I walked into +81 Sushi Kappo ready to be critical. At $450 a head, this is Brisbane's most expensive omakase, and that kind of money buys a lot of scepticism.
It did not last long.
This was for our 10 year wedding anniversary, and a decade of marriage called for something special. I wanted to treat the Queen to an experience unique to Brisbane, and nothing in this city fits that brief quite like a private omakase. Twelve seats in West End, and every single one of them was ours. The room belongs to Michelin star-trained Chef Ikuo Kobayashi, who cut his teeth at Tokyo's legendary Kyubey. Tonight the counter was Chef Toshio Haniu's, cooking to Kobayashi's brief. We first met Haniu's work during his days at Takashiya in South Brisbane, and were fans then. Sitting across from him again, this time at the +81 counter, felt like a full circle moment.
The house specialises in what Chef Kobayashi calls wellness omakase. A deliberate, seafood-focused kappo menu that leaves you satisfied rather than stuffed, which after this many courses is its own kind of mastery. That restraint shines through in Chef Haniu's execution. We walked out feeling light, fulfilled and genuinely good, none of that heavy, bloated regret that can at times follow a long tasting menu. The healthy focus is not a compromise. It is the point, and it proved itself.
The nimonowan was the first dish that properly got me. Ebi, silken tofu and wood ear mushroom in a clear broth lifted with yuzu. The prawn sweet and just set, the tofu barely holding its shape, the mushroom giving a gentle crunch against all that softness. Pure comfort, prepared to perfection.
Then the Hokkaidō uni temaki. Custardy and smooth, buttery, that sweet briny cream melting the second it hit the tongue, wrapped in crisp nori. Melt in your mouth amazing. I could have ended the night there and gone home happy.
The maguro maki was epic. Clean, cool tuna against Chef Haniu's meticulous rice, seasoned with a restraint that lets the fish do all the talking. And the yakimono, a 9+ Marble King wagyu eye fillet with grilled onion and house ginger shōyu, was fantastic as expected. Rich, smoky, dissolving into the ginger like it had somewhere to be.
Even the Nagano miso soup was unreal. Who knew a bowl of miso could be elevated like that. Apparently Haniu did.
A word on the pairings, because they earned it. Tim Pope, the head sommelier, hosted the night and matched each course with cocktails instead of the usual sake route, and every single one genuinely uplifted the dish. Not a gimmick. A craft.
The night ended in the private lounge, where Gabriel, formerly of The Gresham (a bar I am somewhat familiar with), made my Sazerac for dessert. He knew exactly how I liked it. No notes.
Two philosophies ran quietly through the whole evening. Omotenashi, the Japanese art of selfless hospitality, where your needs are anticipated before you have even thought to voice them. And ichigo ichie, one time, one meeting, the idea that every gathering is a once in a lifetime moment that can never be repeated. Sitting there with my wife of ten years, in a room built for twelve but holding just us, I felt both.
I came to pick a fight with the price tag. I left understanding it. Ten years earned this one, and for a night like this, it was worth it.
