Imagine my drooling, Pavlovian response, then, when a dozen or so years later, I first heard the words "all you can eat" and "sushi" uttered in the same sentence. Could ... that ... really ... be ... possible? Truly, all the tuna, salmon and yellowtail I could devour, for one, predetermined price? Surely, I'd eat any such operation right out of business. My fervor turned to something akin to nausea, however, when I investigated the all-you-can-eat experience for the first time, in a Washington, D.C., suburb. Suddenly, all too clearly, I understood how a restaurant might be able to charge less than $30 for mounds of a handmade delicacy requiring highly trained chefs with a rigorous set of fish selection, storage and preparation codes. Not only did the sushi arrive in disarray—rolls literally falling apart atop an uninviting, plain, white dinner plate—but the fish was also of noticeably poorer quality than what I'd come to expect at even the modest sushi joint in my own neighborhood. One item tasted so foul I wrapped the remainder in a paper napkin and flushed it down the restroom toilet to avoid a hefty "leftovers charge" sternly posted on the menu. Free-flowing sushi was beginning to sound less like utopia realized than a recipe for serious illness.
Yet a little over a decade later here I sit, a devoted all-you-can-eat sushi fanatic, so attached to the concept that I practically shed tears when I visit an old-school, pay-as-you-go spot. It's not that I simply desire to scarf down more rolls and nigiri (pieces) than I can afford elsewhere—it's the total absence of financial consideration that I find wonderfully freeing. If I spot something new or different on the menu, I try it. If I enjoy my first batch of hamachi (yellowtail), I can get another round, maybe in a hand roll. If I happen to groove on tako (octopus) one evening, I can order more. And more. And even more. No hemming, no hawing, no planning. See it, feel it, do it.
Admittedly, all-you-can-eat sushi has come a long way since my first visit all those years ago, with the best purveyors now utilizing quality fish that—while perhaps not to the specifications of uber sushi snobs who do their regular munching at upscale establishments such as Nobu and Sushi Roku—can go scale-to-scale with most any next-tier sushi eatery I've hit upon.
In some quarters, though, perceptions of all-you-can-eat sushi—an idea hatched in America, not in sushi's birthplace, Japan—haven't changed much since its earliest days. For many, a stigma remains, concedes Mary Beth Horiai, owner of Koto Japanese Restaurant in Green Valley. "It's the obvious: Sushi is a very expensive item, so people figure there must be something wrong, like the fish must be bad or must not be real or something," she says. "It's hard for people to believe when they know that if you go out for sushi in LA or New York or Tokyo you're gonna spend $100 a person to get full. It's suspect."
Friends of mine, particularly those near the coasts, scrunch their faces when I mention my passion for all-you-can-eat sushi; several have even declined invitations to join me for a good ol' fishstravaganza when they've been in Las Vegas. Their loss. What they don't realize is that while all-you-can-eat locales in New York or Los Angeles might lurk near the bottom of the fish barrel, here they can be quite outstanding.
Leave it to Las Vegans to warmheartedly embrace an indulgent proposition others scorn and mock. We like our cuisine plentiful and modestly priced, yet not without culinary merit. Website sushibuffets.com claims that "the greatest density of all-you-can-eat sushi buffets is found not in Los Angeles, San Francisco or Miami, but in Las Vegas," and judging from the plethora of all-you-can-eat sushi signs scattered across every neighborhood from Summerlin to Green Valley, I believe it. On one 2-mile stretch of Eastern between Anthem and the 215, I can count eight sushi haunts, including three advertising full-time all-you-can-eat.
One of those, the aforementioned
Koto (9400 S. Eastern Ave., No. 103, 221-1600, $25.95 lunch and dinner), has been my primary hangout since it opened in October 2004. The modestly sized sushi bar won't rival peers for wild, knife-tossing action, but its cooled display case houses some of the most scrumptious fish I've encountered anywhere in town.
I also visit nearby
Sushi Mon (9770 S. Maryland Parkway, 617-0241, second location in the Northwest, $25.95 lunch and dinner)—widely considered the gold standard for area all-you-can-eat consumption—with some frequency, especially late at night and on Sundays, when Koto is closed. The Sushi Mon crew is highly efficient and their fish is also consistently delicious.
Nonetheless, ever eager to broaden my horizons, I recently committed myself to a heroic, belt-bending, month-long quest, to test all-you-can-eat sushi across the Valley and, upon completion, crown a single, grand champion. All told, I sampled food at 10 area locations. Here's my report:
It depresses me that for many Southern Nevadans, the buffet at
Makino (4001 Decatur Blvd., additional locations Downtown and Summerlin, $14.95-$15.95 lunch/$22.95-$23.95 dinner) has come to represent the all-you-can-eat sushi adventure. I suppose it might be a shade better than the sushi available at most casino buffets (are individual soy sauce dishes really too much to ask, hotel guys?) but trust me folks, it gets a whole lot better than this.
Makino is buffet-style, offering neither made-to-order sushi nor interaction between patrons and sushi chefs. Instead, customers use tongs to snag nigiri and roll fragments from a sitting display. The less popular the item, the less often it gets replenished and refreshed, which I sadly discovered can translate into hardening rice edges and wilting fish, not that the just-laid-out fish is all that plump or impressive. I've had better from the deli counter at Smith's. Seriously.
For some, Makino's draw might be its hot side, which features cooked fish, chicken and tempura dishes among an array of nonsushi fare. Considering most all-you-can-eat sushi houses now include appetizers, soups, salads and ice cream in their price, however, Makino's auxiliary foodstuffs in no way excite me. Bottom line: Low weekday lunch price aside, this place does nothing to distinguish itself.
Similar in nature, but a slight cut above in quality is
Todai (3667 Las Vegas Blvd. S., 892-0021, $17.95-$19.95 lunch/$27.95-$29.95 dinner), located inside the Aladdin's Desert Passage shopping mall. Although the maki (tuna) and sake (salmon) failed to impress, other nigiri choices such as akagai (red clam) and ika (squid) tasted as they should, and scoops of spicy salmon were addictive enough in flavor to satisfy my appetite.
Todai offers one potentially significant benefit—the opportunity to try slivers of individual sushi rolls without committing to a full six- or eight-chunk portion. Still, I'm not sure what good it does to taste a dozen or so different rolls—California, spicy tuna, tempura and so on—if none ultimately draws you back for seconds.
Those on low-carb diets might find further reason to favor Todai. So far as I could see, the restaurant had no posted requirements regarding rice consumption (typically, customers are charged for leftover rice the same as leftover nigiri or rolls). Thus, if so inclined, one could theoretically eat the fish off of each piece, creating a de facto all-you-can-eat sashimi deal. Still, I can't imagine any experienced sushi eater would risk drawing the ire of management with such ultra-gauche behavior.
True to its blunt "We sell fresh dead fish" slogan,
Sushi Factory (6120 W. Tropicana Ave., 876-5665, $19.95 lunch/$23.95 dinner) takes a pragmatic, relatively unsophisticated approach, not only in terms of sushi preparation but also when it comes to décor and ambiance. Speakers rained '80s musical hits—Paula Abdul's "Straight Up," The Bangles' "Manic Monday" and the like—down on diners seated in an expansive main hall ringed with outmoded red booths.
The sushi presentation, a parade of uneven rolls and dissimilar nigiri, also fell flat. One of my companions trying to squeeze an order of masago (smelt roe) topped with quail egg with his chopsticks inadvertently mangled two adjacent orders, since the entire set was strangely joined by one long seaweed chain.
Yet amazingly, the majority of Sushi Factory's food managed to overcome its lackluster appearance. The spicy tuna roll burned the inside of my mouth (always a plus), the negihama (yellowtail and scallion) hand roll exhibited a wondrous fish-to-rice ratio and the Lisa Lisa roll (cajun albacore and shrimp atop scallop) featured an oddly delectable combination of dissimilar flavors.
Be forewarned that while one two-piece order of uni (sea urchin) and amaebi (sweet shrimp) is included in the all-you-can-eat dinner price, they are not part of the lunch deal. Also, if my experience—which saw the restaurant inconceivably pare down to one server at lunchtime—is any indication, it can be mighty tricky attracting the eye of an employee, either to obtain more food or inquire about the status of past orders. Even so, I will likely revisit the Factory at some point, though only if there's room at the bar.
Yama Sushi (1350 E. Flamingo Road No. 18, 696-0072, $19.95 lunch/22.95 dinner) offers a tasty sushi retreat for nearby UNLV students at a relatively modest all-you-can-eat price. Fish flows efficiently from bar to table, and a rotating stable of servers check back frequently to take subsequent orders in this cozy setting.
A side menu featuring 15 specialty rolls—TNT (spicy tuna atop spicy salmon), YoSexy (California panko crunch topped with spicy yum yum sauce) and so on—sets Yama apart from its peers, though serving sizes were intimidatingly large for my comfort. Additionally, the specialties I tried blended too many divergent tastes to allow my palate to distinguish individual flavors.
I much preferred more traditional fare on both of my Yama visits. Unagi (freshwater eel) arrived moist and warm. Sweet shrimp were soft and succulent. The uni was so luscious I briefly considered trying to convince a nearby non-urchin eater to slip me his allotment. And my first spicy yellowtail hand roll was the hottest I've come upon to date, though a subsequent attempt was barely half as zesty, calling night-to-night recipe consistency somewhat into question.
Still, Yama earned high marks overall, both for presentation and performance. I shall return.
A few years back, I used to frequent
Inaka Sushi (10100 S. Eastern Ave., 616-8370, $19.95 lunch and dinner), the first non-buffet all-you-can-eat sushi house I discovered in Southern Nevada. Fish, though hardly spectacular, was solid enough, and a relatively creative menu included several tempting concoctions, including a bonzai roll featuring spicy salmon atop shrimp tempura.
A gradual decline in sushi quality eventually led me elsewhere, but a semi-encouraging recent Sunday visit enlivened me to return again, this time for dinner with my wife. What ensued was nothing short of total disaster. Most of what we ordered—yellowtail, uni, even typically reliable spicy tuna—looked and tasted so grungy as to actually make us wonder whether we might get sick afterward.
Thankfully, we did not, but we certainly won't be going back. Ever.
Competing with Inaka for my worst overall experience was
Yoko Sushi (2351 N. Rainbow, No. 103, 646-9656, $21.95 lunch/$24.95 dinner), not because all the fish was all that tragic—some was (yellowtail); some was not (uni)—but because everything else that could possibly go wrong did.
Food appeared in painfully slow spurts, despite Yoko's one-hour dinner-time limit hanging over our heads throughout the meal. We received one roll we did not order, and never received one we did. Toro (fatty tuna), a rarity seldom available at all-you-can-eat prices, was listed on the sushi sheet but wasn't in stock.
Worst of all, few rolls arrived as advertised. I've got nothing against cucumber, but when a roll is described as consisting of spicy tuna, green onion and roe (fish eggs), it shouldn't be constructed around a sizeable, shredded mass of the green vegetable. Perhaps my luck was incredibly poor and I hit Yoko on a rare off night. Somehow I doubt it.
Area newcomer
Sushi Club (10720 S. Eastern Ave., 837-6727, $14.95 lunch/$19.95 dinner) is already making a name for itself thanks to an exceptionally low price structure, not to mention a surprising lack of time limitations.
Apparently, participation in this quirky club requires listening to marginal '80s R&B, such as Bobby Brown's "My Prerogative" and Cameo's "Word Up!," and putting up with sushi chefs literally being trained on the spot. I had to summon some serious restraint to stop from leaping over the counter as I watched the grueling 10-minute assembly of my rainbow roll (California topped with assorted fish and avocado). On the flip side, a more experienced sushi chef concocted an elegant-looking roll of his own personal design, combining cooked and raw elements with more success than I'd ever have predicted.
Sushi Club offers no uni or sweet shrimp, and I found the bare essentials—tuna, salmon, yellowtail—all fairly bland. Still, the eel, spicy tuna hand rolls and tempura rolls filled me up and were solid enough even for me to mildly endorse the restaurant for undemanding sushi eaters hunting for a value pick.
Also relatively new to the scene is
Sushi Khan (4115 Spring Mountain Road, No. 101, 871-1532, $19.95 lunch/$24.95 dinner), which sits at one end of Las Vegas' Chinatown plaza in a building once home to Dragon Sushi and, more recently, Sushi Moto. The restaurant features an oversized laminated menu, with colorful pictures and vivid descriptions of its large selection of custom rolls.
The place was almost empty when I had dinner there—never a good sign at the height of a Saturday night—but the food actually left little to be desired. A yellowtail-lover roll (hamachi inside and out) exploded with flavor, as did my procession of three spicy tuna hand rolls and a 911 roll featuring a spicy crab crunch topped with eel and spicy sauce. I was also pleasantly surprised to find an order of toro included under the all-you-can-eat umbrella.
Khan's two sushi chefs were fast and friendly, suggesting favorite dishes such as the seafood tempura roll (deep-fried spicy seafood with cream cheese, topped in eel sauce), which my companion described as being "like sushi funnel cake!"
Save for a lack of uni (their supplier ran out, apparently) and a time limit of 45 minutes at lunch and one hour at dinner, nothing about Sushi Khan turned me off. Like Sushi Mon and Koto, Khan even has a sushi stamp card, offering a free 10th meal after nine paid visits.
Satisfying as both Khan and Yama proved to be, however, I ultimately found myself right back where I started, revisiting Koto and Sushi Mon to determine who should wear the all-you-can-eat crown.
Sure, Yama is $6 cheaper at lunch and $4 more affordable at dinner. But much as I love a bargain, I'll gladly pay a few bucks to upgrade from good to great. Hell, if Nobu or Roku offered a $50 all-you-can-eat deal, I'd fork over the extra cash (come on fellas, I dare ya!). And pound for pound, the fish at Koto and Sushi Mon tastes more like what I expect when I eat at off-the-menu joints in New York and San Francisco, and less like what most folks have come to accept from typical all-you-can-eat establishments.
The first time I walked into Sushi Mon, I couldn't help wondering if I was dreaming. Not only is the food fresh and delicious, but it arrives in rifle-range rhythm, the tiny restaurant's ample team of servers, preparers and sushi chefs working in unison to create a steady stream of individually plated sushi, at both tables and bar.
At Sushi Mon, I don't really have favorite items, because every single thing I've ever ordered has been so damn consistent—tuna, salmon, yellowtail, uni, sweet shrimp, spicy rolls, caterpillar rolls (eel and avocado) and on and on and on.
Likewise, at Koto it's tough to find something I don't begin dreaming about as I drive home or to the office afterward. Hand rolls are stuffed with fish, nigiri selections are consistently fresh, and rolls such as the cajun tiger (spicy tuna and avocado atop California) and dragon (shrimp tempura topped with eel) regularly demand a second helping.
Koto's three rotating sushi chefs are kind and well-trained, typically maintaining a reliable flow of food from the bar even when the smallish restaurant is packed with customers.
Sushi Mon and Koto both feature stamp cards, both include appetizers and other kitchen items in their prices and both allow customers to consume one order of uni and one of sweet shrimp per visit.
So in the end, with food and service deadlocked, I'll pick my champ based on overall dining experience, one area where Sushi Mon and Koto could scarcely diverge more.
Sushi Mon operates like a machine, but can also feel like one, shuffling guests in and out within a strict one-hour time limit that often keeps me glancing at the clock. A TV, usually showing sports, runs at all times in the background, and the ambiance is busy and boisterous. Tables, as well as seats at the bar, are so hard to come by, and folks literally queue up outside before the doors open for dinner at 5. Sushi Mon is open until 2 a.m.—a significant advantage over Koto for the late-night set—but I've even had to wait for a spot when I've walked in after midnight.
Koto, meanwhile, offers a far more laid-back vibe. Relaxing nature scenes roll by on a flat screen near the marble bar, and music is soft and low-key. Tile adorns the floor and artwork the walls, enhancing the setting. Tables are typically available, and meals are never timed. The staff greets returning customers warmly, remembering regulars' names to make them feel at home. In every way, it feels more like a traditional sushi house than an all-you-can-eat assembly line.
Thirty days. Sixteen meals. Ten restaurants. Forty-seven hand rolls. Eighteen pieces of uni. And at the finish, Koto earns my final seal of approval, with Sushi Mon a very respectable 1A. But hey, why take my word for it? Get out there and eat—a lot—and see what works best for you. But remember, you might never look at your favorite neighborhood sushi restaurant the same way again. Because I'll tell you from experience, once you go all-you-can-eat, it's awfully tough to go back.