kari kariSANDOmodern japanese katsu
NYC · Long Island City
kari kariSANDOmodern japanese katsu
kari kariSANDO
Kari kari is the Japanese onomatopoeia for crunchy. Not crisp as a fact, but crisp as an event. A crackle that travels up your jaw, behind your ears, into your skull, while the whole table stares and salivates. We built our entire brand around this sensory experience. Our name, our products, our menu, the way we bread, the way we fry. All of it answers to the crunch.
Most katsus never get there. The breading looks the same everywhere: cutlet, flour, egg, panko. But that panko is usually dried and packaged weeks before it meets hot oil, even in Japan. You can feel it in the dull thud of something merely fried.
The best tonkatsu specialists don't use it. They use nama panko, raw shavings from fresh shokupan that's never been dried. Dried panko has given up its moisture, so it soaks up oil and fries dense. Raw panko keeps its own, so it steams from within and fries light.
In Japan, the best shops have fresh panko delivered daily. In New York, if you want it, you make it. We shave ours in-house in flat, irregular flakes and bread everything cold. It fries into lace. Vibrant golden brown, uneven, full of air pockets that snap a half-beat apart. You don't bite through it. You bite into it, and it keeps answering.
The technique is a century old. Our menu isn't.
Four years ago, this started as a joke at a friend's place. John was in love with Japan. The culture, the language, the food. There was a version of him that never came back to New York.
Jersey was telling the story again: the katsu he'd had in Osaka, the one he still hadn't stopped thinking about. He'd gotten as far as wanting to track down the chef and bring him to New York. John's idea was simpler, and only half-serious. Forget the chef. Just start their own.
Nobody meant it, and they let it go. But some jokes don't stay jokes. A few years later, after a lot had changed for both of them, they found themselves circling back to that night. For John, it was a way back into the food world he loved. For Jersey, it was realizing that if that Osaka katsu was never coming to New York, they'd have to build it themselves.
This time, neither of them is walking away.
Most of what goes into Kari Kari Sando happens before you ever see it. Panko shaved the night before, pork collars sous vide for 16 hours, recipes tested and rejected until they earn a spot. John and Jersey are doing all of it with no restaurant experience. Hunting down a location, sourcing ingredients, negotiating with vendors who have no reason to trust them yet. Follow the build, not just the finished bite.
One email when we announce the next pop-up. Nothing else.
Stay crispy.