“I’m afraid it’s not the right season.” Thus the waitress politely rebufed our order for edamame. Were it not for the hewn granite surrounds, you might feel uncomfortable. As it is, you’re half tempted to hug her. Or, better yet, climb atop the polished granite and just sprawl, lion-like, across the sushi prep table. Such is the reassuring solidity and professionalism of Nadaman; it’s a cave, courtesy of Monocle.

Across the corridor, Yi Cafe bustles with 10 open kitchens and 200 people. The same number to and fro downstairs in the lobby. And all the while, Nadaman carries on in the background, quietly serving excellent food to a very small audience. If there’s a catch to Nadaman, it’s lack of atmosphere for lack of customers. Expensive, 5-star hotel Japanese restaurants tend to do that. (Lunch here is a bargain, though.) There’s no effect on the exceptional food, however.
Nadaman specializes in kaiseki menus, supremely fussed-over dishes served in rigid order to contrast color, texture, and flavor. It’s obsessive-compulsive disorder, codified into cultural heritage. Theirs revolve around steak in various forms as a main component, cushioned between a universe of grilled dishes, simmered dishes, and vinegared dishes on impossibly delicate tableware. 
But it’s not all they do. They pay as much attention to their intense miso soup and light kushiage – deep-fried skewers of seafood – as they do to supremely fresh sushi of pinkie-thin rice and deep-red bluefin tuna loin. Shame there’s not more people there to know.