U Omakase’s Cherry Smoked Salmon.
Photo courtesy of U Omakase
The omakase craze, much like a well-dressed libertine, shows no signs of leaving the party.
There was a time—fond, chaotic, faintly unhinged—when sushi in New York operated like the Wild West: laminated menus, fluorescent lighting, and the quiet dare of ordering just one more roll until dignity, appetite, and reason dissolved in equal measure. That era has largely slipped into memory, replaced by something far more controlled, far more curated.
As a woman of pronounced independence and very limited patience for excessive decision-making past a certain hour, this evolution feels less like a trend and more like a relief.
Omakase, at its best, is a surrender of the most elegant kind. One relinquishes control not out of passivity, but out of discernment—an understanding that the right hands, the right mind, the right palate will guide you somewhere more interesting than you might have gone alone.
Tucked into the choreography of Greenpoint, U Omakase understands this instinctively. The entrance is discreet to the point of near absurdity, a subtle façade that gives nothing away, which only sharpens the pleasure of what follows.
U Omakase’s Baby MarilynPhoto courtesy of U Omakase 
U Omakase’s OysterPhoto courtesy of U Omakase
Inside, the mood shifts from city noise to something far more conspiratorial. Sixteen seats curve around a counter like a private invitation. The lighting flatters, the wood glows, and the room hums with that rare frequency of people who have all decided—knowingly or not—to trust the evening to someone else.
The playlist deserves immediate praise. It is exceptional in a way that feels intentional rather than obvious, guiding the rhythm of the evening with a quiet, seductive confidence.
The mussel cappuccino sets the tone with striking clarity. A slow-simmered, tomato-based broth layered with sofrito is lifted by a delicate foam of mussel fumet, creating something rich yet restrained, indulgent yet precise. It reads as both comfort and craft, a small course with disproportionate impact.
From there, the meal unfolds with composure. Cherry-smoked salmon arrives with a whisper of drama, the smoke dissipating just as you lean in. Toro and foie gras meet in a way that could easily veer into excess, yet lands with remarkable balance. Maitake mushrooms, deeply savory and handled with care, remind you that restraint is often the highest form of confidence.
U Omakase’s Okinawa ToroPhoto courtesy of U Omakase 
U Omakase’s Cherry Smoked SalmonPhoto courtesy of U Omakase
Each dish holds its ground. Nothing clamors for attention. Nothing feels overworked. Excellence is delivered with a kind of quiet certainty that is increasingly rare.
Chef Luis Durand, alongside Kate Durand, has created something that resists the tired binaries of casual versus fine dining. Technique is exacting, sourcing is rigorous, yet the atmosphere remains disarmingly warm. The introduction of the team feels genuine rather than performative, a subtle but meaningful distinction in a city that often confuses hospitality with theater.
At $109, the experience borders on the improbable. New York has grown accustomed to charging dearly for far less.
Greenpoint does not announce this kind of excellence. It lets it exist, waiting to be discovered by those who know what to look for.
Go hungry. Go curious. Let someone else take the wheel for the night.