Tetsu: A winter haven for a traditional, cozy Japanese experience

We are sitting at the tiny Tetsu Sushi Bar, buttering up chef Satoshi Makise with our rudimentary Japanese as he delivers a progression of appetizers for the four-course omakase menu.

Tetsu Sushi Bar

Well, my girlfriend is actually fluent in the language. I am merely mimicking her for comic effect.

The three-piece set begins with buri daikon, a flaky chunk of yellowtail and a wedge of radish, both gently simmered in a light broth sweetly seasoned with mirin. The flesh is ruddy, the home-style dish warm and wintry.

"Oishi-sou!" (That looks delicious!)

Next is a palm-sized slice of omelette folded in five crêpe-thin layers around a centre of diced barbecue eel.

"Oishiiiii!" we exclaim mid-chew, our teeth sinking through the layers of pillowy softness caramelized with a fine sugary crust. (To moan this phrase out loud with your mouth full and eyes closed is a great compliment to the chef, my friend explains.)

Finally, a bowl of brunoised bluefin tuna mixed with green onion, pickled radish, soft natto beans and crushed-nori paste. It's a loose tartare, draped in a slimy white veil of mashed mountain yam and a dab of wasabi. We stir with chopsticks until the stringy yam emulsifies into the soy sauce and the earthy paste breaks up like a sprinkling of dark mushroom dust.

"Sugoku oishii desu!" (Superbly delicious!)

The chef is so chuffed he makes us a special dish, presenting it with a proud grin and a twinkle in his eyes.

The milky white mass – a twisted, clustered blob gently torched with golden spots and served over an elfin puddle of ponzu sauce – does not look delicious. To be honest, it looks like scabbed brains.

The texture, similar to foie gras with a snappy membrane yielding to soft, creamy custard, leaves us speechless this time. But the flavour, a faint underbelly of ocean brininess lifted by citrus tang, is exquisite.

"Do you know what it was?" Mr. Makise asks excitedly. "Cod sperm!"

The seasonal specialty, more commonly known as shirako (translation: white children) was flown in the previous day from the famous Tsukiji fish market in Tokyo, as is all the restaurant's fish. While we choke down the remainder, the chef explains that he can get local cod sperm from the fishermen in Steveston, but it's more watery and not nearly as delicious. Our cheeky reply, delivered with shrieks of laughter, is not printable here.

Opened earlier this year, the 13-seat restaurant is smaller than the average hole-in-the-wall – more akin to a sliver.

What Tetsu lacks in size and polish, it makes up with heart and talent. Mr. Makise, who moved to Vancouver from Osaka in 2006, has worked at several respected sushi restaurants around town, including the (now-closed) Yoshi's on Denman and Kiriri in Richmond. He is fastidious about the freshness of his fish and meticulous in his knife work. The front of the house is run by the ebullient Hijiri Hamanaka, who arrived last year from Tokyo unable to speak a word of English, but has quickly acquired a sharp sense of humour. She's absolutely lovely and extremely attentive.

The kitchen is equipped only with a small oven so the menu is limited to sushi and sashimi, along with a few noodle dishes and grilled items. For lunch, there are several set fish trays that come with miso soup and small bowls of pickled vegetables. But I do strongly suggest the four-course omakase. And if possible, do try to score one of three seats at the bar, where the sushi is delivered one leisurely lobe at a time rather than altogether on one plate.

The relaxed pace allows you to better savour each delicate piece (all warmed to room temperature) and intricate knife cuts. There are least 50 scores on a single piece of cuttlefish (half cut earlier in the evening, half cut to order), tenderizing the typically chewy squid to plush, velvety softness.

The chef is thoughtful about the progression of flavours. A simple garnish of ginger and green scallion tastes electrifyingly bright on a light piece of white-fleshed sayori (halfbeak), yet remarkably muted on the next piece of dark-pink and livery shimaaji (horse mackerel).

Japanese sardines are beefy and red, slit widely down the centre to better absorb a thimble of shoyu sauce. Oily skipjack, so silky and tender, gets a daub of wasabi to amplify the unctuousness. Sawara (Spanish mackerel) is lightly torched on the skin to release the fat underneath and then squeezed with lemon for balance.

This is not an Ocean Wise-approved sushi bar. The premium sushi selection almost always includes endangered bluefin kama toro (a nearly white marbled cut from the collar of the belly).

The sake selection is limited. The udon and ice cream feel somewhat anticlimactic after the dizzying smorgasbord of sushi. And it is very difficult to secure seats without a reservation.

But should you feel like treating someone to a cozy, traditional Japanese experience, I can't think of a better IOU to place underneath the tree. Merii Kurisumasu!