autumn colors
without a pot
of red-brown soup
Basho (1644-1694)
Kaiseki originated centuries ago as a cuisine to accompany the drinking of tea (hence,
chanoyu kaiseki). Eventually, a companion cuisine grew up (in the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries) to be served in restaurants to accompany the drinking of sake:
ryori-ya kaiseki. To distinguish their version, those who offered the tea kaiseki started to use the characters for "breast stone," referring to a common practice among monks of using warmed stones to sooth hunger pangs. Although the rules governing kaiseki ryori are the least restrictive applicable to the various kinds of kaiseki, they nevertheless do exist and, among other things, prescribe a fairly distinct set and order of courses. Chef Beran largely followed the traditional order of courses but it’s worth noting that his kaiseki is not a traditional (dare I say “authentic” one). The kaiseki at Next is a kaiseki through the eyes and based on the experience of Dave Beran and Grant Achatz. It is heavily informed by Japanese tradition and practice, but it’s still their take. There are touches in almost every course, no matter how Japanese, that echo something of autumn in the Midwest. That’s neither good nor bad, that’s simply what the meal is. You have to accept the premise and we did. Gladly.
Welcome scrollThe Lovely Dining Companion unwrapped and unrolled the welcome message: an explanation of the origin of kaiseki and the Next approach to Kyoto in autumn. One paragraph, I think, bears excerpting:
“
Kaiseki layers the literal, hidden, and subconscious representations of nature and humanity in food in order to transport the diner. These allusions, rooted in tradition, can be as simple as a texture or color, or more complex to evoke memories of a poem, holiday, or moment in history.”
Hay (table decoration and ingredient)
Corn husk teaTea? From corn husks? It turns out that corn husks in the right hands can yield a very flavorful, lovely, tea. It had a smoky flavor, tasted unmistakably of corn, and brought to mind the (Midwestern) fall harvest. The intention was to ignite the dried hay that doubled as a table decoration. Unfortunately, our firebug brought her portable torch to bear, barely lit the hay, and disappeared. The fire, such as it was, ended in a few seconds and so little of the hay was lit that we got zero smoke. A pity that she didn’t wait around long enough to ensure that the intention was fulfilled.
Chestnut, apple, white misoIn this single course, the kitchen introduces Japan, kaiseki, autumn, and the Midwest. There are elements of each and each manages to complement the other elements wonderfully. The colors are right, the flavors taste of fall, and it manages to deliver fall in Kyoto and fall in the Midwest.
Japanese maple forestTry as I might (and I took many pictures), I couldn’t really capture the stunning-ness of this presentation. Maple leaves (from a maple tree farmer who’s friends with Chef Beran) are brought in weekly and sorted through in the kitchen. Over the course of the evening, maple leaves (both American and Japanese) and maple as a flavor would reappear from time to time, emphasizing through sight and smell and even taste the fall theme. Here, the floor of the maple forest was littered with food: seafood. As you can see from some of the pictures, we had everything from shrimp to lotus root chips to pickled turnip wrapped in nori (and then rewrapped in duck “prosciutto”). There was uni dipping sauce for the chips. There were fresh shrimp and dried, skewered shrimp shells as well.
Phil Vettel noted in the
Tribune that this was a “hassun” tray but then said nothing further about what that means. Doing so might have helped people understand what the course was about. “Hassun” is usually the second course in a kaiseki meal (which it was here) and its function is to illustrate or fix the season, often doing so by creating a miniature natural landscape and presented on a wooden tray. There are different approaches: some include sushi and other small tidbits; others represent different kinds of food: game, vegetables, seafood, fried foods.
Some elements of the whole
Shrimp, bottarga, pickled turnip
Pickled turnip, nori, duck “prosciutto”
Lotus root chips on uni shellTwo things I’ll confess I didn’t get: the liberal use of lengthy strings of carrot (draped in the middle) and the bottarga. For the contribution it made to fall color, carrot makes eminent sense. But it seems that there could have been a more…dare I say “sensible”…use of the carrot than lots of strings just thrown on in the middle. I don’t know: sculptured carrot trees.
Something else. The strings detracted from an otherwise stunning presentation. And I didn’t understand the use of bottarga (sprinkled with soy salt). I really enjoyed it—even more than its appearance in the Sicily menu. But I’ve never associated bottarga with Japan. Am I missing something?
Sudachi with corn custard and trout roeI perused some blogs and other sites that reviewed the meal in order to fill in my notes on a couple ingredients. And was (perhaps unreasonably) surprised to see the list of items named instead of sudachi. (Apparently, based on others’ photographs, the kitchen has also used yuzu—but not lemons.) The hollowed-out, dark green fruit filled with (corn) custard and topped with roe was sudachi. (It’s got a lemon/mandarin flavor and is closely related to yuzu and kabosu; the three form the basis for ponzu sauce.) In the event, the custard was lovely. Virtually every item on the tray contributed to the autumn theme either through seasonality of the ingredient, flavor associations and, especially, color.
Sashimi (madai, salmon, kampachi) Yet again, Next demonstrated their ability to create a stunning presentation. Over the course of the various menus we’ve had, this has become a true hallmark of Next. The presentations are nothing if not painstaking and meticulous. But more than mere technical brilliance, they reflect a care and an insight in composing a presentation that is pleasing to the eye and extraordinary in the thoughtfulness it reflects. This isn’t simply about putting things together artfully. Presentations at Next show a respect for ingredients, a knowledge and flair for composition, and a talent for marrying sight with insight.
This is not a complex course—there are very few ingredients. And yet everything about it was perfect: exquisite fish, extremely fresh, so rich it was almost “oily,” and offered in a truly stunning presentation, each slice wrapped around another to create a ball. As you ate, you unraveled the ball to disclose the next layer. (The dipping sauces were tamari—why not shoyu?—and a wasabi-based sauce.)
Abalone three waysWow! For a small course, this was packed with flavors, textures, colors…just an enormous variety of things displayed in a gorgeous natural setting: an abalone shell. To begin from the back, slices of lightly braised abalone fanned out. This was just short of being a little too chewy and the flavor was complex, rich, and only slightly of the sea. In the front, the abalone liver tasting, well, livery-y: dense, mineraly, somewhat dry…. But the dry-ness of the liver was offset by both the sea grapes and the raw jade tiger abalone mixed with sea lettuce, an algae that the abalone itself eats. Sea grapes are the fruit of a plant that thrives on the shore and is related, of all things, to buckwheat. They look like grapes and are really no more than a thin sac filled with juice. I didn’t notice a strong flavor—although there was a slight fruity sweetness—but, with so much else going on, that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. The leafy sprig is kinome and it is supposed to have the same effect as Sichuan peppercorns, a tingling, slight numbing, with a suggestion of mint. That shouldn’t be a surprise because these are the leaves of the prickly ash whose fruit is, you guess it, Sichuan peppercorns.
Maple dashi with anagoA controversial dish for some. Maple is not a Japanese flavor. And so it bears repeating, I think, that this is not Kyoto in a classical, Japanese kaiseki. This is a kaiseki through the eyes and mind of Chef Beran. It is informed by Japanese tradition and practice, but it is not—and cannot be judged by—what you would eat in Kyoto. This is the Midwest and, if such a thing existed, this would be the quintessential Midwest kaiseki. Autumn in Kyoto is similar to autumn in the Midwest. But just as their sights and smells and tastes and textures involve similarities, there are sights and smells and tastes and textures that are evocative of autumn here. Like maple. And so they came up with a dashi (stock)—one of the absolute fundamentals of Japanese cooking—and flavored it with maple. Not strongly of maple. And not sweet. And, I think to the surprise of both the LDC and me, a hit. Absolutely wonderful. Not only not traditional but probably objectionable to a Japanese purist. But who cares? That’s not who this meal was designed by or for.
In the soup was a small piece of anago, or saltwater eel (as distinct from unagi). Light, fresh-tasting, sweet, a little soft-textured.

Chawanmushi and pineChawanmushi is not only a classic of Japanese cooking but it is a classic dish for the mushimono (steamed) course in any kaiseki. The savory custard is traditionally presented precisely as it was here: with a thin slice of matsutake (a fall mushroom) laid atop. We both found the custard a little firmer than usual, but this is a textural preference only. The flavor was spot on and this was a lovely interlude.
The “side dish” of pine needles was, in theory, offered warm, the better to promote the pine scent. As with the hay, I got nothing. Truly, I did not notice any pine scent at all. A loss for me, I guess, though I don’t quite know what the house could have done to make it better. The LDC insists that she smelled it; who knows…maybe her smeller is more sensitive than mine.

AyuThe ayu season is brief. Since it is the focus of the course, we count ourselves quite lucky. Indeed, so brief is the season that some diners are already receiving trout instead of ayu. In fact, when the LDC was presented, post-meal, with her souvenir menu, it said trout, not ayu. I note that slip-up only to emphasize that we had our meal as this extraordinary, exquisite fish is disappearing for the season. Ayu is sometimes called sweetfish and for good reason. But the texture and taste (both of which are remarkable and both of which I’ll get to in a moment) have to take a backseat to the nearly unbelievable story of how the fish gets to the table. Ayu can be caught by any of several methods, but the most amazing is the traditional method: cormorant fishing (
ukai). Here, the fishermen use cormorants specially trained to catch the ayu, store it in their crop and then and deliver it—alive—to the fishermen. Next presented the ayu in the traditional manner, skewered to display it as if still swimming. The taste of this fish is like nothing I’ve ever had: distinctly sweet (for fish), unexpectedly luscious in the mouth. I’ve been groping for a metaphor since we had it and the best I can do is this: what it’s like to take a mouthful of cotton candy. Firm for just a moment yet instantly yielding. “Cottony” in the best possible way. Accompanying the fish, two dipping sauces: a shiso emulsion and a cured, whipped egg-yolk sauce.
Chrysanthemum, eggplantTempura. Once again, the classic dish for the agemono (fried food) course. Again, the LDC and I agreed: too crispy, though she was more open to it than I was. Tempura is a very personal thing and there are many styles. We can only presume that the kitchen intended to create a batter this crispy but neither of us enjoyed it as much as we might have. Purely personal taste, though.

Soup
PicklesSoup, pickles, and steamed white rice. A classic (yet again) combination and a course signaling the end of the kaiseki. The soup was luscious (there’s that word again). Heavy on umami (a miso broth), savory with a great depth of flavor. It’s worth noting that the soup contained about four or five quite thick slices of wagyu beef, cooked rare (and which continued to cook a bit in the hot broth). Excellent beef contributing to the richness of the soup and the more appreciated for the complete lack of other meat in the meal. (The white bits looking like cottage cheese or feta were not tofu but egg white!) The vegetables were pickled in a way we rarely see: not by using vinegar but by salting and pressing or salting and aging. The flavor of such pickles is significantly different from sour pickles, although there is a sourness from the fermenting that comes with age. In every case, though, both the LDC and I found it a sourness that was off-putting. I should emphasize, again, though, that this is a personal predilection, a taste preference, not an issue of quality. The combination is classic because the elements marry so well; since the pickles were a challenge for us, the whole worked less well for us than it might, but the soup was undeniably wonderful.
Roasted fig, yuba, blueberriesThe dessert course in a kaiseki will often feature seasonal fruit and so we have figs, otherwise not an expected presence in a Japanese kaiseki. (Since blueberries are out of season, I can’t explain their presence other than to suggest that Chef Beran found the combination with the figs more compelling than we did. We enjoyed them but didn’t necessarily think that the pairing was striking.) Yuba is made by boiling soy milk and skimming the skin that forms on the surface. In this case, that was dried and then fried, resulting in the caramel-colored chip.
Warabi mochiMochi refers generally to little balls or cakes made of glutinous rice flour that has been pounded incessantly (ask your friends of Japanese descent about New Year’s) then molded into the proper shape. The process is known as
mochitsuki and you can still see it done, not only in some families but even in social or communal groups. (The LDC and I have taken part a couple times at a communal celebration for New Year’s at Christ Church in Rogers Park, a congregation founded primarily by families who found their way to Chicago after being released from internment camps in World War II.) Mochi is slightly sweeten and sometimes filled with
an, a sweet azuki bean paste. The consistency of mochi is a little tough to describe…think chewy in a good way.
Warabi mochi is a kind of mochi made not from glutinous rice but from bracken (a kind of fern) starch and dipped in sweetened toasted
kinako (soy flour). It’s not true mochi but that’s splitting hairs. This was pretty authentic; the consistency was not quite right but it is nevertheless a hell of an accomplishment for a bunch of white boys (kidding, kidding).
MatchaThe ultimate course, literally and figuratively. The tea of the famous tea ceremony. Finely, finely ground and whipped until frothy. Bitter. But also absolutely essential. I found the Next version a little watery (I was duly impressed by the version I’d had a couple weeks earlier at Kajitsu, in New York, written up
here). The LDC was less critical. She enjoyed it.





ServingwareI took these pictures because they represent to me the focus and dedication of this restaurant: these (and other) items were gorgeous. The effort to find them and to obtain them demonstrates Next’s commitment to each menu—to finding the precisely right dish or bowl or implement to match with the ingredient or the course.
I had the sake pairings. My evening began with a welcome cocktail of sake, yuzu juice (a Japanese citrus tasting like a cross between grapefruit and mandarin orange), gerwurztraminer grape juice, and shochu. Delightful. I won’t go through each sake (there were four), the beer (a remarkable brew created from heirloom ingredients dating back centuries) and shochu. Suffice to say, it was probably one of the best pairings sets I’ve ever had anywhere, of anything. Superb and chosen with inordinate care. The LDC had the non-alcoholic pairings and was likewise extremely happy. The ingredients of the various non-alcoholic drinks were chosen so as to feature a Japanese ingredient or item in nearly every drink. Thus, various drinks included green tea, white soy, ginger, barley, and even wasabi! (It would have been nice, for those so inclined, to choose the simple option of having green tea with dinner, though.) We’ve found, over the course of different meals at Next, that the pairings (both alcoholic and non-alcoholic) vary more than we would have expected in their “success.” Not these two: smash hits on both counts.
One other note: there seems to have been some turnover in servers. We missed a number of regulars and the new folks we had seemed a little nervous. Nothing major but several smaller things that will probably disappear as they settle in. We were quite touched when one of our regular servers came out from the back (he’d apparently been working the kitchen table) to say he’d seen us and wanted to say hello. A nice touch and one reason we’re so fond of the staff in general.
We had, as I hope this makes clear, a wonderful meal. We enjoyed our time and were only a wee bit disappointed to find that we were gone in under three hours. One of our shortest evenings at Next—but also one of the most successful.
Gypsy Boy
"I am not a glutton--I am an explorer of food." (Erma Bombeck)