Perched on the 57th & 58th floor of the Empire Building, Nobu Bangkok exists in the rarefied air where clouds brush against glass and the Chao Phraya River becomes a ribbon of liquid obsidian. This is dining as theatre—a stage where Chef Nobuyuki Matsuhisa’s decades of culinary diplomacy (Japanese precision handshaking Peruvian boldness) unfold against a backdrop of Bangkok’s glittering skyline. The ambiance whispers restrained opulence: dark walnut panels, leather banquettes the color of midnight, and an open kitchen where chefs move with the synchronized intensity of a Kabuki troupe. We settled into a corner table, the city’s sprawl framed like a living painting, as the first notes of our omakase symphony began.
The curtain rose with Fried Okara with Ponzu Truffle Oil, a dish that defies expectations. Crisp okra shards, tempura-light and golden, arrived with ponzu truffle emulsion—a dusky pool beneath—offered umami depth cut through with yuzu’s citrus spark. It was a haiku of textures: crunch yielding to creaminess, earthiness lifted by acidity.
Next, Yellowtail Jalapeño arrived as though painted by Hokusai. Translucent slices of amberjack fanned across the plate, each topped with a whisper-thin jalapeño sliver. The fish dissolved like chilled butter, its richness countered by the pepper’s gentle heat and a shower of micro-cilantro. A drizzle of citrus-kosho ponzu tied the elements together—a sauce so bright, it seemed to capture sunlight in a spoon.
As dusk deepened, the Crispy Rice with Spicy Tuna made its entrance. Cubes of sushi rice, their exteriors bronzed to a crackling shell, supported mounds of minced bluefin tinged with togarashi. The first bite was a study in contrasts: the rice’s audible crunch giving way to the tuna’s velvet heat, while pickled jalapeño slices buzzed on the palate like live wires.
A shift to vegetables brought the Nobu Broccolini Spicy Garlic, where emerald stalks wore crowns of caramelized garlic chips. The broccolini’s slight char flirted with a slick of chili-infused sesame oil—proof that even greens could command attention in this protein-driven universe.
The Baby Spinach Salad Dry Miso followed, its deceptively simple presentation belying complexity. Fresh leaves glistened under a snowfall of fermented miso powder, their bitterness tempered by truffle oil’s earthy murmur. Shaved lotus root added crunch, while pickled shallots contributed a sweet-tart refrain. A dish that tasted like the forest floor after autumn rain.
Then, the star emerged: Black Cod Miso, Nobu’s pièce de résistance. The fillet arrived lacquered in a mahogany glaze, its surface shimmering under the dining room’s muted lights. Three days of miso marinade had worked miracles—the flesh flaked at the gentlest nudge, dissolving into a buttery whisper edged with caramelized sweetness. Beneath lay a halo of baby bok choy, their crispness a foil to the cod’s decadence. A dish so perfect, it threatened to eclipse the skyline beyond our window.
The Beef Tenderloin Dry Miso countered with terrestrial grandeur. Wagyu from Hyogo Prefecture, its marbling a snowscape of fat, had been seared in the Josper oven until the exterior crackled like aged parchment. Shredded and draped over a miso-infused reduction, each strand melted into a chorus of umami, punctuated by shimeji mushrooms sautéed in sake butter.
As the savory acts concluded, the White Yellowtail Sushi with Snow Crab and Fish Eggs arrived—a palette cleanser in the guise of luxury. The fish’s pearlescent slices cradled lumps of Hokkaido snow crab, their sweetness amplified by bursts of briny tobiko. A brush of nikiri sauce, applied with calligrapher’s precision, elevated each piece into a miniature masterpiece.
Dessert commenced with Japanese Strawberry Cake, a architectural marvel of airy sponge layered with macerated berries. The cake’s ethereal lightness played against a quenelle of strawberry sorbet—its flavor so intensely fruity, it evoked sun-warmed fields in Kyushu.
The finale, Chocolate Goma, was a dance between shadow and light. Creamy oat milk whiskey ice cream, pale as moonlight, rests atop a mosaic of obsidian chocolate crumbles and airy sponge, punctuated by decadent black sesame swirls. Toasted pecan fragments lend earthy warmth, their crunch harmonizing with the dessert’s velvety whispers of smoke and sweetness.
Through it all, servers orchestrated the evening with invisible expertise. Sake carafes were replenished before we noticed their absence; courses arrived in unhurried rhythm, synchronized to the city’s nocturnal heartbeat. By meal’s end, as we sipped matcha in the shadow of the Empire Building’s spire, the experience crystallized: Nobu isn’t merely a restaurant. It’s an anthology—a collection of moments where fire and finesse, tradition and rebellion, collide 57 stories above the streets of Bangkok. Andrew. G. Klukowski
Nobu Bangkok
57th, 58th Floor and Rooftop
The Empire Building
1 S Sathorn Road, Yannawa
Bangkok 10120
+66 (0)2 407 1654