A Meal's Moving Parts
A wood-burning oven and a conveyor belt play starring roles at two local eateries

By Tom Sietsema
The Washington Post Magazine
Sunday, Dec. 17, 2006

Slowly but surely, the menu makes its way to me at Wasabi. I mean that literally. The youthful Japanese restaurant in Farragut Square serves almost everything it makes on a long conveyor belt that passes before diners sitting inches away from it, like fashionistas reviewing models on a moving runway. A pretty cone of fried squid might be followed by ruby red strawberries garnished with matchsticks of ginger, which in turn might be trailed by pale orange slices of salmon on fingers of rice and a dark green seaweed salad. And just around the bend, I spot a little basket heaped with nuggets of fried chicken.

The dining format is known as kaiten-sushi (rotating sushi), and it's commonplace in Japan and plenty of fun -- at least the first time -- even if you're dining solo. While there are better places in Washington for straight-forward sushi, Wasabi distinguishes itself from its rivals not merely with its entertaining food transport but with a repertoire of about 90 small plates, some of which reflect the chef's upbringing: An import from the dining scene in London, Miguel Choy hails from Peru.

That explains the Latin American flavors -- some of Wasabi's most seductive snacks -- that share space with more traditional Japanese recipes on the conveyor belt. Tender fingers of grilled chicken are bundled like miniature logs atop a cake of rice rolled in black sesame seeds and lavished with a vivid yellow Peruvian pepper sauce that leaves the lips tingling.

The fried food cools quickly, so by the time the tempura-enclosed zucchini or fried chicken make their way to you, they have lost some of their allure (this despite their arrival beneath plastic covers). Better are the raw or barely cooked fish dishes -- sweet-glazed eel, prawns dotted with pesto, pale pink slices of flounder in a light and fruity wash of ponzu sauce -- that can hold up over a few turns of the belt. There are meatier options as well, including thin folds of seared beef ignited with a dot of hot mustard. Keep a lookout for my favorite finish: a subtle, silken green tea mousse, topped with a shimmering layer of yellow plum coulis and staged in a martini glass.

Patrons help themselves to whatever strikes their fancy, and they can keep track of their spending by looking at the color of the rings on the plates, yellow being the least expensive at $2, violet the most at $5. The drill doesn't eliminate the need for two-legged support. The waiters at Wasabi are quick to take drink, soup and extra rice orders; clear empty plates from the narrow wood counter; and ask if there's something you might want but don't see circling on the belt. They also know what they're talking about. "We get to eat the leftovers at night," one of my black-clad attendants told me, adding that he had tried most of the dishes.

Sake is the cool complement to much of this food, and Wasabi pours some fine ones from slender porcelain bottles into delicate matching cups not much bigger than thimbles. One pleasant pick among many is taru sake, which tastes like mountain water passed through a cool forest; the brew -- dry, crisp and light -- is aged in cedar. Drop by between 6 and 9 p.m. on a Thursday, and you'll see a dozen or so sakes showcased on the conveyor belt, in two-ounce glasses ($3 to $7) that allow for convenient exploration.

A small carryout area precedes the narrow dining room, which is charmingly dressed with cone-shaped, burnt-orange lights and painted in a soothing shade of, well, wasabi. The restaurant's 40 seats include three snug booths; the rest of the perches are chairs arranged in one row facing the moving menu, which makes the place most attractive to couples sitting side by side. At night, Wasabi takes on a romantic air. That's when the votives come out. Take a guess where they're displayed.