I’ve been holding back on writing this review for a while now for ethical reasons, but journalistic integrity comes first. Before I continue, I need to preface this with the fact that although I never complained, made any critical comments, or said anything to the staff aside from my order and “thank you,” the restaurant somehow assumed I was a critic and covered my entire bill. It must be noted that their service and staff are professional.

Masu Sushi

It was one of my first real days off in months, and having just spent a few hours drinking tea and a few dollars playing Dance Dance Revolution Extreme alone in Chinatown, I felt a conditioned need to justify my time with some nominal work. Because I had to stop by Powell’s to purchase some assigned poetry books on my way home, I made the ostensibly capricious decision to cross the street and check out Masu Sushi, due in part to its reputation as one of Portland’s trendier upscale sushi bars and in larger part to its proximity. Although that decision was fun and not at all premeditated, I still feel, upon reflection, that its motivations were also, in some subconscious way, an object of obligation.

Masu Sushi, located across the street and one floor up from Nong’s on SW 13^th Avenue, has been a prominent player in Portland’s sushi scene since its opening in 2004. Characterized by a chic, contemporary vibe; inventive, well-composed sushi; high-quality fish; and an entrancing degree of culinary spectacle, Masu has established itself as one of the most popular venues of Japanese cuisine in the city. It is so popular, in fact, that despite showing up alone at 5:07 on a Thursday, I was lucky to get seated at the bar.

From what I could gather in my survey of the premises, this was the kind of place whose ambiance, presentation, and identity would strike a particular chord with people who made routine Instagram stories out of the food they ordered and people who did cocaine, making it a great third date spot for tech-money Pearl District millennials. But the question remained: was the food crafted with enough love or passion to interrupt that demographic’s characteristic ennui? Could it be enough to induce a pen-dropping Ratatouille Moment?

Miso Soup Review

Context (4/10)

• Service (1/4 points): Nothing on Masu’s menu is accompanied by a complimentary miso soup. The only way to get one is to order it from the “additions” part of the menu for three dollars, where it is sandwiched between three dollar edamame and five dollar kimchi (which is somewhat egregiously described as “spicy pickled cabbage,” implying either a misconception about the difference between lactic acid fermentation and pickling, an intentional misnomer to appeal to a broader audience, or kimchi done wrong. I would have ordered some to find out, but I had student loans and refused to spend that kind of money on kimchi out of principle). The soup was at least brought out soon after I ordered it.

• Bowl (3/6 points): The bowl was fine, albeit surprisingly wide. It came on a plate with a spoon, and scooping was clearly the expectation. It wasn’t the most ergonomic and due to the slope of the sides it felt slightly unnatural to pick it up and sip, although definitely not impossible. It arrived uncovered, and because of the large surface-area to volume ratio cooled off maybe a little too quickly.

Composition (3/9)

• Individual Assembly (1/7 points): Unfortunately, it was apparent that this soup was ladled from a pre-made pot, for reasons I will get to shortly. It was still possible, though, that the miso was at least slurried separately.
• Cross-Soup Consistency (N/A): I was alone, so this could not be measured.
• Balance (2/2 points): There was, at least, a decent balance of solid ingredients to liquid, with those solids making conservative, tasteful appearances.

Ingredients (0/10)

• Miso (1/4 points): This soup was fairly saturated with a surprisingly sweet shiro miso. There was a very faint salinity and low impact, making the soup approachable but weak. Miso soup relies on miso for its salt, and this was lacking.

• Tofu (0/4 points): Aside from being firm and obtrusive, there was a surprising degree of carelessness in this tofu’s cuts. I even found two conjoined blocks left together like Spongebob’s teeth. Tofu is one of the easiest things to cut through, so this suggested a lack of concern for detail on the line. The firmness and sloppiness were also indicative of the soup’s lack of individual assembly.
• Wakame (-2/1 point): While the wakame itself was ostensibly fine, earning a positive mark, I unfortunately need to deduct three points for its collateral damage. This stock just tasted too strongly of wakame, leading me to assume that it had either been reconstituted in the stock itself, left to steep inside a pre-prepared cauldron of miso soup, or both.
• Scallions (1/1 point): These were fine.

Dashi (5/10)

I was disappointed by this soup. The dashi was drinkable. Quaint, but in no way profound. It lacked the smokiness and depth of umami that a good dashi carries. It didn’t help that its flavor was somewhat tainted by the wakame bleed, while also not being supported by much in the way of miso salinity. To say something positive about it, it was gentle. It offered little but demanded little. If the ideal miso soup feels like the warm embrace of home, this was a polite side-hug at the end of a first and last date with someone whose Tinder profile led you to expect more.

Overall: 12/39

Weighted Grade: C-

Restaurant Reflection

As an upscale sushi restaurant, Masu generally delivers. While expensive, the fish quality is undeniable and the pieces are sliced generously. Their ume shiso maki was excellent as well. Masu shines when it has a chance to show off; its flashiness and tier of quality lend themselves to impressive and photogenic shared plates. Dishes are expressive and presentation is artful.

However, there is a coldness to it all. Masu provides an exciting contemporary restaurant experience, encouraging a wide sampling of small shared items, but it does so at the expense of individualized hospitality and the warmth of a full meal. You can’t even order a regular bowl of steamed rice. Their miso soup, then, exists awkwardly on the menu as one of the only items specifically made for a single person, and one of the only things that customers would have to order for themselves rather than for the table. The personal and intimate nature of miso soup is ontologically at odds with the tapas-style dining experience that Masu’s menu seeks to create, and as such it feels out of place, both in its position on the menu as well as its existence within the meal. Simply put, miso soup cannot belong as it is on this kind of a menu, and needs to be served either as a universal, unsolicited amuse-bouche, or not at all. I personally think that inviting guests into the meal with a hot bowl of miso soup would go a long way in establishing a sense of hospitality, and if done well could serve as an overture for the meal to come. Masu already does this with complimentary edamame (or at least they did for me), so it’s not an unreasonable change to make.

The tragedy of this miso soup is that Masu can definitely do better, given some modicum of effort and attention, but its awkward position in the context of the restaurant, alongside its general flaccidity, suggest that this is a miso soup that exists only out of obligation. As I mentioned in my original miso soup manifesto:

Masu has a miso soup because that is a cultural expectation for a sushi restaurant, even as it runs up against the establishment’s own dining format. They don’t put much effort into it because they don’t feel the need to; their miso soup is neither a locus of pride nor a platform of expression. This one isn’t undrinkably egregious, but it is loveless and bland. If they are to improve, they should make changes not only to the soup itself, but to its existence within the meal. Otherwise, it might be better to forgo it entirely and focus on what they want to prioritize.

One more thing

The restaurant’s menu advertises “real wasabi” as an add-on or automatic accompaniment to certain sashimi platters. As a real wasabi fiend, I was enticed and ordered some, along with some salmon. While the salmon came in nice, thick-cut pieces, my initial bite of wasabi was less impressive. Yes, there was real wasabi in it, but it was cut with shavings of regular horseradish as a filler, which I could see, feel, and taste. I don’t know if that’s common practice, or if they were on a more constrained budget that week in the post-lockdown restaurant world, but it was disappointing. Moreover, it speaks further to what the miso soup already indicated: a faltering of love for the craft and care for the customer.