the world is your platter
I almost do not want to write a review of this place. I sort of want to keep it a ménage à trois between its secret community of patrons, Montreal, and myself. Tucked away on a semi-basement level, Furusato requires a little sniffing out to be noticed. The tiny entranceway belies its low-profile darling status.
Tempura udon (above) was just about right for the moderate taste bud, not overwhelmingly orgasmic but subtly well controlled. Its tempura prawns were very soft, the light yellow cocoon of fried, soup-soaked flour about ready to come loose to reveal the naked body of the prawn inside.
The grilled squid (top) was grilled to a consistently thin and very fine crisp outer layer, mouth-wateringly shimmery under the warm lighting (although I confess I had waited a long time for a friend to arrive to start eating). Grilled mackerel (bottom) was also done the same way, brown skin over white flesh. Both tasted a bit hard and dry respectively, but that’s where Furusato has got it right. Their modus operandi seems to be a kind of simplicity, understatement, and an understanding of the act of enjoying food, where the coming together of various components of a dish is essential to creating maximum effect. That is, before you dig in to some plain old grilled squid and mackerel, you HAVE to juice it up with a squeeze of lemon, dip into the accompanying sauce, and only then indulge yourself. It’s like baking with salted butter and still adding salt to the recipe; the people at Furusato possess the Japanese sensibility of modesty, in food and in décor. The small restaurant is very cozy, great for a quiet dinner with a few friends or a date night. Sit on the retro orange stools at the rather neglected-looking bar and watch the chef at work, or by the window in the soft glow of a Japanese lantern. Now that we’ve told you about the art of eating here, go ahead, take a reservation and get your date on. Just don’t spread the word too much, they’re already busy enough on the weekend.