As we stepped up to the barely marked threshold, I noted with horror a sign stating, “Kyotofu will be closed this evening for a private function.”
After all the hyping and the anticipation, this was a disaster! Dear friend P and his girlfriend Y were in town some weeks ago and, as she is Japanese and he is about the most Japanese non-Japanese person I know, this much-wowed, high-end, Hell’s Kitchen dessert barseemed like the perfect venue for ending our evening.
But Kyotofu — as much fun pun to the Japanese as it is to me — was closed for a party to introduce the venue and its delectable offerings to Big Apple foodies and journalists. Woe was us…
Except that J and P insisted we at least try and see what was up. They seemed confident our good karma might result in something, well, good. Remarkably it did. After Y and I ventured in and met one of the owners, explained our disappointment, Y and P’s Japanese roots and their soon-to-be-on-a-jetplane status, he invited us in and proffered a selection of the most exquisite desserts.
We savoured identical servings of sesame pudding — our unanimous favourite — as well as an amazingly arranged anmitsu consisting of the tiniest and geometrically perfect cubes of agar, the perfect round of chestnut and topped with syrup perfection.
Suffice to say, Kyotufu, with its bar in the front and about a dozen, discrete tables in the womblike seating area at the rear will be a venue to return to because of it’s wonderful offerings, drop dead design and really wonderful service to the four of us.
The highest praise? From Y who sqealed with delight at her first taste of the anmitsu saying, “It’s so Japanesey!”