Just came from my second, and last, meal at this vastly overrated place. This guy has some gall. Only two couples at the bar, yet the "master" only deigns to interact with me to gruffly inform me that I cannot choose. I reply that I already know that. Immediately his hispanic busboy hands me a pre-made dish of tuna sashimi...average, but significantly better than what is to come. Said busboy prepares my next dish while I eat the sashimi, and before I've swallowed my last bite hands it to me: yellowtail nigiri, incompetently made. The fish is fresh, but the rice is sopping wet and not at all compacted; it cannot be eaten and immediately dribbles onto the plate & counter. Next is red snapper nigiri, then toro nigiri; in each case the rice disintegrates, clinging to my hand, falling to the counter, dribbling down my lip...landing, in fact, everywhere but my mouth. I toy with the idea of asking Nozawa to make my stuff himself -- he's not doing anything, btw, other than furtively issuing orders ("Snappah!") to busboy -- but I can't bring myself to humiliate the busboy. But I have had enough of this foolishness, and signal 'check' rather than endure more of the charade.
And I discover that while Nozawa has not trained his busboy to make rice, he has managed to make him rude; when I get up and (God knows why) utter thank-you's, both Nozawa and busboy ignore me.
It needs to be said: the emperor has no clothes. Let the masochist sheep flame away; this guy is a lazy, arrogant ASS who has managed to cow the frightened trendies of this burg far too long, and any critic who gives him a decent review is a craven CLOWN.
It is DISGUSTING that the charming, expert owner of Tama down the street doesn't do half the business of Nozawa. And the idea that Nozawa's fish is somehow superior is nonsense. My last time at Tama, I complimented the (superlative) nigiri Katsu served me, and he couldn't resist impishly noting, "Same as 'Mister Trust Me!' This morning, I take this half, 'Mister Trust Me' take other half!" Doubtless he is well aware of the pervasive myth of the superior Nozawa fish, but Katsu and Nozawa are both there, at the same damn market, at the same damn time, buying the same damn stuff. The difference is that at Katsu's place, the master will make it for you himself, deign to speak with you, really try to please you, and charge you less to boot. Further, you won't have to wait an hour for the pack of black Excursion-driving chumps in front of you to take their abuse before you can get some of your very own.
And no busboy will be screwing up your fish at Tama!