One night might offer ono, its white flesh sounding a sweetish note in concert with eggplant relish and sublime satsuma potatoes in a soy-ginger butter sauce. Or sturgeon, grilled to succulence and paired with purple mashed potatoes that taste as marvelous as they look repulsive. Ahi comes from the wok deftly blackened without, lusciously rare within, for bracing by a sinus-clearing wasabi cream. Fir trim softens the look, while the urbane crowd filling the tables, booths and sleek mirrored bar adds flash. Although the fuzz on the ceiling has eased the din of the early days, Flying Fish remains a festive place.
Wines come from across Europe, Australia, New Zealand, the Pacific Northwest and California.
Or that . . . Post-Intelligencer food critics arrive unannounced and pay for all meals and services.