ON A ROLL: Kaiko's sushi platter with dragon, Scott and Christine rolls, and nigiri peeking through the background. Credit: Chip Weiner

ON A ROLL: Kaiko’s sushi platter with dragon, Scott and Christine rolls, and nigiri peeking through the background. Credit: Chip Weiner


The problem with being a foodie traveler (over time) is that it’s hard to forget peak experiences — those meals when all your senses are engaged and great chefs surprise you with their artistry — and approach each new table as a clean slate. I visit Kaiko with an open palate, but my vivid memories of a sushi feast I had courtesy of a friend on a visit to Manhattan last year cloud my expectations. Or, rather, raise the bar.

At its core, sushi seems a simple food — just some rice and a sliver of raw fish. So why isn't a sharp knife and one good hand enough to assure sushi mastery? The secrets are revealed in the fascinating documentary Jiro Dreams of Sushi, which I highly recommend if you have Netflix access. Fish, rice and the attendant condiments are far more complicated than they seem to the untrained eye. Jiro is a shokunin, literally an “artisan.” It’s a weighty term; you won’t find shokunin sushi at Publix. Or, unfortunately, at Kaiko either.

The miso soup that starts our meal is simply broth without the additions of tofu, seaweed or scallions that might make it interesting. It sets the tone for the entire evening.

The Scott Roll, named after the Kaiko patron who customized the roll, is fresh salmon, tuna, yellowtail, avocado, smelt roe and tempura chips, but it’s strangely one-dimensional. All I can conclude is that perhaps some corners are being cut somewhere. It just doesn’t sing on the palate with the kind of freshness and premium quality that makes sushi special. But neither is it off-putting like the mushy, metallic fish I’ve been shocked to eat (and review) elsewhere; the overall impression is just a bit dull. My tablemates manage to clean their plates without any coaching, but they're also not brought up short by explosions of flavor.

The dragon roll, featuring fried shrimp, cream cheese, eel and avocado. Credit: Chip Weiner
Yellowtail hamachi is normally a gleaming, unctuous, firm, pink-hued fish — one that’s full of flavor. Ours is muted. Which is also true of the fresh salmon. We order sea urchin (uni) nigiri which is not available; our server offers “white tuna” and then casually mentions that it’s actually escolar, which is from the mackerel family and often substituted for the real thing. White tuna is memorable; this is sushi by the numbers without the shokunin’s touch.

The most flavorful of our sushi choices is the freshwater eel (unagi). It’s richer than its saltwater cousins and not served raw, but instead par-boiled and grilled prior to serving, then typically brushed with kabayaki no tare, sort of a Japanese eel-based barbecue sauce. It’s sweet and yummy, but much like American barbecue sauces, it’s best used in moderation as a grace note to the protein. Both our nigiri and dragon roll would have been better served with a lighter touch. The flavor combination is out of balance and renders both dishes one-dimensional instead of multilayered.

The haha special rolls tuna, fresh salmon, smelt roe and scallions. Like the California roll (an American invention from the mid-’80s) it’s served urumaki — rice on the outside — to conceal the nori wrappers from seaweed-averse diners. The dragon roll combines fried shrimp, cream cheese, eel and avocado. It’s displayed with a serpentine bend, but if there are avocado scales, as the name implies, I can’t tell because again it’s really just about the tasty, sweet eel sauce which covers the roll like an oil slick and overwhelms the flavor combo even as the crisp shrimp provide welcome texture.

Special Sriracha sauce gets added to the Christine Roll. Credit: Chip Weiner
There’s a wide range of non-sushi dinners. We throw a dart and pick the salmon teriyaki. Two huge pieces of grilled boneless salmon arrive overcooked and drowning in teriyaki sauce. This is not a good reflection of the minimalism and simplicity that are hallmarks of Japanese gastronomic genius. Whether the kitchen has caved in to American excess, or they’re just having an off night, is hard to tell. But an overcooked fillet does not benefit from a sauce that should be a grace note to the glories of the seafood.

Mochi ice cream features small golf ball-sized orbs wrapped in a thin paste made from sweetened, pounded sticky rice. We skip standard ice cream flavors and opt to sample those that promise Asian flair. The green tea is fresh and full of flavor; the red azuki bean version has little taste.

The fried cheesecake is an odd and unfortunate amalgam of gastronomic cultures. Coating a creamy cheesecake (with distinct citrus notes) in tempura batter reminds me of Vegas, where they fry everything from Snickers to Oreos. Is it really necessary to debase two great culinary traditions just because people will eat anything? Especially if the dessert is also topped with whipped cream and a chocolate drizzle? My dining companions devour the entire piece before I’ve even had time to formulate my outrage, much less wax eloquent.

What’s a food critic to do? My only option seems to be to make a happy exit into the night, forgetting my disappointment with the dull fish, and allowing the goofy smiles provoked by dessert incest to carry the day. 

Editor's note: The print version of this article said Kaiko received a two-star rating, when it should've said two-and-a-half stars. The online version was updated with these corrections.

Jon Palmer Claridge—Tampa Bay's longest running, and perhaps last anonymous, food critic—has spent his life following two enduring passions, theatre and fine dining. He trained as a theatre professional...