Chikoja sur Paris

26/08/2024: Le service est très agréable et la nourriture est délicieuse. Nouos y sommes allés deux fois, tout à l'air bon, nous avons testé les sashimis, les sushi et le chirashi. Le chef propose des sushis et plats de poisson de très bonne qualité pour un prix abordable. On s'en sort pour 20 à 30 euros/personne. Le poisson cru est de très bonne qualité, les desserts sont très bons aussi (mention spéciale pour les mochi sakura maison). La salle du bas est un peu petite, mais agréable, il faut réserver pour le bar (et aussi si vous êtes très nombreux car il y a peu de couverts). Une adresse qui vaut le coup pour manger de vrais sushis !

17/08/2024: The rain drummed against the windows of the small Asian restaurant, blurring the colorful neon lights of the street. That evening, Massy seemed engulfed under an inky sky, as if the whole world had shrunk to leave room only for this moment between friends. Inside, a gentle warmth contrasted with the humidity outside. The room was packed, saturated with laughter, hushed conversations, and the tantalizing smell of spices wafting through the air. We were seated at a table near the window, a little away from the commotion. Thomas, his gaze fixed on the sideboard, said enthusiastically: — Guys, I’ve been hearing about this restaurant for weeks. It seems to be a killing. Honestly, I can’t wait! Antoine wore a smirk. He was never really convinced until he tasted it. Pragmatic to the end. “Let’s hope it’s worth it,” he muttered, flipping absently through the menu. If they mess up on fried foods, it's ruined. I glanced at all the dishes laid out under the heat lamps, all glistening with oil. Sushi, spring rolls, skewers, steamed appetizers, and that eternal promise of a personalized wok. Everything was there. In theory. The evening progressed and we ended up attacking the buffet. First the fried foods: shrimp, fritters and other tempuras. Thomas took a full plate, looking satisfied, while Antoine and I opted for a more moderate choice. A few minutes later, around the table, the truth came out. Thomas was the first to break the silence. — It’s… too greasy. And that’s it anyway. No taste. Looks like they recycled oil from previous weeks. I nodded as I looked at my plate, already less enthusiastic. — The donuts are heavy, and frankly, I expected more flavors. They are nothing exceptional. Thomas, although so sure of himself at the beginning, seemed disillusioned. “We're betting everything on the wok,” he said, a little desperate. We got up in search of this famous wok. In front of us, a cook armed with spatulas juggled crunchy vegetables, fried noodles and fragrant sauces. Finally, something that resembled my idea of ​​a proper meal. With the bowls in our hands, we returned to our table, ready to forget the disappointment of the fried food. The wok wasn't so bad. Without being memorable, it managed to save the whole thing. We even found ourselves exchanging a few compliments on the spice blends. Then came time for desserts. A sad scene unfolded before us: sweets, biscuits, and canned fruit. Antoine burst out laughing. — No, seriously, they would have been better off not putting anything. It's insulting to my taste buds. I could only nod, half-heartedly. (canned please) Thomas sighed, putting down his empty plate with a hint of regret. — Okay, guys, next time, we'll try something else. It's not bad, but we've seen better for the price. In the end, the bill seemed steep to us. A bitter feeling hung between us, as if the initial promise of this evening had been swallowed up in the pouring rain of August. The restaurant did not live up to our expectations, despite a few bursts of flavor here and there. We went out in the rain, a little disillusioned, but with this unshakeable feeling that the next evening would inevitably be better.