Mf houston presskit 2015 crhis kinjo bio

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1401 Binz St. Suite 100 Houston,Tx. 77004

CONTACT Phone: 713.637.4587 info@mfhouston.com www.mfhouston.com


M E E T

MAGIC FINGERS

Chris Kinjo has been in the hospitality business for over 28 years and is the escecutive chef and co-owner of all there restaurant brands. Chris’s passion and dedication for making sushi has made him one of the leading sushi chef ’s in America. His unique style and creativity had earned him the nickname, “Magic Fingers” among his peers. Prior to opening his own ventures, Chris traveled all over the country, learning from variouse restaurant, and re-creating ideasform the very best. Chris understands the ins and outs of establishing unique and winning businessconcepts that attract top customers.

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MF Sushi's Chris Kinjo as good as finest sushi masters By Alison Cook May 28, 2013 Rated:

Chris Kinjo sets aside the knife with which he is dismantling a bluefin tuna belly and hoists a 3-foot strip of the fish in the air. It glimmers, pink and pearlescent, under the light shed by pendant lamps that jiggle like red jellyfish over the counter of MF Sushi. He's holding it as reverently as if he were displaying a piece of fine jewelry at a counter in Neiman Marcus. Kinjo draws his hand over the bluefin belly gently, barely skimming the fish, and draws it away with a small, satisfied smile. "See the fat?" he asks, his hand gleaming with an oily sheen. at fat is a good thing. In a way, where raw tuna is concerned, it's everything: the component that gives the fish its voluptuous mouth feel and distinct oceanic tinge, the element that separates the belly into graded sections - chutoro and o-toro - depending on their fat content. Kinjo serves akami, the ruddiest tuna meat taken from the back, in sashimi form: fanned into four meticulous rectangles thick enough to emphasize the slight crunch of their satiny texture and to heighten their meaty twang. e softer belly meat, cut slightly thinner, comes draped across delicately packed morsels of sushi rice, tinged with vinegar and slightly sticky, each grain miraculously distinct. e chu-toro, or medium-fatty tuna belly, is light rose and slick, with a melting quality and a sea tang. e o-toro, the fattiest tuna, is paler pink still, and it seems to dissolve on the tongue, leaving behind a whisper of the ocean. Savoring the difference the fat makes is one of the many pleasures at MF Sushi, Kinjo's exciting new restaurant at Westheimer and Fountainview. Lurking without fanfare or obvious signage in a face- less corner strip mall, the place doesn't look like much. And the name, which followed Kinjo from Atlanta, promises little. (It sup- posedly springs from a nickname, "Magic Fingers," given to Kinjo by fellow

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chefs.) But inside, the modestly good-looking room handfashioned on a tight budget by Kinjo and his brother, Alex, is home to some of the best old-school sushi and sashimi I've ever tasted. When I say "old-school," I mean that Kinjo is not interested in the modern fusion approach to sushi, the style in which jalapeños and olive oil and all sorts of other ingredients, from fruit to nuts, figure in. Nor does he compete to offer the most flamboyant sushi rolls, in which the fish takes a backseat to embellishments. Kinjo is a classicist, centered on fashioning sleek, elemental mouth- fuls of letter-perfect rice and surgically cut fish. And he's as good at what he does as the finest sushi masters I've encountered. I put Kinjo up on a level with such talents as Naomichi Yasuda (founding chef of Sushi Yasuda in New York); Shiro Kashiba of Shiro's in Seattle; and more eclectic chefs including Nobuo Fukuda of Phoenix, Soto- hiro Kosugi of Soto in New York and Houston's own Manabu Horiuchi of Kata Robata. Kinjo was highly acclaimed during his years in Atlanta, where his high-end restaurants ran into financial trouble ending in bankruptcy. He has brought his lower-profile second act to Houston, along with core staffers who (significantly) chose to make the move with him. Our local sushi culture - now at a high point with Kata Robata and Uchi operating at top levels - is the richer for it. e best way to experience Kinjo's skills is to reserve a seat at the curvilinear wooden sushi counter (hand-planed and finished by the brothers Kinjo themselves) for a multicourse omakase meal, which puts you in the chef's hands. (You can also snag a seat there without booking by coming early in the week or early in the evening.) Save your pennies because at $75 and up, omakase here is a splurge - but if you care about the sushi and sashimi arts, it is money well spent.


(continued) Part of the joy of omakase at MF Sushi has nothing to do with the fine quality of the fish - it's the excellence and novelty of some traditional Japanese preparations seldom seen here. In a Houston summer, there are few things more refreshing than Kinjo's salad of black seaweed served in a bat-winged ceramic bowl, to be beaten up with an egg yolk and a blob of freshly grated horseradish root. It's an Okinawan specialty and a tribute to Kinjo's family roots, with a sweet-tart-salty lilt of ponzu and seaweed threads, you can pick up the dish and drink what's left like soup, sipping from one of the bat wings. î “en there's the moment every evening when a staer emerges from the kitchen bearing a brown-glazed square of tamago, the Japanese egg custard, which shivers and shakes on its wooden pedestal as it is placed on the counter for diners to admire. No sludgy-saccharine tamago here: sliced into rectangles and set forth near the end of a meal, this is a version with just a hint of sweetness and a texture like a soft, springy cloud. I've never been a tamago fan, but I found myself loving it at MF Sushi. I also look forward to the moment when Kinjo takes his sharkskin grater and rubs a broad pale chunk of mountain yam against it, end- ing with the traditional dish called yamakake. Pulped to an ivory froth, the yam joins cubes of lean tuna in a bowl, where the diner uses chopsticks to whip it together with needles of toasted nori (sea- weed) and a bit of ponzu. î “e end result? A slippery, cool pottage that is surprisingly glorious. Kinjo's plates of sashimi are so artfully constructed I like to take a moment to gaze at them before diving in.

Maybe it's kinmedai, the opulent goldeneye snapper, sliced to display a glint of mottled skin at the edges and fanned into a peacock's tail and dotted with yuzu koshu, the Japanese citrus paste livened with green chile. Maybe it's slices of hamachi, the Japanese amberjack or yellowtail, paved into a tight overlapping circle that perfectly matches the round cen- ter of a two-toned stoneware square, its rich, mellow flavor lifted by perfumed snippets of lime rind grated right onto the plate. In either case, the sashimi will come with nests of daikon radish shredded impossibly fine, along with a corkscrew curl of carrot or a radish sliced so thin you could probably read through it. All this is evidence of Kinjo's well-honed knife skills. He's fun to watch as he works behind the counter, lean and intense, swig- ging periodically on a Bud Light. His short hair sticks straight up from the top of his skull, and his professorial glasses glint under the jellyfish lights. He's got a sense of humor as sharp as his knives, and when a diner says something that amuses him, his short bark of laughter can bring the house to attention. Kinjo's nigiri sushi, those classic combos of fish and rice, are dis- tinguished as much by their completeness as by the ethereal quality of the rice and the graceful drape and cut of the fish. He paints each piece of fish or shellfish with a mix of soy and mirin that gives them a semi-gloss finish and just enough seasoning to make a side dunk in soy irrelevant. Inside, under the fish, goes a pin dot of real-deal grated horseradish root. It's a package that needs no further cus- tomizing, whatever the featured ingredient, from edgy shima aji, or horse mackerel, to the sweetest ama ebi, or live shrimp.

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And oh, the textures Kinjo's knife can produce. His live-scallop ni- giri is butterflied and scored into a sort of teepee shape, breaking up the scallop's monumental smoothness into something altogether more interesting. Unagi, the broiled freshwater eel, has been finely scored so it blooms into a nubby field as it's draped over the rice, then wrapped in the toastiest ribbon of nori.

lunch or din- ner from the regular nigiri sushi or sashimi menu, and from a selection of cooked or composed dishes, and eat well. (A salmon-skin handroll I ordered off the main menu was a paragon of handroll virtue, the salmon skin crisp and meaty, the toasted nori wrap as brittle as you please.) And then there's the omakase counter, where you can eat better but only at night.

Kohada, the small gizzard shad that Kinjo cites as one of the oldest traditional Japanese sushi fish, comes crisscrossed with closely spaced scoring on its silvery, dotted skin, so that it looks like an ex- otic piece of mosaic. If you like sardines, you'll enjoy its oily, authoritative flavor. roduce a whole goldeneye snapper head cooked over Japanese charcoal; or a whopping slab of charcoaled bluefin cheek on the bone. These delicacies, meant to be worried apart with chopsticks, are daubed in a sticky, dark, spicy-sweet Japanese curry roux called kare, They're an atavistic treat after the careful geometrics of much of the meal. Under Kinjo's urging, I even extracted the gellike sac under the goldeneye's eyeball and glugged it down. It was like in- gesting a clear jellied brine, with a little brackish undertone. Weird but not unpleasant.

I could be content to sit in the dining room and eat the regulation sushi and sashimi turned out by Kinjo and his two longtime lieu- tenants, Masayuki Kuwai and Miguel Luzuriaga. I might skip over the chawanmushi, the savory Japanese custard dish served here with uni (sea urchin) and lobster, because it's the single dish I haven't liked over the course of three epic visits. (It seemed watery and unpersuasive the night I tried it).

All this is served on Kinjo's handsome collection of vintage Japan- ese ceramics and serving ware. Glazed or rough, subtle as earth or riotous as red snakeskin, folded or pleated or combed, these dishes are a feast in themselves. They sail out to the dining room as well as the omakase counter - but not all of the sushi and sashimi are available in both parts of the restaurant. Kinjo reserves some of the more unusual items, such as that kohada or the bluefin cheeks, for his omakase customers. In a sense, that makes MF Sushi two different restaurants. There's the dining room, where you can order

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The somewhat sketchy but adequate list of beers, wines and sakes has enough that's suitable to the food - particularly a small but frisky range of South American whites - to make for an enjoyable time. Uchi Houston has set the bar high in this regard, and I hope in time Kinjo and company can match that standard. They have already hired more adept serving staff than they had when they opened in November, when some of their waitpeople looked and acted terri- fied. But they still look a little understaffed on the floor to me. Food as fine as Kinjo's deserves top-level service and a refined bev- erage program to go with it. I'm hopeful about the prospects for both if the restaurant becomes a hit. And it could. For those who commit to an omakase meal at the counter, MF Sushi already provides one of the city's peak dining experiences.


A FIRST LOOK AT THE STUNNING NEW MF SUSHI IN THE MUSEUM DISTRICT

By Mai Pham Monday, July 27, 2015 ere was a point last year when Houston could have lost Chris Kinjo. His brother had begun work on another project in Atlanta, and, with all the bad luck he’d had since moving to Houston — an unfortunate kitchen fire that forced him to close his restaurant for many months, as well a dispute that caused him to part ways with his former partner — if he hadn’t signed the lease for the MF Sushi in the Museum District, Houston would have lost one of the best sushi chefs it’s ever had. ank goodness we didn’t. Opening just two weeks ago, the new MF Sushi in the Museum District is like the bespoke version of the old MF Sushi. Sleek and contemporary and simply stunning in design, this restaurant, even at two weeks old, is destined for greatness. “e first time I saw what Chris [Kinjo] could do, I knew that he needed a stage. And that’s what I’ve designed for him here,” said Chung Nguyen of MC2 Architects, the firm responsible for the MF Sushi buildout. The sushi bar, custom designed and made of pale polished hinoki wood, was built so that the fish case sits inside the bar, flush with bar surface. On the wall behind the sushi bar, there is a framed, backlit, three-dimensional white wall sculpture depicting a mountain range. Silky white string hangs in front of the sculpture in a curtain, filtering the light so that it emits a soft glow from behind.

Kinjo’s position is behind the bar, right in the middle. He is flanked by two or three sushi chefs on each side. ere is no obstruction between diner and chef, so that anyone sitting at the 12-seat bar has front row seats to the best sushi show in town. If you’re sitting in the center seat, as I was, you are less than two feet away from Kinjo, and you get to see it all. How he slices his fish. How he mixes his sushi rice. It’s the little details that are a joy to watch: the painting of the nigiri with nikiri glaze; the vigorous zesting of a yuzu rind, from fruit hand picked from his garden; the precise placement of a paper thin, bright orange carrot ribbon on top a sashimi dish. “I raised the booths so that you could see the sushi bar from the booths, too,” said Nguyen, who said that the sloped ceilings above the sushi bar also contributed to the “stage” design theme. “We could probably have seated 14 at the the sushi bar, too, but Chris only wanted 12.” ose 12 sushi bar seats are going to be the hottest ticket in town for Kinjo’s famed omakase, or chef’s tasting dinners, which can often run to 20-plus courses and last three hours or more. Right now, he’s still training his staff, but he’s accepting reservations for omakase beginning August 7, 2015, and they will undoubtedly book up very fast. Email info@mfhouston.com or call 713-637-4587 to snag your seats early. We leave you with scenes from the inside of the beautiful new MF Sushi.

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e sushi bar at MF Sushi in the Museum District.


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Chris Kinjo takes center stage at the new MF Sushi in the Museum District,

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î Že bar at MF Sushi. Leon Pham makes drinks.

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î Že foyer/entrance.


Chris “Magic Fingers” Kinjo Aspires to sushi perfection. HE WORKS HARD FOR THE UNI By Patricia Sharpe October, 2013 CHRIS “MAGIC FINGERS” KINJO ASPIRES TO SUSHI PERFECTION. SO YOU’D BETTER NOT REACH FOR THE SOY SAUCE. “You looked like you were in a trance,” I said to Houston sushi chef Chris Kinjo, realizing a split second too late that the remark might not be taken as a compliment. Far from being affronted, he gave a short, staccato laugh. “Whew,” I thought, “at least I haven’t terminally insulted the guy.” A friend and I were doing omakase—the chef ’s tasting menu—at MF Sushi, the restaurant that Kinjo owns with his brother Alex. Depending on the chef, omakase can be for- mal and reverential or lively and fun. This one was in a class of its own, like a combination banquet, performance art piece, and TED talk. One minute Kinjo would be casually sipping an Amstel Light and holding forth on some topic, say, the difference between the various grades of lean and fatty bluefin tuna (he tends to get wound up). The next, he seemed to enter a different dimension. Focusing on the array of pristine raw fish in the refrigerated cases in front of him, he would select one and, with swift, surgical strokes, slice it into identical pieces. Then, without looking, he would reach around to a large rice warmer behind him and grasp a small, precise handful of rice. His mind still a thousand miles away, he would press fish and rice together with a fluid motion of hand, wrist, and elbow, dec- orate

each jewel-like bite with a special glaze and other accou- trements, and set it before its recipient like a Christmas gift. To borrow a phrase from sports, the man was in the zone. MF Sushi—the initials allegedly stand for the 42-year-old Kinjo’s nickname, Magic Fingers—has become a hit with the sushi hounds of Houston, despite the fact that it sits in a bleak strip center on a decidedly unstylish part of Westheimer. Once you’re through the front door, however, the space opens up to reveal walls adorned with graceful hand-painted branches, rustic shelves stacked with gor- geous ceramic and wooden dishes (some quite old), and a massive cedar sushi counter running almost the length of the room. Therestaurant opened ten months ago, not long after Kinjo and his wife and kids moved to Houston from Georgia to get a fresh start. In At- lanta, the Los Angeles– raised chef had been in charge of a large, ambitious dining venue named MF Buckhead. But when the na- tional recession struck, in 2008, the restaurant went into a tailspin from which it never recovered. Forced to declare bankruptcy—“I lost everything,” he said— Kinjo also made some important discov- eries

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(continued) about himself. Over the course of thirty restaurants in fourteen years, he had done it all, from prepping the fish to running the entire show, and found that what he really wanted was to devote his career to making the best traditional sushi he possibly could. Three words summed it up: “I’m a perfectionist,” he said. There was ample evidence of that the night we ate there. For our opener, Kinjo started my friend Dai and me with mozuku, a type of seaweed made into a hybrid soup-salad with a quail egg and vinegar sauce. Slippery and spinach-like, it was probably my least favorite course of the night. But the next presentation was golden- eye red snapper, and it may well have been my favorite. Ten pieces of fish arrived fanned out like a gaudy pink peacock tail in a white bowl, the creature’s freshness heightened with yuzu kosho, a dusky, salty fermented chile-and-citrus-peel paste that marches up to your sinuses and tells them who’s boss. And we were off to the races. From there we segued to Ora king salmon, a block of coral-colored rectangular pieces sliced so meticulously that the grain on adjacent cut edges still lined up. Yellowtail was next, then Japanese sea bream, or madai. Course number six was another highlight of the evening, rosy sea bass, or akamutsu, a fish both rare and costly. When Dai and I innocently pointed our chopsticks in the direction of the soy sauce, Kinjo barked, “No soy!” A chef doing omakase gives (almost) every fish a subtle swipe of house-made nikiri, a classic glaze made from soy and sweet mirin. Having gone to all that trouble, the last thing he wants to see is you dunking his artwork in the Kikkoman. As the evening progressed, we fell into an easy rhythm of chatting, popping morsels of sushi into our mouths, and urging Kinjo into various stories

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and rants. After the fresh uni, or sea urchin gonads, perched atop an urchin shell that resembled an oceangoing purple porcupine (pictured), we heard about the $5,000 custom knife he’d once ordered. Following the tender slivers of Maine scallop, we heard where his fish comes from: “We get practically everything from Japan except tuna and sometimes king salmon.” After prawns two ways—the tail crunchy-raw and the fierce-looking head deli- ciously fried—we heard about the fascinating method of shipping fresh fish from Japan in an acupuncture-induced twilight state called kaimin katsugyo, or “live fish sleeping soundly.” But the subject that really got Kinjo going was rice. “I want the grains to be just sticky enough to hold together,” he said, “but there must be air between them so they don’t clump. I fluff them with my fingers when I scoop them out of the bin.” Moistened with his own recipe of sugar, sea salt, vinegar, and mirin, the rice here is a revelation. After more than three hours and twenty courses, we were turning into live fish sleeping soundly ourselves. But there was one final dish to sample, the thing that Kinjo is most proud of: tamago. To hear him say that was a surprise, because those rubbery little squares of sweet omelet are usually the most boring item on a sushi menu. But it seems that among Japanese chefs, the perfect tamago is a holy grail, something they happily fuss and fiddle with for a lifetime. And when I nibbled a bit of the velvety, golden version here, I blurted out the first thing that sprang to mind: French toast. I don’t think that was the reaction Kinjo expected, but he didn’t seem displeased, just bemused. And sud- denly he was back in the zone again. In my imagination, I could see his mind analyzing the remark: “If it’s like French toast, that means I need to work on . . .” That must happen a lot when you’re a perfectionist.


After experiencing MF, it will be hard to eat sushi anywhere else’s By Meridith Ford November, 2019 Rated: IN TOKYO, the marvel of fresh fish at Tsukiji Fish Market is one of the biggest tourist attractions in Japan, and the largest fish market in the world. Tons of fish stream through the market every morning; by noon, tuna, sardines and swordfish have been auc- tioned to wholesalers, retailers and restaurants. One of those restaurants is MF Buckhead, where fish is flown in daily. It's a newly opened gem nestled quietly into the Terminus Building amid a lot of loudly decked out neighbors — Bricktops and Aquaknox are next door; Lola is directly across the pavilion. By contrast, MF Buckhead is easy to walk past without realizing it's there. It doesn't need to be brash – proof is in the pudding, or in MF's case, fish. Before the restaurant opened six weeks ago, its sis- ter in Midtown, owned and operated by brothers Chris and Alex Kinjo, was the best sushi restaurant in the area — a small, quiet, stylish spot more like what might be found in Japan. But MF Buckhead has done something that no other restaurant in Atlanta has ever done on such

a grand scale. Its 8,000 square feet of jaw-dropping space has finally — and successfully — combined the big, bold Buckhead look that Atlanta loves with an absolutely incomparable dining experience. No detail — from the perfect thickness of the wooden chopsticks to the amazing sake list — has been ignored. From the earthy, exotic stoneware (imported from Japan) at the table to the stacked walnut flooring, the restaurant exudes elegance and grace. Movable silk panels separate tables; the sushi bar spans the length of the main dining room and dons 12 to 15 sushi chefs during busy hours. An omakase room (which won't be open until spring 2008) is sequestered upstairs near a quiet lounge. Sake labels are amassed in glass in the bar for a textured, colorful, exotic effect, and Ikebana masters Hiroshi and Elaine Jo's floral masterpieces add even more elegance. Toward the end of the sushi bar is a robata grill — the first in At- lanta — where specialties like King Atlantic prawns and succulent Japanese black cod marinated in a sweet miso sauce until translu- cent and caramelized are prepared.

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(continued) And it is the sushi bar that is the beating heart of this restaurant. Tucked away at a quiet table is a calm- ing, even romantic, way to wile away an afternoon — but the bar is where the action is. If you're lucky, you'll find a spot near Fuyuhiko Ito, the restaurant's robatayaki master, who worked at the famed Toriyoshi in Tokyo before coming to the United States. Working with Chris Kinjo, the two have creat- ed a mesmerizing robatayaki list, from miso-marinated duck breast (miso yaki), full of sweet and salty flavors over a green shiso leaf, to grilled eel served with avocado and cucumber, to the granddad- dy of all — thin slices of kobe beef, variegated so beautifully that it looks like Italian marble. It's served over a stone konro (think grill), set before you with a small piece of fat from the beef. Ito will instruct you to rub the fat over the stone's surface, then place a slice of the perfectly sliced beef over the heat to cook — no more than three sec- onds per side. Each slice has an even thinner slice of garlic, and dipped into accompanying ponzu, it is a mesmerizing treat of textures and flavors, a little like eating beef-flavored velvet. For colder options, snow crab wrapped in a slightly seared, smoky salmon with asparagus brought an ec-

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static rolling of eyes around the entire group. Fresh yellowtail is brightened with lemon and cilantro, a gorgeous fish sliced with thin slivers of jalapeno. If Ito gets the impression that you like something he might make a spe- cial, off-the-menu treat (but then, that is always the advantage of a sitting at the sushi bar). One evening whitefish was served nigiri style with thin slices of tiny yuzu and a drop of a salty, peppery paste he called kanzari, sprinkled with Himalayan salt. e Japan- ese have garnered a rep for Western, French-inspired desserts and pastries, and MF is the flagship for them in the area. Pastry chef Lisa Matsuoka, a CIA grad who trained under fab Frenchman François Payard at Le Bernadin in New York, creates beautifully crafted plates of coffee-laced tiramisu with an Eastern twist of yuzu, graced with tiny, crystallized slices of the Japanese citrus. Sesame ice cream is rich and luxurious and tiny rectangles of a green tea frangipane-like cake are sandwiched with a red bean paste doused with head-dizzying booze. But it is the fish that reigns here, just as it does in Midtown. e rice for the nigiri is always the perfect temperature, and the fish, whether otoro (which is like eating the perfect kiss), kampachi or something as simple as Japanese red snapper, is the absolute best.

After experiencing MF, it will be hard to eat sushi anywhere else.


Fishing for Compliments By Danny Bonvissuto July/August 2009 Rated:

If chef and co-owner Chris Kinjo had asked for my input on the design of the omekase room on the second floor of MF Buckhead, I would have suggested the addition of a small confessional just outside the door. “Bless me, chef Kinjo, for I have sinned,” I’d say to his dark silhouette behind the screen. “I’ve eaten two California rolls and some- thing called a sushi pizza since my last confession.” I would bow my head and ask for his forgiveness, and he would begrudgingly absolve me of my sushi sins so I could walk into one of the most unbelievable meals in my food journalist career with a clean and happy heart. Asitis,I’mabitofafishoutofwaterhere,asis my longtime sushi buddy, Pete. other six people at tonight’s omekase dinner have been hand- picked by Kinjo from a months-long waiting list, much as I imagine Santa Claus consulting his naughty-or-nice roster on Christmas Eve. For months Kinjo has studied his clients’ sushi

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habits from behind his lightly mirrored glasses, feeding them this and that, gauging their responses and elevating their palate until he felt sure they were at a level where they could truly understand and appreciate the event. An omekase is more than a dinner, it’s a graduation. And though the format has changed slightly since he started this once- or twice- weekly event in late January, MF Buckhead’s omekase is essentially a constantly changing eightcourse tasting of the freshest fish chef Kinjo can have flown in from various Japanese markets. e fish is served to eight diners for $250 per person, which includes wine and sake pairings. And it is, without a doubt, the most sought- after food experience in the city. At 36, and with three incredibly successful restaurants (MF Buckhead, MF Sushi and Nam) under his belt, Kinjo is a bit of a rock star. I’ve seen a million Japanese men stand behind a million sushi bars and be- lieve me when I tell you that when you see Chris Kinjo, you know he’s somebody. Maybe it’s the slightly spiked hair or little flash of flesh and the gold cross he reveals beneath the neck of his traditional uniform. Maybe it’s the faded tattoos on his hands and arms that give off that mysterious bad-boy vibe. Whatever it is, the guy literally ozes sex appeal, two words not normally associated with men in this pro- fession. But like any successful sushi master he sees his job as an ex- tension of his family, his heritage, and he is extremely serious about it. He’s also an uncompromising perfectionist who, along with his hip designconscious brother Alex Kinjo (the


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manager of MF Buckhead), personally oversaw every detail of MF’s special sanctuary, from the white, throne-like Giorgetti chairs (manufactured with the same leather used for Hermès bags) to his $5,000 Honyaki knife, custom- made specifically for his hands to use in this room. As Pete and I settle in and adjust the obi-covered pillows against our lower backs, I look for signs of engagement with Kinjo, hoping to win him over with my charm and good looks since I’m light on sushi status. He’s being a bit stoic, bustling about behind the sushi bar prepars, Arlene and Bruce. Two female servers in kimonos pour compli- mentary Champagne and Voss water and the first course arrives shortly behind the beverages, a salty, creamy cold avocado soup with caviar mousse. It’s more than an appetizer—it’s a well-thought out preparation of our tongues and stomachs for what’s to follow. As we sip slowly, Kinjo prepares the second course, wild Japanese sea bream that’s presented headless and skin up in a silver pan for his ap- proval by his sous chef, chef Ito. Hot water is poured over paper placed on top, then Kinjo slices it into filets with the exacting speed of a man who not only understands but honors his product. He places it in a small pedestal bowl rimmed in gold and inspects it over the top of his glasses as he grates yuzu zest then finishes with a tiny twist of beet. “You know,” Pete says, leaning over into my ear so Kinjo can’t hear him. “I had Sonic for dinner last night.” As if to emphasize the irony, Kinjo places a bowl of the sea bream on a small ledge in front of each diner just over the side of the sushi bar; then, as if we’d practiced, we all pick them up and place them in front of ourselves in unison. A few seconds pass, and I can see Pete is having the same problem I am: Rarely do

we have the opportunity to watch a chef prepare something with such love and attention to detail, we both feel it’s almost too special to eat. Almost, but not quite. e delicate flesh practically melts before I begin to chew, its subtle natural flavor sparked slightly by the yuzu. Meanwhile, Kinjo is slicing a rare grouper into thin, almost translu- cent slices and arranging them with what could easily pass as sur- gical equipment into an earthen mushroom-colored bowl. Grated Himalayan rock salt makes a snowy dusting on top. My fellow din- ers murmur intermittent sounds of approval, but we all stay respect- fully quiet, as if we’re in a museum or concert hall. Kinjo answers a few questions about ingredients in each dish when asked, but re- mains largely restrained. For now. Small slices of goldeneye snapper arrive with instructions: “Don’t drown it, please,” Kinjo says, taking a swig of Japanese beer from a large Pilsner glass. “Just a dab of wasabi and soy, if any at all.” is is the first of many times he’ll mention this throughout the remaining courses, and I dare not reach for either. It’d be like walking into Le Bernardin and asking chef Eric Ripert if he knows where I can get a nice piece of fried whiting with some tartar sauce packets on the side. As one course departs, the next one swiftly replaces it, and this time it’s kawahagi, which Kinjo explains— only when asked—is the clos- est cousin to the poisonous blowfish allowed by law for purchase and preparation in the U.S. Without the slightest hesitation I tuck right into the surprisingly mellow meat, figuring, well, if I’m going to meet my untimely demise at dinner, it’s best to go out with a bang. No one clutches their throat or does a nosedive out of their chairs, though many of us nod as the earthy sauce made from the fish’s liver hits our palate. “fish you’ll have tonight you’ll probably have never had,” Kinjo says with a sweep of his hand for emphasis. He’s start-

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ing to loosen up a little now that a few courses are behind him. Horse mackerel nigiri; then infant yellowtail with one slice of jalapeno on a pristine bed of rice Kinjo makes by wetting and slapping his hands over and over; and after that a thinly sliced scallop sprinkled with real gold leaf, which Kinjo works off a small sheet with his knife. After the scallop is plated, he pops the remaining gold clump in his mouth with a dramatic flourish. More courses: robust eel in plum sauce; squid that’s been blowtorched and sliced; small slices of Kobe beef with roasted garlic and truffled soy; a rare snapper debuts in a jester hat-like bowl with knobs of gold on each end. “Nobody in America has anything close to what I have,” Kinjo says when I ask about his vast variety of dinnerware. Each course is more gorgeous, rare and special than the last, but I’m starting to suffer from sensory overload. I overhear Ito tell Kinjo that everyone’s getting full, and I’m sadly excited at the prospect of wind- ing down because the tone of the meal has shifted into strange territory. Kinjo has started to ask for feedback, and I’m running out of non- cliché ways to express my impressions. My fellow diners aren’t as choosy: “It’s like watching a beautiful ballet,” one says. “Each dish is a work of art,” says another. Meanwhile, Kinjo keeps emphasizing how much things in the omekase room cost, how rare the fish he’s serving is, and how he is unmatched in talent in Atlanta and beyond. We wind down with an uni sorbet crowned in caviar (sea urchin is an acquired taste which I have yet to acquire) and then a very light ginger sorbet with more gold flakes made by the able pastry chef Lisa Matsuoka. As we start to push back from our plates, Kinjo comes out from behind the bar to shake our hands. “is room is for people who want to experience the

highest level of Japanese cuisine; it’s not about the money,” he says. “I educate people because it’s what I love to do, and I dare you to have this experience anywhere else.” Pete and I scoot out soon after the post-meal pep rally begins, mostly because we’re exhausted, but also because we’re truly out of compli- ments. As we drive away and digest, we realize we can call Kinjo cocky, but we can’t call him a liar: We will never have that experience anywhere else “It’s like watching a beautiful ballet,” one says. “Each dish is a work of art,” says another. Meanwhile, Kinjo keeps emphasizing how much things in the omekase room cost, how rare the fish he’s serving is, and how he is unmatched in tal- ent in Atlanta and beyond.


Magazine In e Raw By Christian Laulabach February, 2003

Fresh Wasabi, a greenish horseradish imported from Japan, costs $80 a pound. e minute I saw it on the menu at MF Sushi Bar, my heart started beating faster. Could it be? Only the best sushi chefs will swing the extraordinary cost and use the whole root as a rare and delicate alternative to the usual hot paste mixed from a powder, offering it-usually at a premium price-mostly to those customers who order sashimi. When the waiter materialized with the traditional ceramic grater and started rubbing away, building a lovely pale green and pungent little pile on an exquisite saucer, I rejoiced. MF Sushi Bar, named for Chef Chris “Magic Fingers” Kinjo, is the real deal: an ambitious gour- met concept

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dedicated almost exclu- sively to raw fish wizardry. Until now, local sushi bars felt that they had to hedge their bets and offer at least some traditional hot dishes. But when Chef Kinjo, jokingly says, “I don’t like to cook,” you better believe him. The kitchen is barely equipped, with only a small electric pryer used to make tempura for the specialty rolls, an electric pan to heat miso soup, and portable gas burner to sear items such as albacore tuna. e idea of opening an elegant, loungy sushi bar on Ponce de Leon Avenue between Krispy Kreme and the Old Spaghetti Factory-albeit in a trendy new multi-use building-would hardly have occurred to anyone but a bunch of young outsiders with nerves of steel.

Chris and Alex Kinjo grew up in Ohio with a Vietnamese mother and a Japanese father. “I ran away from home at 13,” says Chris, who still has bad-boy tattoos on his arms. He found redemption in the sushi world, working his way up form lowly kitchen helper and traveling coast to coast. He and brother Alex, a web designer and andy responsible for the look of the restaurant, reunited in San Francisco and came to Atlanta together to be with their fami- ly, who had moved to the area. Both Kinjos are live wires. Chris is as nimble a sushi professional as I’ve ever seen, a speed- demon with flying hands. He has worked all over the United States, keeping track of the many mistakes and great ideas he came across.


Magazine (continued) He may look like a little punk who spikes he hair and talks a mile a minute, but don’t be mistaken: Sushi is his passion, and within his short time in Atlanta he has es- tablished himself as a chef who knows the best. Some of the seafood (e.g., the Japanese sea bass, the small Japanese lobsters, the ugly-look- ing but unbelievably delicious bonito) arrives via Japan Airlines. “I have dreams about toro...I have nightmares about toro,” Magic Fingers says, referring to the prized bluefin tuna belly he must secure at all cost. Every day he wonders, will the o-toro (the finest and fattiest part of the underbelly), the toro (fatty tuna), and the shu-toro (marbled, mid-fatty tuna) be fat enough? And how about the regular bluefin and albacore used either as precision-cut sashi- mi (three pieces per order), nigiri (fingers of rice topped with fish, two to an order), or the small selection of rolls?

e technique is as impressive as the freshness of the ingredients. “I’d feel guilty if I put too much pressure on that rice ball,” says the chef, demonstrating the rapid motions that give his sushi its buoy- ancy. Especially with Sashimi, his style is textbook simple, with everything the right size, at the right angle, and in the most logical order on the plate. In his specialty rolls, he doesn’t like to combine raw and cooked, and he is always generous with the seafood.

For me, sushi is a solitary (or, at most, a duex), indulgence. I like to sit at the bar, interact with the chef and find out the best he has to offer on a particular day. Ankimo (monkfish liver, the foie gras of the sea), uni (sea urchin), ikura (salmon roe, dark and popping- fresh), live scallops, flounder with lobster salad, yellowtail belly, a plate of tiny crabs barely bigger than my pinky fingernail and seared an angry red, salmon tataki with crunchy flying-fish eggs, a beauti- ful pressed sushi topped with fatty tuna tartare have all been never less than exceptional. For the ultimate treat, visit mid-week when the chef is less busy and try an extraordinary lobster sashi- mi pre- ceded by a soup made from the heads of the small, sweet, warm- water specimens he brings in live from Japan.

Not everyone eats fish, let alone raw fish. Yet with only a few veg- etables, pickles and the fer- mented soybean paste called natto, Magic Fingers swears he can create 100 dishes without fish. If you did nothing but stop in for one of the more than 40 constantly up- graded premi- um sakes and a dessert of mochi (an elastic substance made with pounded rice) stuffed with mango

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ice cream, you’d still get a feel for his commitment to quality. A new wine list, unusu- al in its scope and composition, is about to go into effect. Beautifully contoured Italian chairs, custom lights, fresh flowers and waitresses in long black skirts slit nearly to the waist (designed by Alex Kinjo) inhabit a cool, modern space painted a brilliant shade of mango. One at a time, the customers have responded to the glamour and intensity of MF Sushi Bar, and the restaurant is a clear success. Have the Kinjo brothers started to take it easy? No way. When they are not sawing bamboo to make napkin rings, hiring more assistants to meet customer demand, ordering thousands of dollars worth of new serving dishes or extending the hours, they dream of opening a Vietnamese restaurant for their mom.


YOU SEXY: MF Sushibar Take Raw To a New Level By Bill Eddison October, 2002 On the corner of a quickly gentrifying but still slightly sketchy stretch of Ponce, MF Sushi Bar radiates a tawny glow from under its black and white awning. Glancing through the windows on our way in the door, I see the backs of eager customers seated along the sleek sweep of bar, chopsticks in hand. Other folks are waiting for tables off to the side, wearing blank, impa- tient stares. As I grasp the door handle, I catch the first thumps of the techno beat that will pulsate over our heads for the next two hours. Welcome to the next evolution of sushi dining in Atlanta. The restaurant is the brainchild of two brothers, Chris and Alex Kinjo. Chris, whose nickname "Magic Fingers" lends the establishment its name, works with studied absorption in the cen- ter of the sushi bar, flanked on either side by two or three other chefs in white. Above their heads is a row of red-lit, beaded light fixtures whose

shapes bring to mind Robert Mapplethorpe's " Man in Polyester Suit. " Alex, clad in black and sporting blond streaks in his hip, shaggy hair, scans the busy dining room with an aloof expression partially hidden behind dark Gucci glasses.

brought to the table hot and well salted, but mostly it's raw fish, baby, and lots of it. As a place to learn about more unusual varieties of seafood and savor intriguingly crafted rolls, this is some of the best sushi in the city.

There's something intrinsically glamorous about sushi. It's beautiful to look at. It feels light but satisfying on the stomach, en- gendering a sense of health and contentment. It makes diners feel daring and adventuresome. And though our city has its share of sushi bars, some quite good, MF capitalizes on its glamour like no other place in town.

At the beginning of meals here, the server offers an oshibori (hot towel) for hand washing and asks for a beverage order. I suggest starting with sake. Though they serve hot sake, the best kinds are served cold. The staff is well versed in the subtleties of the dif- ferent varieties and can guide you to some solid, affordable rec- ommendations. One night we try Momokawa Pearl Sake ($12.50 per bottle), a delicious, unfiltered version with a milky texture and a sweet, com- plex taste. A beer-loving friend is fond of Sap- poro ($7.50), served in a shapely, frosty glass.

The menu consists almost entirely of sushi and sashimi. That's right -- no sweet potato tem- pura, no miso soup and certainly no chicken teriyaki. They do serve excellent edamame ($5.50), which is


YOU SEXY: MF Sushibar Take Raw To a New Level By Bill Eddison (continued) Sushi enthusiasts typically start with sashimi, the rice-less pres- entation of delicate, thinly sliced seafood. Though you can order a la carte, the sashimi combination for one ($25) offers three pieces each of nine different varieties and gives the chef the op- portunity to pick what's most fresh. When the plate is brought to the table, make sure to ask the server to point out which kind is which so you can remember the ones you most like. The lesser-known chutoro (toro means " melt " ) cut of fatty tuna lives up to its name. Its but- tery texture and mild taste practically dissolve on the tongue. Ditto the hamachi and kam- pachi, two gossamer types of yellowtail, the former just slightly more tooth- some than the latter. Even the salmon, which seems commonplace next to the more exotic types, is such a revelation of freshness and quality that we end up dividing the last piece into little morsels to share. I'm not crazy about the almost crispy texture of the giant clam. But

hey, part of the fun here is pushing your boundaries to dis- cover new likes and dislikes. Nigiri sushi and rolls are presented together on lovely, uniquely shaped earthenware. The tra- ditional rolls -- California ($5.50), Spi- der ($9) and Rainbow ($9.50) -- are all pristine and a notch above most other places in town, but Kinjo also conjures more remarkable, albeit still restrained, creations. The sumptuous Tony Roll ($10.50), for example, pairs shrimp tempura (aha! something cooked!) with avocado and honest-to-goodness crab, all loose- ly bound with a ju- dicious use of mayonnaise. An Osaka-style sushi roll ($14.50), on the list of specials one evening, is a different take on the typical for- mat. The "roll," made with- out nori seaweed, is more rectangular in shape, the rice more compressed, and the claretcolored bluefin tuna laid on top. There was a ripple through the press recently informing food lovers

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that most of what is passed off as wasabi on these shores is actually horseradish dyed green. Well, now's your chance to try the real deal. For a $4 surcharge, a server will painstakingly grate the lime-colored root in front of your very eyes. Pungent but smooth, and exceptionally delicious on sashi- mi, it's worth it. After concluding the meal with ginger ice cream and chewy, ice cream-filled mochi confec- tions ($3.95 each), we leave the techno beat behind and stroll contentedly down the sidewalk to claim the car. MF's valet service is shared with the Old Spaghetti Factory. It's readily appar- ent who's coming from which restaurant: Rowdy fam- ilies in khaki shorts and T-shirts stand in line next to striking, dap- perly dressed couples. As we get into the car and drive down Ponce, I notice the " Hot Donuts Now " sign is lit up next door at Krispy Kreme. For once, I feel not a pang of desire. Another time perhaps.


Top 10 Sushi Spots in U.S. | FEBRUARY 15, 2009 BON APPÉTIT / RESTAURANTS + TRAVEL SOTO: NEW YORK Sotohiro Kosugi is one of America’s sushi masters, especially renowned for inventive com- posed dishes—fatty tuna with avocado coulis and caviar, geoduck clam salad, steamed lobster with uni mousse—that lift this Japanese restaurant above all the rest.

MF BUCKHEAD: ATLANTA The second sushi place from brothers Chris and Alex Kinjo spans 8,000 square feet, including a 26-seat sushi bar, an omakase (chef ’s choice) room, and three private dining rooms. It’s not intimate, but the sushi selection and the new robata grill menu are outstanding.

357 Sixth Avenue; 212-414-3088

3280 Peachtree Road NW, Suite 110; 404-841-1192

O YA: BOSTON Owners Tim and Nancy Cushman’s 37-seat South Boston jewel has a smart wine and sake list and riffs on traditional sushi and sashimi—spot prawn with garlic butter, preserved yuzu, and white soy, as well as salmon belly with cilantro, ginger, and hot sesame oil.

KAZE SUSHI: CHICAGO Specialty rolls—many folks’ introduction to sushi—are hereto stay. This Roscoe Village fa- vorite specializes in makimono (rolled things), such as the hamachi ebi tempura (yellowtail, shrimp tempura, smelt roe, avocado, cilantro, and jalapeño).

9 East Street; 617-654-9900

2032 West Roscoe Street; 773-327-4860

SEBO: SAN FRANCISCO A hangout for local chefs, this no-frills Hayes Valley spot sources the highest-quality fish, most of it from Japan’s Tsukiji Market, and then does little to interfere with it. Purists order shirauo (ice fish), saba (mackerel), and shiro ebi (baby white shrimp). 517 Hayes Street; 415-864-2122

UCHI (PICTURED): AUSTIN, TEXAS Destination sushi in Austin? Since 2003, Uchi has received raves for avant-garde creations such as foie gras sushi with pomegranate. Look for chef Tyson Cole’s upcoming Japanese- Spanish restaurant in Austin’s W Hotel. 801 South Lamar Boulevard; 512-916-4808

NOBU: LOS ANGELES Twenty-two years after he launched a raw-fish revolution with his restaurant Mat- suhisa, pioneering chef Nobu returns to America’s capital of sushi and opens another branch of his empire. Expect all the trademarks—Hollywood A-listers, cutting-edge design, and signature dishes, including yellowtail sashimi with jalapeño, black cod with miso, and rock shrimp tempura with butter ponzu.

BAR CHARLIE: LAS VEGAS Chef Charlie Trotter’s 18-seat spot offers tranquillity in a land of sensory overload. Kaiseki, a Japanese tasting menu, is served in either 8 or 14 courses with an emphasis on seafood, including crispy abalone with fennel.

903 North La Cienega Boulevard; 310-657-5711

The Palazzo, 3325 Las Vegas Boulevard South; 702-607-6336

ROKA AKOR: SCOTTSDALE, ARIZONA is glitzy global mega-restaurant brand hopes to do for sushi and robatayaki (grilled food) what Benihana did for teppanyaki (griddled food). e 11-course prix fixe, which offers items raw (Wagyu beef, butterfish) and grilled (lamb cutlets, scallops), is the best way to sample the menu.

SUSHIKO: CHEVY CHASE, MARYLAND Sushi aficionados flock to this curvy 14-seat bar to watch expert sushi chefs turn fresh fish into edible art. They know the fresh wasabi (as opposed to the common processed stuff ) is well worth the extra charge.

7299 North Scottsdale Road; 480-306-8800

5455 Wisconsin Avenue; 301-961-1644

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MF BUCKHEAD: ATLANTA


8 GREAT SUSHI RESTAURANTS By JOHN MARIANI Delta Dishes Out MF Sushi Atlanta, Georgia...May 10, 2004...MF Sushibar was highlighted in the May 2004 issue for “8 Great Sushi Restaurants in the Nation”. John Mariani gushed, “Sushi is all that’s served at this handsomely designed, very colorful restau- rant. The range is exep- tional, the tuan belly is the best I’ve had in the United States and the maki rolls are addictive.” To read the full arti- cle, please log on to {www.delta-sky.com}.

AUTUMN SEES MORE RESTAURANTS MOVE INTO NEW NEIGHBORHOODS By ROBERT J. HUGHES November 1, 2002 Staff Reporter of THE WALL STREET JOURNAL A hip sushi bar with techno music. Opened by two brothers, one a chef, the other a designer, its initials stand for "magic fin- gers. " e restau- rant relies on novelty, introducing new sushi rolls every two weeks. Special rolls, $6.50 to $15, range from a Philadelphia (smoked salmon, cream cheese) to Dragon Roll (eel on a California roll). A growing trend among sushi eateries is sake-tasting. Diners here can order from 32 sakes (including hazelnut).

MF BUCKHEAD At this Japanese sister restaurant to Midtown’s MF Sushibar, servers shave fresh wasabi with a shark- skin grater and sommelier brothers Toshi and Kiyo Kojima pour sake. The menu from Chris “Magic Fingers” Kinjo features fish flown in from Tokyo’s Tsukiji market, such as mirugai (giant clam), as well as Japanese black cod cooked on MF’s robata grill. The long- awaited omakase room opens this month; once a week, Kinjo will prepare as many as 16 courses tableside for a few diners for up to $250 per person.

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By ZAGART SURVEY 2004 MF SUSHI BAR

SLICK SUSHI — RAW HAS NEVER BEEN AS HOT AS IT IS AT MF SUSHIBAR IN MIDTOWN.

Review Highlights Jul 26, 2004 "In a world of MF Sushi","this is the real deal"swear"completelyaddicted","slaves" of this " unsurpassed " Midtown Japanese Restaurant that's "raised the bar" for sushi savants with " amazing " raw fin fare " so fresh itgivesy- ouabuzz":the "wickedcool", "min- imalist" decor "matches" the "cosmopolitan" crowd, and while cold fish carp about " appalling prices " and " too much attitude " , a sea of supporters are " saving up their cash " , since it's " worth every penny " (the " free valet parking" helps).

By Deborah Geering, Walt Barron and Ed Brackett for USATODAY.com November 2002 e sleek vision of brothers Alex and Chris "Magic Fingers" Kinjo is all about fresh, fresh fish artistically assembled and served with a coolly elegant vibe. If you prefer your seafood cooked, don't come here.


1401 Binz St. Suite 100 Houston,Tx. 77004

CONTACT Phone: 713.637.4587 info@mfhouston.com www.mfhouston.com


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