Two coasts.
One fire.

Our chef grew up between two kitchens. His grandmother's, in a town outside Sendai, where breakfast was always grilled mackerel and miso. And his mother's, in Seoul, where the smell of charcoal and gochujang filled every Sunday.

When he opened Sendai Sushi & Korean BBQ in River Edge, he refused to choose. The two cuisines, he insists, were never opposites — they share an obsession with restraint, fermentation, and the sound of fire meeting protein.

Forty-two seats. Three private booths. A bar that wraps the open kitchen. Reservations are required because the room is small, and because every plate still leaves a chef's hand before it leaves the pass.