Your First Omakase: The Complete Guide

A first omakase carries a particular kind of anticipation: you know it will be exceptional, but you are not quite sure what form that will take. That uncertainty is not a problem to solve. It is precisely the point. This guide removes the practical unknowns so you can arrive fully present.

Before you arrive

Book early and communicate clearly. A counter with fourteen seats fills up. At Aji, popular evenings are often reserved one to three weeks ahead. When you book, mention every dietary restriction, allergy, and strong aversion. Do not wait until you arrive: some components of the sequence are prepared hours before service.

Dress thoughtfully, not formally. Smart casual works well: clean clothes, considered but relaxed. Omakase is an intimate setting, and your appearance signals the level of care you bring to the experience. More importantly, skip heavy perfume or cologne. In a small counter, strong fragrance travels immediately and can mask the delicate aromas of raw fish and seasoned rice.

Arrive with genuine appetite. Skip the afternoon snack. Omakase is a complete meal, and you want to be receptive to each piece from the first to the last.

What to expect at the counter

You will be seated at the counter, directly facing the chef's work station. Within the first few minutes, the chef or a team member will confirm your restrictions and ask if you have a preference for sake, wine, or sparkling water. That is the full extent of the ordering process. From that moment forward, the chef takes over.

The sequence typically opens with lighter, cleaner flavours: delicate white fish, perhaps a small dressed preparation. As the meal progresses, the pieces gain in richness and complexity. The chef may include one warm element, a broth, or a cooked bite before guiding the meal toward its close. Expect 12 to 18 pieces over roughly 90 minutes.

There is no menu to read, no decisions to make. That is not a loss of control. It is an invitation to stop managing your meal and simply eat it.

How to taste each piece

Eat each piece within a minute of it being placed in front of you. Nigiri is pressed so that the rice is warm and the fish sits at room temperature: that balance lasts only a couple of minutes before the rice cools and the nori softens. A piece left waiting is a piece eaten at less than its best.

Do not add soy sauce or salt before tasting. The chef has already seasoned the piece: a brush of nikiri, perhaps a touch of finishing salt, perhaps a small emulsion. Taste it as presented. If you want more seasoning, you can quietly ask, but taste first. Reaching for the soy bottle before the first bite signals to the chef that you do not trust his judgment, which is the one thing omakase asks you to set aside.

Use chopsticks or your fingers, whichever feels more natural. Both are accepted at a sushi counter.

Interacting with the chef

The counter format exists for proximity, and proximity invites conversation. Ask about the fish, the provenance, the technique, the choice of one piece over another. The chef is not behind a wall in a kitchen: he is standing two feet away and working in plain sight.

Timing matters, though. Engage between pieces, not while the chef is making a precise cut or assembling a component. A moment of stillness, a pause in the motion: that is when the conversation opens naturally. Watch the pace of the work and follow its rhythm.

Avoid staring silently at your phone between courses. The chef is performing, in the truest sense of the word, and an audience that is present makes the work better.

Ending the meal gracefully

The chef signals the end of the sequence clearly, usually with a small sweet bite or a closing word. You will not be left guessing. If you are still hungry, it is entirely appropriate to say so: the chef can often add a piece or two depending on what is available.

Before you leave, say something to the chef directly. A brief, genuine word of thanks, ideally mentioning a specific piece that stood out, means a great deal. The chef has invested the better part of his day in what you just experienced, and direct feedback from someone who was paying attention is rare and valuable.

A tip of 15 to 20 percent is appropriate in Montréal at this level. In a small counter where the chef is also running the experience, the gesture acknowledges both the service and the craft.

Your first omakase is the hardest to prepare for, because the preparation is mainly about letting go. Everything else, the knowledge, the context, the story of each piece, arrives at the counter along with the food.