The accidental omakase

Doubt and general befuddlement were written all over my face when I walked into T.I.N.S. on a recent Wednesday evening.

The dim slot of a room was washed in violet light from a neon sign declaring "This is Not Sushi." It was empty save for two fellows who peered at me expectantly from behind a brightly illuminated counter. One wore a chef's coat; the other, a porkpie hat.

This vest-pocket omakase spot on an obscure block of Durham, just north of I-10, has been hosting chef Nikki Tran's Vietnamese pop-ups now that her Montrose restaurant, Kau Ba Saigon, has closed. I'm a fan of this mercurial, peripatetic chef, so I signed up online for an 8 p.m. sitting.

Or so I thought. I always half-believe I've screwed up my online bookings for special events—and now I finally had. It was a regular service night for chef Sky Wong and his assistant, Matthew. They were waiting for me after their 6 p.m. guests had departed.

I had to laugh at myself. Although Sky gracefully offered me an out when we realized my error, I was hungry, and intrigued, and amused by the idea of eating sushi at a joint that calls itself This is Not Sushi. "I'm in," I told him.

Thus began my unplanned, 12-course rollercoaster ride through a menu unlike anything else in town. Chef Sky is of Malaysian-Chinese heritage, and he brings the exuberant flavors and techniques of his background to a Japanese culinary genre that's more noted for restraint. (The closest comparison I can make is the scattered Southeast Asian ideas on the omakase menus at Hidden Sushi, where chef Niki Vongthong brings her Thai roots and travels to bear.)

Garlic coursed through the procession of sashimi and nigiri in varied forms and textures, much to my allium-besotted delight. Japanese purists would be horrified; I was not.

Even pork floss made an unexpected appearance. I got to goggle in childlike glee over a contraption the chef called a "bubble gun," a madcap bit of showmanship that, when burst, released a cloud of apple scent. I felt like Alice in Wonderland at the Mad Hatter's tea party, all the giddier for the happenstance involved.

So yeah, Sky doesn't really deal in the subtleties of classic sushi. He's a Go Big or Go Home kind of guy. That pretty much makes him an honorary Houstonian, even though he only arrived from New York City (where he first trained at sushi restaurants as an F.O.B. teen) in 2022.

Did the raw seafood flavors manage to shine through in this rambunctious context? Sometimes they did. Sometimes they acted more as a cool, calm backdrop to a riot. But there was nothing I didn't enjoy (even the truffle touches I generally dislike), and the highlights are stuck in my brain.

Right up front, a refreshing second course in which tuna and flounder meshed in a sort of ceviche—featuring crisp, Malaysian-style bean sprouts, garlic oil and a tinge of sweetness—put me on notice this was not my usual omakase experience.

Raw scallop is often too sweet for me, but in T.I.N.S. context—once the burst bubble of irrelevant apple smoke had dissipated—the combo of fresh lemon, sesame oil, gentle housemade ponzu and a jot of truffle salt made it work bigtime. A first bite of madai, the delicate Japanese sea bream, bloomed with a low-key jalapeño dressing that magically managed to keep its place.

Bluefin tuna nigiri crowned with a tom-yum mango salsa (including onion!) was trippy fun. So, I swear, was a galvanic uni shooter, the rich blob of sea urchin set off by sake juiced with more of that housemade ponzu. Seared and beautifully draped escolar, a creamy whitefish, stood up to its filigree of pork floss, an unexpectedly meat-based hit of umami in a nigiri context. Okay, less pork floss might have been more, but I was entertained.

I had a blast. It cost me $150, plus tax and tip, and included unlimited pours of a light and graceful chilled sake.

That's spendy but less than most omakases in town, a dining form which has flourished in recent years. I felt doted on by Sky and Matthew, surprised by how much I'd enjoyed the less probable combinations, and exhilarated by the intimacy and good cheer of the whole unlikely evening.

Sky told me it has been difficult coming into a market where he had no name or reputation. He's hoping the events partnership with Nikki will help.

I wondered if T.I.N.S. might be an easier sell with an a la carte menu, so diners could try it out before popping an omakase-level sum. But I had to admire his ambitious sense that omakase was the way to present his vision. He has guts. And suddenly his partnering with the gutsy Nikki Tran made a lot more sense.

I'll be back. Maybe I'll even manage to book correctly next time.