Jin Saint-Honoré: the best in the west, literally.
My titles are usually something I come up with quickly just so I can start boring you with the heart of my article. However, this one is as explained, literal.
I believe Jin, in Parisâ 1st arrondissement, is the best sushi restaurant in the Western World. A bold statement I know, but I can comfortably make it and sleep at night.
 I found this place by chance as I was wondering up and down Rue De La SourdiĂšre waiting for a friend to end one of his many endless phone calls. After the umpteenth walk through this street, I noticed a dark, trendy looking bar. Being myself, I couldnât help but look up exactly what âJinâ, written on a sign outside, meant.
 I quickly realised the gods of gastronomy had put me on this street for a reason.
The reviews and articles -ranging from silly blogs like these to Forbes magazine- were all raving about Jin and head chef Takuya Watanabe.
 I used the excuse of having my 1-year anniversary in the then near future to grab a couple spots at the counter. Surprisingly the reservation was easy to make (4/5 days in advance), which cannot and will not last, FYIâŠ
 And so, a few days later, I was happily sitting next to my other half, just in front of Mr. Wanatabe, awaiting what had already been described by other sources as Parisâ best Japanese meal.
 I obviously started with a Japanese beer, incorrectly anticipating a menu to choose from; or at least a choice between "long" or "ridiculously long" dinners. No such thing is allowed in this temple of raw. The almost overly-quiet waitress asked -in her unintelligible accent and voice so quiet only a dog could hear it- whether or not we wanted the additional caviar dish for an extra 40âŹ.Â
 Iâm not a fan of caviar, but I couldnât quite resist the temptation of tasting it here, and, my girlfriendâs eyes sparkled more than the chefâs beautiful Japanese knife when the word was uttered by the aforementioned canine whisperer.
 And so the sushi chefâs shining show started.
 First, a succession of 5 or 6 dishes, the stars of which were a sashimi of fatty tuna, so pink it was veering towards white, so fat I could have confused it with myself; and of a mousse-like textured tuna delicately topped with enough caviar to repay the French national debt.
 It was delicious, and served in such simplicity and dignity that a Russian in Courchevel would have misunderstood.Â
 I also enjoyed the lobster in wild mushrooms, only subtly cooked, packed with flavour one usually misses when gouging down scoops of garlic roasted, shrimp stuffed lobster as itâs usually found in the west.
 Now I shall go on to the next part of the menu, which was, I believe, an important experience in my culinary life.
 A series of nigirizushi (the correct name for nigiri) was served. Including, but not limited to: shrimp, sardine, tuna, fatty tuna, salmon, turbot, oyster, sea urchin roe, squidâŠ
 For those of you who are completely without culture, thatâs the type of sushi with a piece of raw meat (usually rectangular, most of the time fish) patted onto a rectangular roll of vinegar rice.
Each of these was served in a specific way. Some were brushed with a drop of soy sauce, dabbed with a bit of wasabi and sprinkled with some salt before being perfectly shaped by the chef.
Others had their own sauces or ingredients, my favourite was turbot sprinkled with yuzu-lemon zest, a powerful blossom-like flavour that I rarely taste and absolutely adore.
The manner in which he fashioned these little pieces of blow-you-away-fresh-fish with his hands was astonishing, almost dance-like. Each movement following the next in a precise order repeated to the millimetre every-time. Â
 What I like the most about the experience was the impression of being taken on a journey by a true master of the art.
 The ambiance was almost that of a holy place. Not a word was uttered by the staff, except for the head chef who seemed to take a liking to true amateurs of great food and smiled at us when he painfully pronounced the names of the different fish in his best French before realising we spoke English and switching to it, immediately seeming more comfortable and friendly.
 The nigirizushi phase ended with tamago, that sweet cube of omelette known as one of the most complicated things any chef could make. Again, a delicious preparation better than any tamago I had tasted previously.
 We enjoyed this fabulous meal with a bottle of sake which I let the discrete waiter choose. I was a bit saddened by it being served in classic wine glasses, almost as if they had decided to Frenchisize themselves a bit to satisfy the holier than though Saint-HonorĂ© quarter clientele (some of which uttered the words âsushi-shopâ in presence of Mr. Wanatabe, something I wouldnât have done for fear of being sliced up like an anworthy piece of fishâŠ). Perhaps they serve it like that in Japan, although I doubt itâŠ
 The meal was ended with a desert, which was tasty but not even close to the wonderful fish experience; again the feeling of westernisation was present. I honestly think the chef hurts inside when he sees that happenâŠ
 To conclude, Iâd like to say that there are few places, perhaps only one or two, that have given me the wow-factor that Jin has. I was swept away by the precision, professionalism and quality of absolutely every-thing that happened. Nothing was fake, nothing was over-the-top. The air of donât-say-a-word is there for customers to take over with a friendly nod to the chef.
 Yes, itâs expensive, but youâre paying for quality that you may never enjoy again.
 f you had to try Japanese food once if your life, this is undoubtedly the place to go outside of the fine cuisineâs home.Â















