BY BILL ADDISONRESTAURANT CRITIC
Photography by
JUNE 16, 20226:30 AM PT
Growing up in the San Gabriel Valley, Jon Yao remembers the delight he felt eating song shu yu, or “squirrel fish,” a showpiece dish defined as much by technique as playful illusion.
The recipe involves a perch or carp filleted and scored with crosshatch patterns that spike up during deep-frying. A veneer of sweet and sour sauce comes next; Yao recalls ketchup as a clutch ingredient that made its way into his parents’ Taiwanese American kitchen. Traditionally, the fish arrives at the table presented whole with its head and tail, though the puffed appearance of the center-stage fillet is said to resemble a bushy squirrel. Pine nuts scattered over the top often reinforce the impression; squirrels love pinecones, yes?
Yao was brainstorming new dishes for Kato, his once-tiny Sawtelle restaurant that has grown in every way possible since its move in February to the Arts District, and he wanted to invoke the flavors of song shu yu. But that memory had also entwined itself around another childhood favorite: his mother’s fish fragrant sauce, an aromatic base for meat or vegetable stir-fries potent with garlic, ginger and doubanjiang (Sichuan chile bean paste).
He grafted and morphed their essences into the seventh course of Kato’s current tasting menu, a capstone moment in a meal of 10 or so dishes. One squat and very fresh Hokkaido scallop sits in a shallow bowl. It’s sheathed in the thinnest batter and fried long enough to tease out its maximum sweetness. The exterior crackle yields to rich density; it may be gone in two bites but it’s enough for the brain to imprint the texture, to recall the impact against the teeth at will. Sparks of chile heat fly up from the sauce underneath, and precisely minced bits of green onion give the teeth something to crunch on. But mostly, the perfume of garlic and ginger join forces to flatter the scallop. If the notion of harmony could be assigned a definitive flavor combination, I’d nominate this dish for the honor.
Does the tangled halo of herbs, sliced Fresno chiles and cilantro buds atop the scallop resemble an exceptionally handsome squirrel’s nest? That’s probably overthinking things.
Vessel by Match Stoneware.
But a whirring mind comes with the excitement of dining at what might be called Kato 2.0, a stunning re-envisioning of what was already one of Los Angeles’ vital restaurants.
Layers of interpretation have always been present in Yao’s cooking. If you’re looking to parse the almost clinical dissection of nostalgia, the pride of identity and the redefinitions of luxury in his food, the intellectual fodder is there. If you want simply to savor a beautiful, thoughtful sequence of plates, he can make you feel nourished on many levels.
That became especially true around 2018, two years after Kato opened in a bare, snug space in the nook of a corner strip mall. At first, Yao was pulling ideas from Japanese, Korean and Vietnamese repertoires, as well as from his mother’s kitchen. He was not quite 25 then, and as he settled into himself as a chef, he felt more pulled to frame the cuisine of Taiwan; its food culture contains multitudes, including indigenous traditions and absorbed imprints from immigration and colonialist occupations (Spanish, Dutch, Chinese and Japanese) over the centuries.
He has never been overly dogmatic about the focus, but by choosing Taiwanese cuisine, he came into his greatness. For tasting menus, he condensed the soul of Taiwan’s beloved beef noodle soup into a viscous, chile-laced broth. He applied the triumvirate of three-cup chicken — soy sauce, sesame oil and rice wine — in elegant, basil-scented studies involving octopus, tuna or abalone.
Sixth course Golden Eye Snapper from Kato.
Mariah Tauger / Los Angeles Times)
Vessel by Match Stoneware.
Read full article at https://www.latimes.com/food/story/2022-06-16/kato-review-addison-downtown-taiwanese