If I was a Travel Writer, This Is How I Would Write a Restaurant Review
Feel free to (nicely) review my attempt at a review
If you’re new here, each month I am learning about a new lifestyle. This month, I’m learning about travel writing! If I want to learn, I have to practice. So, here we go 🦋
When I have to wait weeks for a dinner reservation, and even then can only score a spot on a Monday night, I typically have high expectations for the food.
What I didn’t expect was for Anjin to provide a culinary adventure in my own backyard.
From the moment I walk in, it is clear I am entering an escape for the evening. (I did learn afterward that “Anjin” translates to “pilot,” so that’s on me for missing the foreshadowing).
The tiny, izakaya-style space only seats 20 guests, counter style in a flattened U-shape contouring the kitchen. No tall barriers, no behind-the-scenes, there is only the scene.
And, oh, what a scene it is.
Hardcover books stacked in the corner (Fish Butchery to name one), tile (somewhere between the shade of emerald and jade) splashed against the back of the kitchen, liter-sized bottles of sake lined-up and ready for a stiff pour into mis-matched ceramic cups, logo-branded ice cubes (how??), and a rubber puffer fish floating in a glass of water.
My excitement for the food is now flying higher than when I walked in.
A savory, warm scent fills the air as we sit down. It’s the kind of scent that’s hard to distinguish, but indicative that something good is definitely cooking. To me, the noise is a comfortable level of hustle and bustle. It’s loud enough to keep conversations private, but not so loud that I can’t hear my friend tell me about her latest painting experiment.
After a *cheers* to living life to the fullest on a Monday, my friend and I are handed a paper menu that lists a mere eight (8) dishes, yet the task of selecting our meal for the evening proves near-impossible (they all sound impeccable). I’ve never known a pencil to hold such power.
I’ve also never known a custard to be savory, but let me tell you, I’ve been enlightened. Paired with catfish, tobiko, and a list of other goodies, Chawanmushi is the creamy, crunchy, savory treat of your dreams. It’s one of those dishes that is plated cautiously, but you devour it ruthlessly, ruining all aesthetics to ensure you get each ingredient in a single bite. Thankfully, my friend and I refrain from battling it out with our spoons. (I’m not that skilled with chopsticks, okay!! Have you ever tried to eat custard with anything other than a spoon??)
For the next dish, I owe the chef(s) a debt of gratitude. Not (just) for the quality of the dish, but for granting me the opportunity to use a highly coveted noun. The juxtaposition of a crispy exterior and a velvety interior made the Takoyaki a textural delight. Bite-sized dynamite. I don’t even particularly like octopus, but apparently I’ve just been eating it incorrectly. Regular octopus? Meh. Octopus mixed with garlic sauce and fried? Spectacular.
I do feel slightly biased talking about our final dish because we got the last one. Our server heard us lamenting that the pork collar sandwich was no longer on the menu and was gracious enough to mention there was one (1) left.
I look at my friend.
She looks at me.
“Should we?”
We turn back to the server.
“Lock it in.”
We aren’t letting go of our chance to have that sandwich. It’s the kind of sandwich that’s comforting enough to tame the whisky bouncing around your bloodstream, yet dynamic enough to keep the party going. It’s the friend you only get to see on special occasions, but you still swear they’re your best friend. The friend who gets the spotlight, not by choice, but by merit and you couldn’t be more supportive.
Overall, Anjin is a masterclass in personality.
It stands out, not in a “I’m not like other restaurants” kind of way, but in a “I love what I do, I’m good at what I do, and I’m going to have fun doing it” kind of way.
I’ve never seen such quality and attention to detail served with such humility. My friend and I joke with the servers and we watch them joke with each other. They are wearing t-shirts. There’s a tiny frog figurine on the counter. It’s effortless, casual energy, all while serving up some of the most creative dishes I’ve had in Kansas City.