible Chinese broccoli and perplexingly, sesame sauce. One bite was enough to send it back.
As a replacement, the restaurant served Greater Amberjack, which was far more palatable than the eel. The grilled surface resembled a waffle pattern, but the unnecessary black truffle sauce underneath detracted from it. The outer ring of thick ham and chicken broth was a positive touch, albeit too scarce. This dish forced a Western approach, whereas it would have been better suited to a kaiseki-style preparation, considering the dry, fatty texture of amberjack that requires a broth to balance.
The seventh course, Wagyu Beef, pairs tender Shandong wagyu with Parmesan risotto and morels, doused in a heavy beef red wine sauce, starkly contrasting the lighter dishes preceding it, feeling forcibly included.
Post-main course, the chef personally presented a complimentary Matcha Warabi Mochi, clearly targeting female-dominated tables with his fluent mix of Chinese and English explanations, rarely visiting tables with mixed genders. The bouncy matcha desserts with milk ice cream were simple and refreshing.
The eighth course, Strawberries, and ninth course, Melon Langue de Chat, arrived together, with the restaurant offering a complimentary cup of coffee or tea. The only tea option, white tea, tasted as bitter and mediocre as the ten-yuan-per-seat variety commonly found in Cantonese restaurants. The strawberry dessert was straightforward with strawberry sorbet, vanilla ice cream, fresh strawberries, and freeze-dried strawberry chips, while the melon cookie was utterly perfunctory, with exceptionally dry and flavorless melon.
