Out of This World

Samurai Sushi

2209 Elliston Place. 320-4538

Lunch: 11:30 a.m.-2 p.m. Mon.-Fri. Dinner: 5-10 p.m. Mon.-Thurs.; 5-11 p.m. Fri.-Sat.

At 11:40 on a Thursday morning, nearly every table in Samurai Sushi was claimed. I was sitting at the bar with my pen and notebook, engaged in intermittent conversation with owner and sushi chef Yun Choo. An attractive man clad in scrubs stood within earshot, waiting to pay for the four large boxes of sushi that sat on the counter in front of him. As I scribbled down Choo’s answers to my questions, the customer eyed me suspiciously.

“What are you ordering?” he asked.

“Well, I’m not ordering anything right now,” I said.

“You’re not that food person, are you?” he queried. I just smiled. “Are you responsible for that?” he asked, his voice slightly louder, pointing at the wall directly over Choo’s right shoulder. There hung the April 17 cover of the Nashville Scene, featuring a photo of the owner/chef holding his signature Choo Choo roll.

People at nearby tables were tuning in; I could feel their eyeballs on my unprotected back. I nodded, hoping the man’s credit card would be rejected and the subsequent embarrassment would distract him from this inquisition. I knew exactly where it was headed. “You’re not going to write about this place again, are you?” For the love of God, what was he trying to do—incite a riot?

Ladies and gentlemen, this testy exchange was not the first I’ve had when it comes to Yun Choo and Samurai, the tiny sushi restaurant on Elliston Place that he took over some two months ago. Consider this e-mail, received from a well-known and highly regarded Hillsboro Village-based architect, who I happen to know eats there several times a week. I had simply asked if he cared to share with me any comments on Samurai Sushi. Here is what he wrote: “It really sucks. I wouldn’t go there if it were the last place on Earth. Only sushi nerds eat at Samurai.” Yeah, right.

The very same day, I received an anonymous voice mail: “If you ever want to eat in this town again, you won’t write about Samurai Sushi.” Uh yeah? Can you say “star-69,” Mr. 385-JAVA? (That would be the well-known phone number for Bob Bernstein’s Bongo Java.)

That both of these communiqués arrived within hours of my lunchtime visit with Yun Choo is no coincidence, I assure you. Oh no, it is all part of an organized and well-executed campaign of intimidation designed to keep me from devoting a column to the undeniable delights of Samurai Sushi, and to keep you, Nashville sushi fans, from discovering Choo’s captivating repertoire of exotic rolls.

But I will not be cowed by a bullying gang of Choo-istas determined to make Samurai Sushi their own private dining room. I am bound by my duties as a professional eater to cover exciting developments on the Nashville restaurant scene.

So here goes: Samurai Sushi is without question or argument the best sushi restaurant in Nashville. Sushi virgins or those whose experience is limited to California or crunchy shrimp rolls will be transformed, with just one sensuous mouthful of a Choo Choo or Hawaiian roll, into wanton sushi sybarites. And sushi aficionados, suffering dynamite/rainbow/spider roll burnout, will find their passion reignited by the Ninza, Crazy, Volcano and Samurai rolls.

Who is the clever urchin behind the seaweed curtain? Young Yun Choo emigrated from South Korea, where he received degrees in hotel management and food service at the International Hotel School. He moved to Manhattan in 1997, working the front of the house in several restaurants before coming here four years ago to do the same. He went back to New York to learn to make sushi; when the longtime owner of Samurai decided to open a larger restaurant on West End Avenue, he let Choo know that the Elliston Place space was available. Choo felt that the small room was ideally suited for his first solo project, so after a menu revamp and some interior work, he took over on March 1.

The first inkling that unpredictable treats are in store comes via a mundane source: the iceberg lettuce salad, which in most local Japanese restaurants is doused with a thick, bottled tomato-onion dressing. Choo makes his own, a light, citrus-infused concoction of orange, lemon, pineapple, carrots, a touch of mayonnaise, soy sauce and ginger. That inventiveness extends to other starters. The seafood salad is served cold, but the sly addition of hot chili flakes will make you feel the burn. If salmon or tuna tartare is listed on the specials board, by all means order that as well; the chopped raw fish is loosely bound together with a cream cheese blend and served in a ball on a bed of lettuce. Mussels dynamite—steamed mussels on the half-shell topped with Choo’s dynamite mix of four types of fish and roe—is another special that makes fairly regular appearances and should not be missed.

The sushi menu offers nigiri (slices of raw fish laid atop blocks of vinegar-dressed rice), nori-wrapped rolls, hand rolls, standard rolls (California, spicy tuna, dynamite, crunchy shrimp) and World Special rolls. Though all of Choo’s sushi is fresh, well-prepared and generously portioned, it is the World Special rolls that are, well, otherworldly.

The signature Choo Choo roll, as seen on the Scene cover several weeks ago, consists of broiled freshwater eel, crab and salmon rolled in rice and topped with buttery avocado, sweet sliced strawberries and crunchy pine nuts. The Crazy Roll—four types of fish with nuts, cucumber, avocado and a spicy sauce—must have earned its name from its enormous size; the slim slices are as wide as silver dollar pancakes and require a flexible jaw or a knife. The Volcano Roll is nearly a meal in itself: avocado, tuna, asparagus and cream cheese, wrapped, sliced and topped with a large pile of heated dynamite mix.

When the Dragon Roll was set before us, one of my dining companions was moved to declare: “Look at it! I feel like we should clap!” And we did, our round of appreciative applause acknowledged with a modest bow from Choo. A simple roll of avocado and eel, it makes its show-stopping statement through a plating presentation that looks like an undulating dragon, with one protruding piece of eel forming the head, another the tail.

The prettiest and most fetching roll by far is the Hawaiian, thanks to its alluring wrap of golden sliced mango, beneath which are fried shrimp, cream cheese, crisp fresh asparagus and finely ground pine nuts. Even the green mound of wasabi that lay by its side was molded into the shape of a small leaf. Though I love the kick of wasabi, the flavors of the World Rolls are so pleasurable that I found I enjoyed them best with no condiment.

Choo’s undeniable gift and passion for his craft are certainly enough to inspire a cult following. But the limited space in the restaurant has provided even more motivation for the Samurai Sushi fan club. (I kid you not, they already have T-shirts printed up and weekly gatherings on Choos-day nights.) There are only 32 seats, including the sushi bar. Though the floor is efficiently and warmly attended by his lovely fiancée, Seong Jung, Choo is the sole chef, and the complexity of his rolls can mean a longer wait time than at other sushi restaurants.

Fortunately, the cozy space and Choo’s unflappable demeanor serve to soothe the savage sushi beasts, and patience is amply rewarded at Samurai Sushi, home of the Choo Choo Roll and the 24 charter members of the Choo Choo Club.