Face Off: The Supermarket Sushi of Hawthorne

IMAGE: WW Staff

Supermarket sushi isn't just for the cold case anymore. Head to Hawthorne and there, within two blocks of each other, sit two sushi restaurants inside grocery stores. The Hawthorne Fred Meyer has a conveyor-belt sushi kiosk with color-coded plates of spicy salmon and tuna roll. Meanwhile, at Pastaworks, the old Evoe space is home to an ultra-exclusive, 12-seat Japanese formal dinner called Nodoguro.

Fred Meyer perhaps gets the edge on sushi, because it's actually possible to get—Nodoguro's $120 Sunday omakase often sells out within a half hour. But after eating the 10-course, $85 Zen sousaku ("not-sushi") dinner, which rotates monthly-ish at Nodoguro, we also fashioned our own complementary 10-course dinner at Frushi, which is what we're calling the sushi train at Freddy's. We came in under $30, including soda pairings.

The Scenes

Nodoguro is a soothing elbow of hardwood in dim light—the still-blazing sun blunted by screens—in an intimate side-room restaurant serviced by chef Ryan Roadhouse, his wife, Elena, and Nong's Khao Man Gai operations manager Colin Yoshimoto. The diners, who'd reserved tickets months in advance, came in pairs and ordered wine. Frushi is a fluorescent-lit island in the Fred Meyer deli with a doubled-up sushi conveyor. Everyone at Frushi ate quickly and alone.

Drink Pairings

Nodoguro's drink pairings are curated by Paul Willenberg, a devoted Nodoguro patron with discerning taste whom Roadhouse tapped for the job after Willenberg scowled at all others' previous pairings. The pairings are among the most impressive in town: A Johan Vineyards pinot noir called out earthy notes in sesame tofu, and it warmly met the acidity of pickle in the next course; while a Ten to Chi junmai daiginjo sake held up to the sweet richness of both fig and albacore. And Nodoguro's courses move swiftly enough that two diners can split a $30 pairing of four drinks. At Fred Meyer, there's a fancy, computerized soda machine offering a free refill and access to a vast panoply of flavors for $2.

First Course: Tofu

Nodoguro: The €œ3 Day Monk€ meal is designed as a tribute to the stern shojin fare of the Buddhist monk. So the first dish was a perfect half-moon of austere sesame tofu, with a kick of uni and salted sesame seed on top with lavender flowers. When finished—€”quickly, gracelessly, surreptitiously—€”I lifted the bowl and downed the ginger dashi. It was terrific.

Frushi: I had to take my tofu ($2.50) the old-fashioned way: in cubes, in miso broth filled with scallions and clouds of soy. I was offered a free refill.

Second Course: Salad

Nodoguro: Evoe set the bar high for pickles, but this was hurdled gently with a dainty course of lightly vinegared cucumber on its first night away from the farm, plus burdock—a sort of thistle—in thin strands, and a pungent pickle plate of fennel, ginger blossom and baby burdock.

Frushi: The salad came in tube form, a $2 summer roll of cucumber, lightly oxygen-browned avocado, and carrot sheathed in rice so oversoft its grains blurred.

Third Course: Fancy Fruit

Nodoguro: I usually hate figs—but I loved this one. It was warmed in oil until it exploded in two, then doused in ginger dashi. The result was seemingly the platonic form of fig: sweet, savory, satisfying, and endlessly jammy. Dear Lord.

Frushi: There is no fruit at Frushi.

Fourth Course: Tuna

Nodoguro: The one bit of sushi-restaurant fare at the not-sushi dinner, the albacore sashimi was nearly a cruel tease, foiled at one edge with fat thin as gold leaf and seared with scalding water and oil, stoically alone in three slices on the plate. Previously, my companion and I had been savoring our bites and dissecting the excellent wine and sake pairings. I wolfed this motherfucker.

Frushi: The tuna nigiri ($3) was a thin strip of pink—like acid paper made of meat—atop an unending mass of rice less sticky than congealed.

Fifth Course: Crab

Nodoguro: This was the midstream punch line of the fancy feast—Dungeness crab pizza. Which, in practice, was a bit more like crab dip on a sesame cracker, with an acidic burst of tomato and the bitter-citrus accent of shiso.

Frushi: There is no crab at Frushi. But there is krab—whitefish with a pink-dyed topper to mimic iodine—stuffed in a huge nori cone. With Sriracha, this would have been my favorite item, due to misplaced nostalgia; my parents didn't waste real crab on an overeating 12-year-old.

Sixth Course: Roots

Nodoguro: Soft, miso-soaked daikon radish chunks the size and texture of English stew-cut potatoes are paired with blanched seaweed in a bit of green dashi vinegar. It was spare but effective comfort fare, with the same vibrant dose of vinegar a Brit might toss into his fries.

Frushi: The carrot roll at Frushi is still more austere—carrot wrapped in rice wrapped in nori. But it was oddly pleasant, sweet and crisp, a perfect snack for kindergartners.

Seventh Course: Poultry

Nodoguro: Three tender slices of seared confit duck breast, marinated in soy and served alongside flash-fired eggplant, are wonderfully tender within and slightly crisp on the edge, with little coins of seaweed dashi to add salt and depth.

Frushi: There was only one poultry course—a chicken teriyaki roll—but it was unavailable. I subbed eel in a soy marinade. In perhaps a Zen touch, it tasted like sweet, salty nothingness.

Eighth Course: Salmon

Nodoguro: This was three beautiful strips of salt-cured, cold-smoked sockeye warmed in koji butter, over a bowl of rice, corn and chanterelles—a reminder that the first country to truly value Oregon's mushroom crop was Japan.

Frushi: Here the spicy salmon roll is a salmon-avocado fat bed blanketed with a Japanese-American take on fry sauce. It is not good. It is not bad. Like a game of basketball according to Kobe Bryant, it is what it is.

Ninth Course: Egg

Nodoguro: Tamago is simple—a square of egg that is a sushi chef's most naked showcase of artistry, and Roadhouse says his only true criterion is deliciousness. Nodoguro's tamago was indeed delicious, airy and caked high, lightly touched with sugar like the syrup overflow at a diner breakfast.

Frushi: This was the only true head-to-head matchup between the two spots—and the tamago here was surprisingly good, both in color and its light texture. But it doesn't have a chance. Nodoguro wins.

Tenth Course: Dessert

Nodoguro: This was a dish of peaches and cream, except the peaches were drenched in shiso syrup, and the dairy was a mix of buttermilk and cream frozen into shards. Amid one of the most singular dining experiences in Portland, only this dish was overlabored; the contrast of texture and temperature was less interestingly novel than outright alienating.

Frushi: Given the entire store's worth of options, I went for a Tillamookie—low-rent, no-frills, middle-class mint-chocolate-chip ice cream sandwiched in a waffle cookie. Victory to Fred Meyer, just this once.

EAT: Nodoguro is at Pastaworks, 3735 SE Hawthorne Blvd., nodoguropdx.com. Dinner Thursday-Sunday by reservation. The Hawthorne Fred Meyer sushi counter is open 11 am-7 pm daily at 3805 SE Hawthorne Blvd., 872-3300, fredmeyer.com.

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