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Denny Kang thinks that size matters.
“I don’t know why people in this area are so stingy with their fish,” says Kang, the owner of Fujiyama Grill & Sushi. “The pieces are much smaller here than you would get at a sushi bar in Japan, and they cost much more. Sure, you’re going to pay to have the seafood travel a bit, but I think it is outrageous, the tiny portions.”
Kang has done a bit of travel himself. He came to the United States from his native Korea twenty years ago, intending to teach martial arts. But he also liked to eat sushi, and he became interested in the discipline and art involved in its creation. “I have studied with excellent sushi chefs,” he says. “And I am as serious and passionate about sushi as anyone.” Once his study of sushi — a process that will be lifelong, he says — had progressed enough for Kang to work as a sushi chef, he helped open Sushi Boat, a sushi bar just off Hampden Avenue. But he longed to run his own place.
“When you work for someone else, you are not allowed to be creative the way you want and to serve the types of food that you want or charge what you want,” he says. “I knew I had to open my own place in order to feel that I was doing what my heart felt, what I was longing to do.”
Fujiyama Grill & Sushi is the embodiment of those longings. The Denver Tech Center space that once held the Off Belleview Grill has been transformed into a Japanese getaway, beginning with the wooden, bridgelike walkway that leads to the restaurant. Diners eating under the ocean-blue awning on the patio get to enjoy the relaxing Zen sounds of the fountain that dribbles in the nearby pond; folks who prefer inside seating are treated to a massive, lavender-hued mural of the Japanese mountain that the eatery is named for. The sushi bar boasts a red-topped counter offset by black furniture and walls; it’s decorated with cute little aquariums and large, ferny plants for a look that’s both contemporary and traditional. The staff offers another twist on tradition: While employees display the grace and graciousness typically found in a good sushi bar, they are from Korea and Vietnam as well as Japan.
But the starring role, of course, belongs to the sushi, which lives up to Kang’s claims. “You need to tell people,” he says. “These are the largest portions of sushi available in Denver.”
While I didn’t have my ruler on me, there was no denying the size of these slabs of seafood. In fact, when a server placed a sushi plate of fatty tuna on the table, we all gasped. Granted, for $11, it should have contained a decent amount of food, but since fatty tuna — the fat-streaked, pinkish part from the area closest to the belly of a tuna, called toro — is one of the costliest fish cuts, it was nice to feel that we were getting our money’s worth. It was also nice for those of us addicted to fatty tuna (which tastes like tuna-flavored raw bacon) to finally be able to get our fill of fish.
The most coveted part of the tuna was once akami, the lean, redder flesh closer to the backbone. But over the years (and some food writers believe as a result of American meat-eating influences), preference has shifted to the richer toro, which comes in three grades: otoro, the highest grade, cut from the portion of the belly just behind the head; and two kinds of jutoro, one a medium-grade cut from the center of the fish’s belly and the other a low-grade cut from the belly just in front of the tail. Otoro has the most fat and thus the most streaking; it’s almost reminiscent of pork. Fujiyama serves otoro, and the voluptuous slices were so oily and fatty that they were almost too rich. Almost.
The tuna wasn’t Fujiyama’s only full-figured fish. All of the sushi we ordered looked like sashimi on steroids, with the very fresh raw fish hanging over an average-sized portion of faintly sticky, nicely fermented rice. And each piece contained just the right touch of wasabe for the specimen in hand: larger amounts for the more flavorful or oilier fish, such as fatty tuna and salmon, and smaller amounts for the more delicate swimmers, including red snapper, yellowtail and mackerel.
Kang’s innovations don’t end with portion size. Sushi purists will have to forgive him his Bronco roll, a combination of unagi (freshwater eel), salmon, tuna, ikura (salmon roe), masago (smelt eggs) and avocado, all set up to look like an enormous goalpost. The Cajun roll was another unusual offering, with shrimp, crab, smelt eggs and cucumbers wet down with a spicy sauce that tasted like chile powder. To cater to neighborhood tastes, Kang’s Belleview roll placed a slice of tuna on a typical California’s roll’s mayo-moistened crab and avocado. Even the more pedestrian rolls featured appealing little touches: top-grade smoked salmon in the Philadelphia roll, for example. And no matter how novel a roll’s roster of ingredients, all were flavorful and absolutely fresh. With the raw offerings, our only complaint concerned the seaweed wrapper around the salmon roe; the nori was so dry we felt like we were eating paper.
Although Kang likes to wield a knife at the sushi bar, he keeps a close eye on the cooked items coming out of the kitchen. His attention paid off in one of the best miso soups I’ve tried, a smooth, almost creamy style with just enough saltiness and a smattering of silky tofu for texture. The miso is included in the bento boxes offered at lunch, a good way to try a range of Fujiyama dishes. In addition to the soup, our salmon teriyaki bento contained a hefty portion of rice, a mixed-greens salad topped with a dressing of minced carrots flavored with sweetened orange juice, and two pieces of California roll. The succulent salmon, slightly undercooked and moist throughout, was covered with a teriyaki sauce that proved perfect for the fish but was a little gloppy for the cabbage the salmon rested on; eating it was like slurping a sweet soup. The grilled salmon collar, with its supple flesh and accompanying sweet soy sauce, was another palate-pleasing cut of the fish.
At dinner, the calamari steak — thick chunks of squid grill-tossed with fresh vegetables and slicked with a spicy fish-based sauce — was a big hit. And the skin on the juicy, sesame-honey chicken put the Colonel to shame; this was crispy and super-sweet, as addictive as candy.
Still, Fujiyama’s real draw will always be the sushi. Kang is right: Size does matter. And bigger sushi is always better.
