🛸 Uchi Incoming!

Waiting to finally try this restaurant made me feel like I was watching the countdown to launching a rocket ship. I’m pressing my nose against the big box TV. And the static footage makes my belly grumble.

3…2…1…!

Aaaaaand the doors swing open on Clarence Street. After trying to navigate the labyrinth of back alleys straight out of Wynyard Station, my company and I are met with the compact allure of Uchi Lounge. Walls lined with winking showgirls lacquered in painted canvas, a dragonhead, bar seating and the high-rise roof interrupted with floaty lines of white chamise cloth; the décor of Uchi Lounge builds an identity that is deliciously self-assured, robust and casual. 

Cramped in our pair, drinks are served by the attentive and enthusiastic staff, all wearing matching straw hats (cute). Two high-balls for two pretty girls; one that is mature and bitter, made with umeshu (plum wine) and another, an amusing and nostalgic mix with sugar-sweet Calpico. In chilled SAPPORO glasses, the little cubes of ice make sounds like tinkling cat-bells when you twirl the straw. It’s a nice cymbal-like sound to the drumming conversation of the straight-after-7:30- reservation crowd while the Franco-Japanese acid jazz hums in the backdrop. Lighting is kept low and glass and ceramicware remain minimal in design, handsome with aqua glazes and dark timber.

Blast off.

First – hojicha smoked duck with green scallion oil and matcha tea salt. Uncovered in a bento box, the smoke surrounds in a modest cloud and clears to reveal lavishly thin strips of tender flushed pink meat, each piece with a half-centimetre rim of fat lining it like a shining smile. You pick it up with your chopsticks and it’s a slim bite, immediately striking the palate with the punchy flavour of matcha salt which sizzles on the flat of your tongue. Though the pieces of duck rest on a bed of excessive rings of scallion, the scallion is presumably soaked in ice water beforehand, resulting in a removal of its intensity. It’s a dish that is fun to sneak in bites of while chatting –  the chew is a great thing to occupy you while you listen to hot gossip.

Like a sun rays, like a flower that has just opened– in comes the mixed sashimi carpaccio, arguably the prettiest dish on the menu, coy and tangy with yuzu ponzu dressing. The plate it’s on is huge, and the garden salad arranged in a small mountain in the centre is deceiving of the fact that the sashimi is also, very much, huge. Each piece is fatty and luxuriant and the sourness of the yuzu ponzu makes those highballs go down quick. The richness makes me feel a little full but I do not falter… for in fact the leading act is about to arrive.

Before I get into this – I have a sin I must proclaim; I regrettably and unfortunately do not like ramen. However, please absolve me and allow me to yap about the vegan ‘Tantan Ramen’ which was undoubtedly impressive. I must give my kudos to Uchi as most non plant-based restaurants seem to get lazy around curating strong vegan options but Uchi has shown itself  to be misaligned with this assumption. The house-made broth is raunchy in its use of chilli paste and sesame, it’s creamy and coats the noodles with a salacious, addictive sheen. I appreciate the snappy bits of bokchoy resting on top, adding a freshness to the otherwise juicy sesame/soft tofu mince that took the place of ground pork. I loved this alternative, and, to make it even more exceptional; lining the edge of the bowl was an assembly of golden squares of lightly fried tofu. I loved dunking them, sinking my teeth into them and feeling the spongy walls of the tofu give way to an abundance of creamy, spicy broth. My company’s bowl of ramen, despite my prejudices, also sounded incredible; being the ‘Yuzu Chilli Smoked Chicken Ramen.’

Alright, now that the venue is left at half capacity in the wake of 9pm, a sweet treat is what both my company and I are fiending for. We settle on matcha crème brûlée because um, obviously duh. She arrives. Powdered with icing sugar like the meek face of a regency courtesan, the dessert gets decimated by our teaspoons. We politely shove the dried orange cocktail slice aside and get straight to work. Slightly unevenly set, the flavour of matcha still resounds clearly within the custard and the crackle of the sugar crust is a delight to crunch through. It gets finished in a matter of minutes.

The bill then arrives, I loosen my trouser buttons.

We reapply our lipstick combos and stroll on out, slinking into the rest of Friday night while linking arms in girlish glee. My loafers hit the pavement of Clarence Street once more and we’re off, happy and damn full.

Touchdown.