You pull into an utterly unremarkable Santa Clara strip mall and, for a moment, wonder if you have…read morethe right place. Then you open the door.
Suddenly, you are somewhere else.
Leichi is tiny, roughly 20 seats with booths tucked against the walls, sake bottles lining the room, and that wonderfully restrained quiet you find in small restaurants in Japan.
It reminds me far more of the little restaurants I've loved in Tokyo, Kyoto and Kyushu cities than of the endless parade of sushi restaurants scattered around the Bay Area.
And that distinction matters, because Leichi isn't really about sushi rolls. It is about something much more Japanese: craftsmanship. There is a Japanese idea, "kodawari" an almost uncompromising devotion to the details of one's craft, including the details most people may never consciously notice. That is what Leichi feels like to me.
House-Made Tofu. Start here. It arrives looking almost too simple: impossibly soft tofu with ginger, green onion, salt and house-made soy sauce. That's basically it. But take a bite and you understand the restaurant FULLY. The tofu is delicate and almost custard-like, cool and silken against the sharp little spark of ginger and scallion, while the soy adds depth without drowning it. It is a dish with nowhere to hide,and Leichi doesn't need to hide anything. They make a sesame tofu version as well, equally worth ordering.
Chawanmushi. Another deceptively quiet dish. The Japanese steamed egg custard is silky, savory and deeply comforting.
Grilled Edamame. Rather than simply being steamed and dumped into a bowl, the pods arrive grilled and lightly blistered, their edges carrying a faint smokiness, with just enough salt clinging to your fingertips. A completely ordinary dish becomes something you keep reaching for.
Nasu Dengaku. This may be one of the prettiest versions I've had. Two pieces of eggplant arrive lacquered in miso, one white, one red, the glossy surfaces caramelized until sweet, savory and slightly charred. Underneath, the eggplant practically collapses into creaminess. It looks almost like edible artwork, but more importantly, it tastes fantastic.
Fresh Soba. The kitchen makes its own soba, served either cold or in broth, and that alone tells you something about the seriousness of the place. Good soba is a food of texture, aroma and restraint; there isn't a pile of sauce available to disguise mediocre noodles.
Udon with Tempura. The udon has that wonderful chew and elasticity good udon should have, especially satisfying submerged in hot broth. The accompanying tempura is crisp and lightly battered. This is one place where I'll still give Japan the edge: some of the best tempura I've eaten in Kyoto had an almost impossibly thin, delicate shell that shattered on contact. Leichi's is very good; Kyoto ruined the curve.
Then there is the seafood.
I've never had a piece of sushi or sashimi here that didn't taste meticulously handled and exceptionally fresh. But one dish is the one I keep thinking about.
Chirashi. It arrives like a little jewelry box. Carefully arranged slices of fish sit over warm rice, with ikura scattered across the top like translucent orange pearls. There is something particularly lovely about the temperature contrast, the cool, clean seafood against the gently warm rice underneath. It makes the bowl feel comforting rather than austere. Add a bowl of miso soup alongside it and, frankly, I don't need much else.
Miso Black Cod. Another standout. The fish is so tender it separates at the slightest pressure from your chopsticks, while the miso has caramelized around the edges into something sweet, salty and deeply savory. The richness of the cod and the fermented sweetness of the glaze are exactly why this dish became a Japanese restaurant classic when it's done properly.
And Leichi is not only for seafood.
Japanese Curry. Their curry is wonderful the deeply comforting Japanese style, with slowly cooked vegetables creating that characteristic savory sweetness and richness.
Ochazuke. This is another dish that captures what Leichi does so well. Rice and its accompaniments arrive first, followed by hot broth that you pour over everything yourself.
Sake. The list is thoughtful, and when you order a bottle, they bring the bottle itself to the table.
On my trips through Japan, I became fascinated by the seriousness with which people sometimes approach seemingly ordinary work.
And there is something almost spiritual about it.
Leichi feels like a tiny manifestation of that philosophy hidden in a Santa Clara strip mall.
And behind all of it, the feeling that the chef that cares very deeply about getting these seemingly simple things right, day after day.
Quiet. Precise. Unpretentious.
And full of soul.
I'm incredibly glad this little restaurant exists.