Philadelphia Weekly

Raw pleasure: The drinks-and-sushi haunt is polished but inconsistent.

In a dusty photo album in my parents' house, there's a snapshot from my kindergarten graduation. We're gathered along a flight of concrete steps. Behind us, green neon spells out "Mirabella" in flowing cursive.

Almost 20 years later, I'm in front of the same set of steps. Few diners have ascended them since Mirabella's closed in 1996. Successive restaurants came and went, and the space tucked into the Academy House's shadowy street-level armpit has been vacant since the Smoked Joint shut down in 2006.

Jonathan Chen, owner of Fuji Mountain, deserves props for fearlessly opening a restaurant in this black hole of death. And not just any restaurant--a Japanese restaurant specializing in modern kaiseki, the multi-course feasts favored by tea-drinking Buddhist priests. Ambitious much?

From the outside Kaizan looks like a temple clinging ominously to a great stony mountainside. Remember the place where Bruce Wayne trains in Batman Begins? Keep that in mind as you ascend an elevated porch with pergola roof that looks like it should have samurai heads stuck on each pointed wooden slat.

Inside, Kaizan is a dream-like den of sweeping banquettes, teardrop-shaped lanterns, and beaded metal curtains. I imagine it's damn sexy when busy. When empty--as it was during both of my visits, including one on a Friday night--with the moody chant music cued up, Kaizan feels more like the setting of a J-horror flick.

It's too bad. If I lived upstairs, I'd definitely make Kaizan a regular drinks-and-sushi haunt. Crispy sauvignon blancs, semisweet Rieslings and minerally Gruner Veltliners inform a smart, sushi-minded wine list. And there's a user-friendly sake selection organized by dryness.

Bartenders take their time hand-juicing limes and tangerines for wonderfully well-balanced cocktails crafted with lavender syrup, orange blossom water, green tea, cucumber slices, basil and mint. Since each drink costs more than $10, it would be nice if they could fill the martini glasses more than halfway.

Though not the best I've ever had, the sushi and sashimi are good, particularly the buttery uni (sea urchin) and iridescent flags of pristine kanpachi (baby yellowtail). "Seasonal sushi" highlights the more interesting fish, but apparently it's not season for otoro, live scallop or Japanese pink snapper.

During the five-course kaiseki at another visit, I hope the raw course might be more exotic, but all I get is boring thick-sliced maguro and himachi sashimi.

What the deuce? Might as well be a California roll.

The addition of a white stripe of madai (Japanese pink snapper) draped across a cup of lemon- jalapeno soy is moderately different, but also moderately fishy.

Problems occur with cooked dishes like the king kani yaki--fine Alaskan king crab legs slathered with unappetizingly creamy (and unappetizingly orange) mustard-and-tobiko sauce. Before being broiled casino-style, New Zealand mussels are topped with an unappetizingly creamy (and unappetizingly orange) crab-and-lobster salad that's like the king kani yaki pulsed in a food processor. The green-lipped mollusks are like silly putty, and the "super spicy" sauce barely has the heat of a nacho cheese Dorito. Shrimp gyoza and tempura, though inoffensive, lack flavor.

There are some highlights, like skewered barbecued eel and broiled uni- and miso-glazed sea bass. Served in a square teapot, the glorious golden broth of the lobster dobinmushi is the kind of restorative medicine you'd want in a Thermos if you were hiking Mt. Fujiyama. The sesame-speckled sticky rice softball the soup comes with is, however, gross. The rice is filled with "lots of stuff," as our waiter (and the sushi chef) put it. No arigatoo.

Kaizan's big-ticket item is the $22 Kobe ishiyaki. The dish comes with squash, mushrooms, six slices of American Kobe beef so well marbled they almost look white and a hot stone grill for DIY searing. After a few seconds on each side, it's one beefy little orgasm after another. Strawberry ice cream mochi and green tea ice cream encased in funnel-cakey tempura make pleasing post-coital treats.

It's hard to figure out where exactly Kaizan fits into Philadelphia's Japanese restaurant narrative. Price-wise, it's on par with Morimoto. Consistency-wise, it's closer to the Whole Foods sushi case. Kaizan won't be the next Mirabella's, but you could certainly do worse, Academy House.